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“That’s not what I meant.”
Cain chuckled and followed Mac to the stage. Most of the framing was in place; it wouldn’t take long to finish.
“I know what you meant, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He shrugged. “It depends.”
“On what?”
His answer was simple. “Maggie.”
“Shit.” Mackenzie grinned. “You’re so gone.”
Cain said nothing.
“You’re totally gone for her.”
Cain turned to the task at hand and nodded. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
The rest of the afternoon flew by, and it was nearly five when they called it a day. The stage wasn’t fancy but it was solid and, thanks to Mac, had been designed so that it could be broken up into sections, rolled away, and stored for future use.
Things were moving along, and Cain was in a great mood. They’d ordered pizza and wings—Cain’s treat, courtesy of his buddy at Jack’s Hut—enough to feed all the volunteers who’d stuck around to the end. Michael sat at his side happily stuffing pizza into his mouth. Tommy and his dad had left a few hours earlier. They were heading into the city to visit his grandfather, so it was just Cain and the boy.
He glanced down at Michael. He was fine with that. In fact, he was more than fine with that. The kid had managed to burrow into his heart in pretty much the same way his mother had.
He stood and stretched, worked out a kink in his neck. His muscles protested, but he liked the burn. He was in shape, but it felt good to get his hands dirty again. Nothing like an afternoon of hard physical labor to soothe the mind and work the body. It was good to get back to basics.
“Who’s that?”
Cain followed Jake’s line of vision, and his mood darkened. Instantly.
Son of a bitch.
A man lurked near the edge of the field, but it wasn’t the man who angered Cain as much as what he was carrying. A camera. A big honking camera. He glanced down at Michael. Christ, if he’d taken the kid’s picture…
“Michael, you stay here with Salvatore, okay?”
Had this been what Natasha meant? She’d called him several times the week before because she wanted to visit. The woman was insane. He’d finally told her that he’d met someone, that her pipe dream of hooking up with him again was ridiculous. She’d been livid and had threatened to ruin his summer.
He’d cut her off and hadn’t thought anything of it. The woman had blown steam throughout most of their marriage, and it had never meant anything. But the paparazzi? They had no interest in him per se, and the only reason they’d be here was if Natasha had pointed them in this direction.
He’d fucking kill her.
“You need help dealing with this asshole?” Jake clenched his hands and stood.
“I’m good.”
Cain strode toward the interloper, his features blank, though inside his anger roiled. He was pissed and really didn’t have time for this shit.
The paparazzo fiddled with his equipment and, from what Cain could tell, was most likely packing up for the day, which meant he’d gotten what he came for. Cain’s anger spiked. Children were hands-off, and if this guy had crossed that line, he was going to be one sorry son of a bitch.
As he got closer, Cain frowned. He recognized the slimy bastard. Dirk was his name. He was the asshole who’d sold pictures of him and Natasha on their honeymoon. The man was a weasel with no moral integrity at all.
He was nearly upon him when Dirk turned, his pinched features tightening into what was supposed to be a smile, but Cain took it for what it was. A big fuck you.
“Give me the camera.” Cain wasn’t playing around.
Dirk’s long hair hung in dreads halfway down his back. His caramel skin was as fake as the hair he’d paid huge money for. His skinny arms hung like pencils at his side, the camera held loosely in his long fingers. He was such an arrogant little prick.
Cain’s hands fisted and he squared his shoulders.
