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The two men had been friends as well as business partners for several years. Nate knew all about the family business and the difficult Siggy Caldwell.
“The shares he inherited from Rafe?”
“The company isn’t doing well, and Savannah needs a large influx of cash to pay off the debt my brother stuck her with.”
Nate gave a solemn nod. “Sounds like the lady needs our help. Why don’t you get in there and do a little singing, and then we’ll talk.”
“Is Dylan okay in here with you?”
Nate took the boy and set him on his lap. “I’ve been dealing with temperamental artists for the last ten years. I think I can handle a one-year-old.”
Grinning, Trent headed into the recording booth. The guitarist had left his instrument behind, and Trent picked it up. “Think he’d mind if I borrow this?”
“Jay’s pretty cool about that sort of thing,” Melody said, a half smile on her face as she watched Trent settle onto the stool and test the strings. “Are you really going to do this?”
Trent might not have been interested in a music career, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have had one if he’d wanted it. Back in high school, he and a few of his buddies had formed a band and even played a few gigs. It had enhanced his bad boy mystique and got him as much action as the school’s jocks. Plus, he hadn’t been all banged up from playing sports.
“Nate has promised me it will never make the album,” Trent said, “so I don’t see what harm there is.”
“We’ll see.” Melody gave him a sly smile. “Do you remember how it goes?”
“I think I can manage.” And he started to play.
Nine
Savannah hummed as she descended in the hotel elevator, eager to head to LAX for the flight back to Las Vegas. She’d spent an eventful three days in LA and couldn’t wait to get home to Dylan.
The dinner the night before at Cuts with Fred Hammer had given her a sense of what Trent was trying to provoke his father to do. It was obvious that the man knew the music business and would be a fantastic CEO for West Coast Records. The fact that he’d stolen several of the label’s best artists over the last five years was a testament to his business acumen. It wasn’t hard to imagine just how much it would upset Siggy to have this guy in charge of the company.
Morning sunlight poured through the lobby windows as Savannah crossed the marble floor in the direction of the exit. She was so preoccupied with thoughts of her son, she was completely caught off guard by the woman who stepped into her path.
“Savannah Caldwell.”
“Yes?” She didn’t recognize the brunette in snug jeans and a white T-shirt and at first thought she might have been an assistant to one of the agents she’d spoken with the day before.
The woman held out an envelope. “This is for you.”
Reflexively, Savannah took it. “What is this?”
“You’ve been served.” Without another word, the woman headed for the hotel’s front entrance with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before.
With her mind blank with astonishment, Savannah opened the envelope and pulled out a legal document. It didn’t take her long to get the gist: contesting Rafe’s bequeathing the company stock to Dylan, citing the fact that he wasn’t Rafe’s biological son. Every bit of optimism Savannah had gained over the last seventy-two hours vanished. Instead of leaving the hotel, she made her way to the nearest chair and dropped into it.
How was she going to explain to Trent what his father was up to? Savannah had stopped worrying about the stock and the money since she’d decided to return to acting. She would figure out a way to restructure the debt and be able to pay it off eventually. But if Trent discovered Dylan wasn’t Rafe’s child, he would despise her for lying to him. She needed to talk to Siggy. At least one good thing had come of this—she didn’t need to fear losing her son to her father-in-law.
Savannah got in her car and headed to Siggy’s house. Half of her thought she’d be denied entrance, but Siggy obviously expected her, because she was ushered right in. He was sitting behind his large desk in his office and didn’t get to his feet as she entered the room.
“You’re suing me?”
“I’ll not have you pass off your bastard as my grandson.”
Savannah resisted the urge to tell the old man that Dylan was still his grandson. “Dylan is Rafe’s son.”
“Not his biological son.”
Savannah went cold. She stared Siggy down, utilizing every bit of Courtney Day she possessed to keep her panic from showing. Did he know something? Or was he guessing? She had no way of knowing without tipping her hand.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
