Page 43 of Miss Trust

Chance

Sunday nights at the club were dead, and I found myself restless and unable to focus.

Malik walked into my office. “Agent Smith from the FBI was here again.”

I cursed, semi-hoping whatever the FBI had wanted, they no longer needed since Smith hadn’t dropped in since his visit a month ago. I should’ve known better.

“I told him you weren’t here. He left his number.”

Here was the thing about the FBI. If they truly wanted to track you down, they wouldn’t randomly show up and hope you were there. They’d find you. Until then, I was happy to keep playing this silly cat-and-mouse game. “I’ll be sure to call them back.”

We both laughed, knowing I wouldn’t. Then Malik inquired, “How’s the little girl?”

“Home from the hospital. Doing okay for now. The next few months will be the most critical.”

“I hope it works out all right. Anything I can do?”

“I may need your help running an errand in Long Beach this week.” My private investigator had finally tracked down Tory’s ex, John Fitch. It had taken a while to identify him given the fact he wasn’t listed on Penelope’s birth certificate.

“Absolutely. What’s up?”

“I’m meeting Penelope’s biological father to present him with paperwork to terminate his parental rights.”

If Malik was surprised, he masked it like a pro. “I’m happy to handle it for you.”

“No, this is something I prefer to handle personally.”

“Understood.”

I stood up, realizing I wouldn’t get any more work done today. “I’m heading up to Malibu.”

“Sounds good, boss.”

The drive up the coast on a non-traffic Sunday was soothing. Although I often worried from afar over my siblings, my concern didn’t often affect my day-to-day routine. But with Tory and Penelope in my life, my focus was flipping. I’d barely slept during the last month. Although I’d brought them dinner once a week and checked in, those gestures weren’t enough to prevent me from feeling unbelievably wound up about my lack of control over the situation. How Tory could possibly be dealing with all of this escaped me.

In the early morning hours, I’d creep into my condo, hoping she’d be asleep in my bed, or there’d be some sign of her having used my shower. But no. She hadn’t used her key, and I found myself disappointed. Then again, given her past, it wasn’t any wonder why she’d not taken me up on the offer.

I’d never had a real concept of home. While I’d been growing up, I suppose home should have been where my parents lived, but since they were seldom there, I hadn’t developed a real attachment to the big house in which I’d been raised. Having several residences all over the world, I’d yet to establish a personal connection to any one house. But today, the drive to my home in Malibu felt purposeful.

I wasn’t sure what to expect as I entered my house, but I followed the sound of the music coming from the kitchen. I’d barely stepped onto the tiled floor before I spotted her.

With her back turned to me, Tory was wearing cutoff shorts, a T-shirt that had seen better days, and her long hair up in her trademark messy bun. But it was her sexy ass currently swaying to the music which held my attention. Jesus, what was with my fascination with this woman? Was I obsessed because she was off-limits? I wasn’t a man accustomed to denial. Perhaps it was a matter of desiring what I couldn’t have.

I had the delight of observing her a moment longer before I had to break down and clear my throat.

She whipped around, her hand to her chest. “Good grief, you scared me.”

“Sorry.” I wasn’t. Because the blush currently staining her cheeks was totally worth it.

“I wasn’t expecting— I mean, you’re here— Sorry, of course you’re here. This is your house. The kitchen is a mess.”

“Stop.” Flustering her was one thing, making her nervous was not nearly as appealing. “You live here. Make as much of a mess as you like.” A sudden image of hoisting her up on the marble countertop and laying her out in preparation for my mouth to devour her came to mind. “Where is Penelope? Mona?”

Having my childhood nanny and Tory’s daughter here would quell the dirty thoughts running through in my head.

“Mona left this afternoon, and Penelope is napping.” Tory motioned to the camera on the counter, showing Penny’s sleeping form. “You feel like cheeseburgers?”

“Yeah. I can eat. What can I do to help?”