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Camila gives me a soft smile. “Why don’t I watch LJ for a minute, and you go talk to Kalum and tell him how you feel.”
I trust Camila and have known her almost my whole life since my parents bought their house in Spencer. Camila was our neighbor, and she would watch me when my parents couldn’t. She would not let anything happen to LJ.
I take a deep breath. “Okay. Where is his office?”
“Third door to your right.”
“LJ?”
He looks up. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to talk to Kalum. Don’t give Camila a hard time, alright?”
“Yes, Mommy.”
29
KALUM
The way she looked when I walked into the boardroom at the office, where I was instructed to meet her by Lane’s lawyer, broke me. She tried to hold back the tears in front of everyone so she could be strong for her son–their son. When I looked at him, it was unmistakable. He looks like his late father. They even have the same hair, face, and eyes. He looks at his mother like she is the center of everything. And she is.
Letting her go was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life. To know that another man I respected and admired had everything. Because he had her.
I knew deep down the day at the fair when he approached her, and she looked at him like he was her protector because he was. Lane was there for her when my parents practically tossed her out. I cried like a pussy for months, and when I stopped crying, the hate replaced the hurt. Not for her or for Lane but the hatred for my parents. They took what I wanted most and I lost it in the arms of another man.
I’m not sure what his purpose was for me to watch over her and his son in the event of his death. I don’t understand it. It makes sense she needs protection for a while against lawyers, family, and people in high places trying to take advantage of awoman who just lost her husband, and according to her, the love of her life. They know she is vulnerable and doesn’t have other family members to help her.
The way she talks about him makes my gut clench because deep down, I’d hoped when I was eighteen it would’ve been me. That her son out there in my foyer would have been mine. She is still as beautiful as I can remember. She is stunning. Motherhood adds more to her appeal. She must have looked beautiful pregnant.
A knock sounds from the door, interrupting my thoughts.
“Come in.”
I straighten in my chair when the door swings open, and she stands in the doorway looking beautiful with her black dress molded in all the right places. The armed guards kept glancing her way, admiring her beauty, and I almost lost it. It took me back in time for a moment when she was mine.
Even when she cries, it doesn’t diminish how stunning she is. It brings out a protective instinct inside, and all I want to do is kill the bastard who caused it. My fist clenched, and I made sure I followed directly behind her. Men will be like hound dogs in heat looking for a bone, knowing she is vulnerable and wealthy.
Her husband made sure she would want for nothing, and neither will his son. The man was hard to dislike. He did everything right except staying alive. Now, she is alone and heartbroken.
“What is it?” I ask.
She stands in the doorway and makes no move to enter.
“We need to talk.”
I wave my hand to the modern leather chair. “Please, have a seat.”
She nods and takes a seat, but I notice she leaves the door open. I wonder if it’s because her son is outside, and she wants to make sure she hears him, or she doesn’t trust me.
Pulling up the security camera on my screen that gives me a direct view of LJ, I turn the screen toward her.
“Close the door,” I demand.
She does as I ask and closes the door without protest and returns to sit in the chair across from my desk with her gaze locked on mine. I’m testing her, and she knows it. She knows that I want to know if she fears me. If she is afraid to be alone with me.
I remove my cuff links and roll up my sleeves on my dress shirt. I’m not doing it to intimidate her, but I want her to see that I’m comfortable around her. That I need not be businesslike around her or her son.
I want her to feel comfortable around me. She has gone through a lot already with the loss of her husband. The last thing she needs to worry about is her safety and being around someone who makes her or her son feel uncomfortable.
She looked around like the apartment was an institution. A prison. And I didn’t know what to do or say to make them feel more welcome. I was glad I had instructed Camila to meet me here when she arrived. She looked relieved when she saw her get off the elevator. They both did.
