Lone Star Millionaire (6 page)

He glanced over his shoulder. They stood in the living room of his penthouse condo. Anastasia was checking out the rest of the place. “Nothing about the girl is easy. I don't understand why you won't make an exception to your rule. This is important. It's not just about what's easier for me, either. Anastasia would feel better with a woman around.”

She groaned. Damn the man, he was probably right about that. Because she wasn't emotionally involved in the situation, it was easier for her to deal with the preteen. So far all of Anastasia's smart-mouthed comments had been directed at her father.

But move in? Here? “I can't,” she said.

“You won't. There's a difference.” He glared at her. “There are four bedrooms, so don't tell me this is a privacy issue. I'm not asking for anything permanent, just for a few weeks until things are settled.”

She crossed to the window and pulled open the blinds. The city stretched out below, all twinkling lights and endless night sky. Everything Cal said made sense. It wasn't forever. Why was she resisting so hard?

Sabrina folded her arms across her chest and sighed. Because, she thought. Because there was an inherent risk involved with moving in. Warning bells went off every time she thought about it. Over the past few years, Cal had mentioned that life would be easier if she were closer. But she'd
resisted. She hadn't wanted to be a part of his social life, and she refused to live at his place while he was entertaining one of his women. Going to dinner was one thing, trying not to hear them doing the wild thing was another.

But Anastasia wasn't one of his women. He
had
just ended things with Tiffany, so he wouldn't get involved with anyone else for a few months. Maybe longer. So that wasn't a problem. Still, the warning bells told her too-close quarters would be a risk. If only she could figure out why.

“We need you, Sabrina.”

She'd always been a sucker for being needed. Cal knew that, too, and he was using it against her. She could feel herself weakening. He made matters worse by coming up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Please?”

His voice was low and seductive. A blend of masculine charm and Texas accent. When he was like that, he was irresistible. Thank goodness he didn't know.

“All right,” she told him. “I'll move in for a few weeks. But don't think I'm going to take responsibility for your daughter. You need to get to know each other, and that's not going to happen if you thrust her on me all the time. The quicker you bond with her, the better for both of you. For me, too.”

Cal swept her up in a bear hug. She felt the length of his hard body against hers and wondered at the quirk of nature that made him so incredibly attractive to her, while he barely noticed she was female.

“Thank you,” he said, spinning her around once before setting her on the floor. “You won't be sorry.”

“Why do I doubt that?”

“No one knows but you. So now what?”

“Now I head home to get some sleep and pack up my stuff. You get to work bonding with your daughter.”

“She's not interested in bonding. She hates me.”

Sabrina shook her head. “She's alone and she's scared. Think of a wild animal lashing out, only instead of using teeth and claws, she uses words. It's the only way she knows to protect herself.”

Cal grunted.

Ah, the signal to change the subject. This time, because she'd said as much as she wanted to, she didn't pursue the matter. She could see that Cal understood what she was telling him, even if he didn't want to.

“The things I ordered from the plane will be here shortly,” she reminded him. “Take them to her.”

“A bribe?”

“Think of it as a peace offering.” She crossed to the door, grabbing her purse on the way. “I'll see you in the morning. Don't worry, you'll survive.”

“I doubt it.” He opened the door and stared out forlornly. “Get here early, okay?”

“I promise.”

She met his gaze. He looked lost and abandoned. She had the strangest urge to offer some kind of comfort. But the only thing that came to mind was a hug, and maybe a kiss. Ridiculous, she told herself. Cal didn't think of her that way, and she'd taught herself to ignore the fact that he was a good-looking man. She must be tired if she was forgetting that particularly hard-won lesson.

“I'll see you in the morning,” she said, and started for the elevator.

 

Cal hovered outside his daughter's room. He wanted to talk to her, but he didn't know what to say. First of all, he wanted to apologize for the sterile decorating. He hadn't expected the room to be occupied by a twelve-year-old. Then he wanted to explain that he was nervous, too, but that they might be able to at least be friends.

He knocked on the closed door. “Anastasia?”

“Go away.”

At least she was a straightforward communicator, he told himself as he retreated. He paced in the living room, not sure if he should try knocking again, or maybe just barge in. After all, the door didn't lock. But he hated to invade her privacy, and he wasn't sure what he should say. If Sabrina were here, she would know what to do.

He glanced at his watch and saw that she wouldn't have had time to get home yet. Damn. He would have to wait to call her. Then he would—

The doorbell rang. He sprinted toward it, incredibly grateful for the interruption. Maybe Sabrina had come back to rescue him.

But instead of his assistant, he found a young man in the hallway. He carried a half dozen shopping bags all bearing the logo of a local department store.

“Delivery for Mr. Langtry,” the man said. “Here you are, sir.”

Cal tipped him and collected the packages. Sabrina had ordered clothes and other things for Anastasia. Cal grinned. Now he had an excuse to talk to his daughter.

He headed down the hall and knocked on her door.

“I already said ‘go away.' Do I have to spell it out on the door for you to understand?”

“Not really.” Cal shifted the bags to one hand and opened her door.

Anastasia had been lying on the bed. She shrieked and jumped to her feet. “I could have been getting dressed.”

That hadn't occurred to Cal, then he realized that wasn't possible. “You don't have any other clothes.”

“That's not the point.”

“If you'd been polite enough to let me in, opening the door wouldn't have been an issue.”

“I didn't want to see you. Besides, why should I be polite?”

“Because you're in my home and I expect common courtesy from you.”

She glowered but didn't answer.

Cal set the bags on the floor. She stared at them with undisguised curiosity but didn't mention them. Good. A little anticipation might soften her up.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

She shrugged.

She'd showered. Her hair was damp, her face clean, although her clothes were still filthy and hanging on her. Her glasses slid down her nose and she pushed them up.

“I didn't have enough time to get the room ready,” he said. “Why don't you think about how you'd like to change it?” He motioned to the plain dresser topped only with a glass sculpture that was more blob than person, although the decorator had assured him it was stunningly representational of true love. “Maybe some different furniture and wallpaper or paint.”

Anastasia shrugged again as if it was of no importance to her. “There's no TV,” she complained. “Or books or magazines. Don't you read? Or does your assistant read to you?”

Irritation flared and he carefully banked the feelings. She was just a child, and as Sabrina had reminded him, she was lashing out so that he wouldn't know she was scared.

“There are a lot of books and magazines in my study,” he said calmly. “Many of them are about business, so I don't think you'll find them interesting. However, we can go to a bookstore in the next couple of days so you can get some reading material.” He remembered the packages. “Sabrina may have ordered some when she called about clothes.”

He picked up the bags and set them on the bed. “She made sure when she was on the plane that these things would be delivered tonight. I don't know if they'll fit, but they're a start. I guess a shopping trip is in order. I'll put it on the schedule.”

Anastasia stared at the bags. “Those are for me?”

“Sure.”

Mistrustful brown eyes turned in his direction. “All of that, or just some of it?”

“All of it. I wouldn't have brought it in to you if it wasn't yours.”

She bit her lower lip. “I don't have any money. What do you want for them?”

People talked about their hearts breaking. He'd never understood the concept or felt anything close to a snap. But at that moment, with his daughter staring longingly at the packages but not daring to step closer to them, he felt something. If not a break, then certainly a major crack.

She was only twelve. She shouldn't understand the concept of having to offer something to get something. Gifts and surprises should be a part of her life. There had been surprises, he thought grimly, but only the tragic kind.

He crossed to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She froze. He half expected her to shrug him off, but she stood there, trembling like a cornered kitten. “Anastasia, I want you to have these things because I want to take care of you and I want you to be happy. You aren't expected to pay for them except to say thank you.”

She glanced at the bags, then at him. “Thank you.” The word was a whisper.

She moved to the bed and dumped the contents of the first bag on the plain navy comforter. Cal saw what looked like shorts and T-shirts, some underwear and something that might have been pajamas. Working quickly, she upended the other bags. There were sandals, bathing suits, a robe, several books and in the last bag, a large stuffed bear.

Anastasia fingered the soft-looking fur, then shoved it away. “I'm not a kid,” she said defiantly. “I don't play with stuff like that.”

Considering how stubborn his daughter was, he figured she must like the bear most of all, but she wouldn't dare show that for fear it would be taken away. Dammit, what had she endured in the past year?

He pushed the clothes aside and sat on the bed. She remained standing. “I know this is hard for you,” he told her. “You don't know me, this is an unfamiliar place. We're talking about a lot of scary stuff.”

“I'm not scared.”

“Really? In your position, I would be terrified. Probably peeing on the rug like a puppy.”

That earned him a slight smile, which she quickly suppressed.

“I've never been a father before.”

“Duh.”

He ignored her. “But I was a kid. Some would tell you I was a kid for longer than I should have been. The point is, I know you're nervous and concerned about what's going to happen. I want to try and make you happy, but you have to try, too, Anastasia. We need to work on this together.”

Her chin raised slightly. “I'm not going to be happy ever again.”

“I see. You know, being happy doesn't mean you won't still love your adoptive parents. They wouldn't want you to spend your whole life mourning them.”

“What do you know about them?” she demanded. “You don't know anything. And they're not my
adoptive
parents, they're my real family. You're not my father, you'll never be my father. I had the best father in the world, and no one will ever be better than him.”

Tears spilled out of her eyes and slid down her cheeks.

“I know that's true,” he said, ignoring the jab of pain in his chest. “He will always be exactly perfect. I accept that. But that doesn't change the fact that you live with me now, and I am your biological parent. You're my daughter.”

“No!” She wiped her face, but more tears fell. “No. You didn't want me before so I don't care that you want me now.”

“I didn't know about you before. I just found out about you yesterday.”

A sob shook her. She shuddered. “You should have known. If I was really your daughter, you should have known about me. You should have come and taken me away. But you d-didn't.”

She ran into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her. He could hear the sound of her crying. He ached for her—no one should ever be that unhappy.

He stood up and crossed to the door, but this one he left closed. He had no right to intrude on her pain. Instead he walked out of the room and went into his study. After pouring out a stiff drink of Scotch, he took a sip and wondered what he was supposed to do now. He wasn't prepared to be responsible for his daughter. He didn't know how to be a father. He was probably doing everything wrong. He'd never loved a child or even been loved
as
a child. He was completely in the dark on this one.

He took another drink of the Scotch and decided it would be a great night to get drunk.

S
abrina walked to her window and glanced out. The view wasn't nearly as nice as it was at Cal's condo, but she didn't mind. The lush garden, overgrown into a tangle of fragrant flowers and vines, reminded her of a New Orleans courtyard. She rented a two-bedroom guest house on a stunning estate in the River Oaks district of Houston. The place had its own single car garage, and the owners of the property were gone more than they were home. The location put her only a couple of miles from Cal's place and the office. Best of all, the rent was reasonable. Ada had found it for her when she, Sabrina, had first moved to Houston. Back then, every dime had been important, and she'd been thrilled with both the floor plan and the price.

Now, although she could easily afford to pay three times as much in rent, she didn't want to move. She'd grown used to the neighborhood and being close to everything. She liked the quiet of the estate…at least she had until tonight. For
reasons she couldn't understand, this evening the quiet made her restless.

Or maybe it was something else, she mused as she moved from the window to the sofa and thought about sitting down. She could read. Although she wasn't someone who watched a lot of television, there was always her collection of movies. Or maybe a nice hot bath. The larger of the two bedrooms had a beautiful bathroom, complete with separate stall shower and oversize Jacuzzi tub.

None of the suggestions sounded right. She strolled into the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator. Nothing inside called to her. There was some triple chocolate ice cream in the freezer. She grabbed a spoon, took a mouthful, then set the pint carton back on the shelf. No, she wasn't hungry. She was looking, but for what?

Maybe the past couple of days had upset her more than she'd realized. Learning that Cal had a daughter was one thing, but actually meeting the child was another. Anastasia. While Sabrina understood the girl's fears and her need to protect herself by lashing out, she didn't envy Cal the job of “taming” the angry child. It was going to take a lot of love and patience. She'd seen her boss take as much time as was necessary to close a deal, but he'd never been as willing to go the distance with people. Certainly not with the women in his life. But Anastasia was his daughter and that would make all the difference in the world. He might just surprise them.

She returned to the living room and sank onto the sofa. What was he doing right now? she wondered. It was after ten, so Anastasia was probably asleep. Did she like the clothes? Sabrina had had to guess on the sizes, but she was pretty sure she'd gotten them right. They would go shopping in the next couple of days and pick up some other things for her. After all, she'd arrived with nothing.

Sabrina thought about the tattered clothes the girl had
worn, the dirt on her face and how thin she was. No child should have to live like that, with both physical and emotional neglect. It wasn't right. She pulled her knees up to her chest and reminded herself that things were going to be different. Anastasia had family now. Cal might not be anyone's idea of a traditional parent, but he wouldn't turn his back on his responsibilities.

The restlessness grew. Sabrina frowned. She was going to be spending the next couple of weeks at Cal's condo. If she knew her boss—and she did—he would try to talk her into staying longer. So this was her last night alone for a while. She should enjoy it.

Yet, for once, the solitude didn't heal her or comfort her. Something was off, something she couldn't put her finger on.

Maybe if she called a friend, she thought as she rose to her feet and crossed to the phone. It wasn't too late. She could call one of her sisters on the West Coast, where it was two hours earlier. Or she could—

Like most revelations, when this one occurred it was both startling and unpleasant. Sabrina stopped in the middle of the floor and turned slowly in place. She took in the neatly decorated room with its pine furniture, cream sofa and contrasting Colonial blue wing chair. She'd collected the artwork herself, buying a piece at a time, some from galleries, some from estate sales. A few were framed posters. Her collection of movies and books filled a cabinet in the corner. Each of the other rooms in the house had been decorated with the same care and attention to detail.

It was a facade. A pleasant, pretty facade that hid the truth from everyone—even herself. But reality had just hit her upside the head and there was no escaping the truth.

She didn't have a life. She hadn't had one for years. At least not one of her own. There were no friends she could call in Houston. Oh, she had some acquaintances from work, women
she went to lunch with occasionally. She was still close to her sisters, but college kept them busy and they had their studies and their friends. Phone calls every two weeks weren't a substitute for actual emotional intimacy.

Everything she had, everything she thought and everything she was had been linked with Cal. She had become her job with nothing left over for herself.

She returned to the sofa and sank down. When had it happened? She shook her head, already knowing the answer to that one. During her first interview, Cal had warned her that he demanded long hours and plenty of travel. She'd been thrilled with both the opportunity and the starting salary.

Cal had been an answer to her prayers. Between salary, raises, bonuses and stock options it had taken less than four years to fund everyone's college plans. Two of her siblings had opted for the more inexpensive state colleges, while the youngest had been offered a partial scholarship to Stanford. Once they were taken care of, Sabrina bought Gram a condo by the ocean, one close to her friends and the social activities she adored. Now everyone had been taken care of, even Sabrina herself. She'd been investing her money. She'd learned a lot working for Cal and now had a nice nest egg.
And no plans for a future,
she thought.

The truth was she would never have a life as long as she worked for Cal. He was like the sun. If you stared at it, the light was so bright, you couldn't see anything else. As long as she was around him, she wouldn't be able to deal with what she wanted. The job had been perfect…at the time. But times had changed. Maybe she should plan to move on.

She ignored the voice inside that cried out she didn't really want to leave. This was comfortable and familiar. There had to be a compromise. She ignored the vague feeling of apprehension. Change was never easy, but sometimes it was the right thing to do.

She walked into the guest bedroom and moved to the desk against the far wall. There, in a file, were the letters she'd received over the past few months. Letters from headhunters telling her about jobs available to someone like her. She'd been recruited before but hadn't been interested. If it was time to move on, then these companies were her ticket out.

She stared at the file. Did she really want to leave Cal? Did she have a choice? She'd gone as far as she could go professionally. There would be more money, but that wasn't enough anymore. The other reality she tried to ignore but couldn't was that the longer she stayed, the more she was at risk emotionally. Cal was the kind of man she could fall for big time. She'd gotten over her initial crush, which was good. But now she actually knew him and liked him, despite his flaws. If she got emotionally attached to him, then what? He wouldn't be interested in her—he'd made that very clear. She wouldn't want to settle for an affair, and he didn't do anything else. Besides, Cal only wanted what he couldn't have. He was interested in the chase. She was already a part of his life, so there wouldn't be much of a hunt.

She carried the folder to the kitchen and set it on the table. It was definitely time, maybe past time, for her to do something. Before she left for Cal's in the morning, she would make a few calls and see what was available. She wasn't ready to make a decision, but it wouldn't hurt to ask around.

 

It was nearly midnight. Cal was well and truly on his way to being drunk. The buzz had become a roar, but it wasn't going to be enough to let him forget.

He rose from his desk and moved into the hallway. There, he stared at the closed door, behind which slept his daughter. Son of a bitch, what was he doing with a kid? He didn't know the first thing about raising a child. She was almost a teenager,
which made matters worse. Plus, she hated the sight of him. How was he supposed to make this work?

Bracing himself for the tirade if she was still awake, he slowly opened her door. He paused before stepping into the darkness.

Enough light spilled in from the hallway to allow him to see the bed. Anastasia lay on her side, curled toward him. Her brown hair had dried from her shower and lay across the pillow. She'd exchanged her dirty clothes for a new nightgown. There was something dark by her midsection. He stepped closer and saw she clutched the teddy bear to her chest. One arm was tightly wrapped around the toy, as if even in sleep she was afraid someone would take it away.

In the shadows, she appeared small and defenseless. He could see the faint tracks of her tears, and his heart went out to her. He was worried about her, about what was going to happen, and he was a grown-up who was secure in his life. Imagine what this twelve-year-old must be feeling. Everything she'd known had disappeared. The people who had raised her were gone, the woman she'd been thrust upon had made it clear she was unwelcome. Now a stranger had swept her up into an unfamiliar world. No wonder she lashed out.

Unfamiliar emotions filled him. There was a tightness in his chest, along with a burning at the back of his throat. He wanted to go to her and hold her close, promising that everything would be fine. But the words held no meaning. Everything wasn't going to be fine and they both knew it.

He wished Sabrina was with him. She could explain this to both of them. She always knew the right thing to say. Thank God she was moving in tomorrow morning—otherwise they would never make it.

As he watched this child who was his daughter, he tried to figure out who she looked like. He saw traces of Janice in her—also flashes of himself. Her mouthiness and temper, for example. Pure Langtry.

Janice. He backed out of the room and returned to his study. He didn't want to think about her, but he didn't have a choice. He couldn't change the past, but he had to learn to deal with it. A woman he'd trusted had betrayed him in a significant way. She'd used him to get pregnant so she could go after the family's money.

He sank back into his chair and poured another Scotch. So he'd been a fool. He wasn't the first man to be taken in by a woman and he wouldn't be the last. So what?

But it was more than that, he thought grimly. He should have known, or at least guessed there was a problem. How could he have been so stupid? Why hadn't he seen through her?

Maybe he hadn't wanted to, he admitted. She'd been young and pretty and very willing. At that age, sex had been more important than feelings. Janice had encouraged him, making love wherever and whenever he wanted. Looking back, he realized she'd been far more experienced than he. He hadn't been looking for anything long term, but he hadn't expected betrayal, either.

He didn't understand her motives and he never would, although it was safer to think about her than to remember his parents and their part in what had happened. He wasn't ready to rage at his mother for her thoughtless interference. Damn the woman.

“Why are you surprised?” he asked aloud, before downing half his drink. “These are the Langtrys, after all.”

They were all sharks. Even him. He didn't want to be like them, but sometimes he was. Blood would tell and all that. They were the reason he avoided commitment and love. He wasn't even sure love existed. He'd never seen it at home and wasn't sure it could survive in the world. So where did that leave Anastasia? With a father who didn't know the first thing about loving a child.

Maybe, he thought as the alcohol gripped his brain and
made the edges of the room start to blur, just maybe she would have been better off as a ward of the state.

 

He'd forgotten that sunlight could hurt so much. Cal blinked as he stepped out of his bedroom. There were skylights in the hallway. He winced and squinted, but it didn't help. The pounding in his head only increased. He had no one but himself to blame—after all, he knew the potential effects of too much alcohol. He'd been trying to bury his pain, but it was back in full force and this time with nasty physical manifestations.

Coffee, he thought desperately. He needed coffee.

He headed for the kitchen, only to stop in the doorway when he saw Anastasia sitting at the table in the corner. She'd poured herself a bowl of cereal and was in the process of opening a milk carton. She'd brushed her hair back from her face and secured it in a braid. A red T-shirt and matching shorts hung loosely on her slender body, but they were an improvement over the rags she'd had on the previous day. She was pale and skinny, but she looked a lot better. She was, he realized with some trepidation, going to be a pretty young lady.

She glanced up and saw him. “You look terrible.” Her voice was loud and the tone was exactly high enough to start a series of jackhammers going in his head.

“I know,” he muttered. “I feel terrible. I just need some coffee, then I'll be fine.”

“Why do adults drink coffee?” she asked. “It tastes gross. It's all dark and yucky. You should try milk. It's much better.”

His stomach lurched at the thought of him swallowing milk at that moment in time. “Maybe later,” he said as he hurried to the cupboard and fumbled for a filter. There was a can of grounds in the refrigerator. After measuring out enough for a pot and filling the reservoir with water, he flipped the switch, then prayed it wouldn't take too long to brew. In preparation, he got down a mug and waited impatiently. At
least he'd had the good sense to get a coffeemaker that would allow him to pour a cup before the pot was full.