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1
“Iknew it. I knew she’d pull this.” Morgan Raines stared out at the Mercedes crunching along the driveway of his home in Irvine, California. It was followed by two black SUVs.
His nine-year-old daughter, Ciara, stepped up next to him and peered out. “Three cars?”
“Her entourage. Probably a PR crew.”
Ciara spun away and walked across the room and Morgan turned to see if she was okay, berating himself for forgetting to conceal the bitter disgust in his tone. But Ciara just climbed on the sofa, sat cross-legged, and began fiddling with her phone, acting indifferent. She looked adorable in her black leggings paired with a red tee imprinted with a black silhouette of a kickboxer. He’d brought that tee home for her from his last tournament. Was Ciara’s choice of what to wear today her way of telling him she was in his camp?
His precocious daughter often did things like that, demonstrating her opinions—and she had plenty—through her choice of clothing or accessories. His heart swelled with pride at the strong and confident girl she was, but still, he studied her carefully, trying to decipher what she might be feeling right now underneath the bored and slightly irritated pose she was putting on.
As if sensing his question, she looked up, smiled at him, then glanced out the window. “She’s getting out of the car,” Ciara said.
Morgan’s head snapped around and he looked out the window again at his visitor.
Yeah, Fawn was still beautiful. Had only gotten more so in the last nine years, but then looking good for a camera was her stock-in-trade so she no doubt spent all her time and money keeping it that way. Her hair was lighter now, she was a little slimmer, and the sleek designer dress she wore was something she never would have picked out back when they had been a couple.
He glanced at Ciara again. She seemed to be resisting coming back to the window, even though she would naturally be eager to watch the scene. Yeah, she’d inherited Morgan’s stubborn streak.
Finally her curiosity won out and she ambled over. “You were right,” Ciara said. “A bunch of people are getting out of the SUVs behind her, and one is a photographer. And over there, that one looks like he is holding a mic, right?”
“Yeah.” Morgan nearly growled as he watched the woman he’d actually once believed he loved perform for the camera. Something she was real good at. In fact, it was her only talent. “Ciara, I want you to go upstairs and wait, okay? I will need to discuss a few things with your mother before I can allow you to go out with her. Please understand that I want you to see her. It’s just that, uh…”
Ciara rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid, Dad. I understand what you’re doing. You don’t want any pictures of me on her social media or getting into the tabloids.”
“It’s for your safety, sweetheart.”
“I know.” Ciara’s hand went to her hip, her tone haughty. “I also know she just wants to use me to make herself look good and I am not about to allow that.”
Morgan was speechless. His daughter never failed to amaze him. She was so bright and aware and sometimes even out-adulted him. “Then you realize it might mean you can’t go to lunch with her today if she doesn’t agree to my terms. I’m sorry if—”
“Don’t be,” Ciara cut in, smirking at him. “I was only doing this because you suggested I should talk to her. I don’t care if I ever see her again.”
While Morgan breathed a sigh of relief at Ciara’s revelation, another part of him feared she was holding on to a boatload of pain any daughter abandoned by her mother might have inside. But now was not the time to deal with that.
Thankfully, she bounced up from the sofa and said, “Stop worrying so much, Dad. I’m okay.” Then she sauntered out of the room, tossing a finger wave at him over her shoulder as she left.
A couple minutes later the doorbell chimed. Morgan braced himself. He hadn’t seen Fawn face-to-face in at least four years. He’d dressed in jeans and a snug tee—yeah, he wanted to make sure she saw that he was looking as ripped as he’d been when they were lovers in their early twenties, in case she showed up with her not-so-fit middle-aged movie producer husband. Sure, the guy’s net worth was a lot more than his, but Morgan did just fine and was proud of what he had accomplished since the days when he and Fawn were two broke and struggling hopefuls new to the LA-Hollywood scene.
He opened the door and Fawn Reynolds, Ms. A-list Movie Star, paraded in, followed by five other people. No husband present, but the rest were definitely a PR crew.
“Where is Ciara?” Fawn barked out. No greeting of any kind.
Before he could answer, Morgan heard the click of a camera and saw it was pointed at him. He held up a blocking hand. “No photos. If I find what you just took posted anywhere, you will have a lawsuit on your hands.”
With an annoyed snort, Fawn turned to the man with the camera and said, “Don’t take any of him.”
“This is private property,” Morgan went on. “I did not give you permission to bring any of these people into my home. And if you want to see Ciara at all, you will ask them all to leave.” He opened the door and made a sweeping gesture for her entourage.
A woman, who looked like she might be Fawn’s agent or someone in charge of this little venture, nodded to the other four, then toward the door, and said, “It’s okay, Fawn. We can get the photos we need for the story when you and the girl are out on the town today.”
“Right,” Fawn said. “The focus should just be on me and my daughter anyway.”
Morgan kept his mouth shut until they left, but the minute the door closed, he said, “No, Fawn. You will not be taking any photos of Ciara. Also, no video or audio recordings of any kind.”
“You are such an ass. You think you can keep her from me?” she said, getting up in his face. “It won’t work. I know my legal rights as her mother.”
“You signed those rights away a long time ago.” He’d guessed he might be in for an argument, but he was not quite ready for Fawn’s blast of vitriol that hit him. Morgan had foolishly thought they might sit and talk civilly about his concerns for their child. Obviously not happening. So he decided to get right to the point. The sooner they got this over with, the better. “Ciara is not leaving this house with you. It’s one thing to visit with her, but I am not going to allow you to put her in danger by plastering her face all over the media.”
