VEGAS follows you home (13 page)

His demands and requests, how horrible his loss must be, and my own insanity for allowing this to continue.
I've become part of the problem.

"He needs to find a hotel tomorrow," I say out loud to the darkness of my room before finally falling asleep.

Four in the morning blares its ugly arrival on my alarm clock. I dress and head to the bakery. My personal problems can't interfere with my business any more than they already have.

Mercedes breezes in with sunglasses on and an extra-large coffee in her hand.

"Rough night?" I laugh.

"Shh, not so loud," she whispers and slips into her office, without turning on the light.

Giggling, I start the muffins, breads, and cookies. Once I'm done with the initial baked goods, I get the urge to change the special for the day.

I grab the ingredients and start up the food processor, adding pepperoni, ham, smoked mozzarella cheese, and just a bit of smoked cheddar. In the mixer, I attach the dough hooks and place in the ingredients.

By the time Sarah and Greg arrive, the dough is on its second rising.

"Morning," Sarah smiles and Greg mumbles in unison.

"Good morning, guys." I focus on Greg. "You look like you're in the same shape as Ced."

"What are you making?" Sarah asks, pulling an apron over her head. It's the one I gave her last year that says
if you like these cookies, you should taste my muffin
.

"I changed the special." I shrug. "I'm in the mood for pepperoni and ham rolls."

"Need any help with them?" Sarah rolls up the short sleeves of her bakery shirt the way she likes them.

"Sure, if you don't have anything else to start."

She steps next to me and starts cutting pieces of dough before flattening, filling, and rolling. She inhales deeply.

"What did you put in the dough? Garlic?" she asks.

“Yeah, that and parmesan cheese,” I answer.

“I will love you forever if you say I can have one this afternoon.” Greg stands opposite Sarah, his hands clasped in prayer.

"You will love me no matter what," I counter.

"True, but come on. Please?" He smiles and bats his lashes.

"Oh God, tell him yes so he'll stop that." Sarah cringes, teasing.

"Okay," I laugh.

"Yes!" Greg fist pumps.

"You realize you look like a demented bobble head when you do that, right?" Sarah calls after Greg's retreating form.

"Don't be jealous!" he shouts before disappearing into the large cake fridge.

With Sarah's help, I get the rolls done in half the time I thought they would take. We place them on top of the ovens, so they can rise one last time before baking.

Sarah walks to the radio. Her hand hovering over the flour, sugar, and icing covered device on one of the shelves along the wall.

“Sure,” I agree, walking toward Mercedes’ office.

I grab the baby video monitor off the table along the way and then lean into her door.

"You feeling okay?" I raise a brow at her.

"Better now. Just had a hard time waking up today. I'm getting too old for long nights."

"You wanna trade nights?" I mumble, sitting in the chair opposite her.

The look of confusion on her face prompts me to tell her about the events of yesterday evening.

"He's upstairs right now?" She bites her bottom lip, her eyes wide.

"Unfortunately," I agree. "Though, he will be finding somewhere else to stay while he is in town. I already feel stupid crazy for allowing a stalker to spend the night."

Huffing, I set the monitor onto Mercedes’ desk. "Can you keep an eye on him while I start on some orders?"

"Of course." She smiles. "Maybe you should get one of these put in your husband's room," she giggles.

"Not funny,” I say flatly.

“Oh, come on! I'll watch that monitor for you." She winks. "Say what you will, that man is fine. I wonder if he sleeps nude or perhaps in his boxers. Wait! What kind of underwear does he wear?”

She seriously wants me to answer.

“I’m done with you,” I state and turn away, heading back to the kitchen.

“Come on, Liv! Give a girl something!” Ced yells.

Ignoring her, I watch Sarah and Greg work at their tables.

“Someone cake me,” I shout.

“Over here!” Sarah shouts before Greg can. “Hush it, Greg. You got her last time."

To Greg's approval, Emily arrives shortly after I begin working on a company function cake with Sarah.

"Liv, Alex is awake," Mercedes calls from her office.

Looking up at the clock on the wall, I stretch my neck and back. "Where did those hours go?"

Sarah snorts in response.

"Want me to go get him?" Mercedes leans against the doorframe of her office.

"I've got him." Waving her back into her office, I remove my apron and head upstairs.

"What am I gonna make for breakfast?" I whisper the question to the empty hall, flexing my fingers.
Those little fondant pieces are really making my hands sore today.

Mid finger flex, I step into Alex’s room and clench my hands into fists.

“What are you doing?” My question sounds more panicked than intended.

Damon looks up from Alex, who he is holding in his arms.

“He was yelling for you and I was already awake, working on my laptop, so—"

I barely comprehend what Damon is saying to me. All I can focus on is how relaxed Alex is in his arms. Curious, but relaxed, all the same.

"I've got him." I quickly take him from Damon and start toward the kitchen.

"Olivia," Damon sighs heavily. "I'm only trying to help."

His footfalls so close behind me, tell me he is following.

"He doesn't know you," I bark.

"He didn't seem to have a problem with me." His smugness irritates me more.

"You could have scared him. Did you think about that?" I glare at him from over my shoulder.

He snorts.

"Please, I'm not stupid. Of course I thought about it. I stepped in slowly and kept my distance. And do you know what he did, Olivia?"

Securing the final latch on the high chair, I turn toward Damon with my arms over my chest.

"What, Damon?"

"He smiled and said, 'Up!'." Damon leans against the kitchen island, looking way too just-woke-up-this-hot. "I'm pretty sure he's okay with me."

Dropping my arms in defeat, I go get apples and start slicing up tiny pieces for Alex.

"Shi…er, crap," I groan.

"Are you okay?" Damon is standing next to me before he finishes the question.

"I'm fine." Putting my cut finger into my mouth, I side step to the sink.
Damn it! Take the irritation out on him, not yourself.

"Let me see it. Is it deep? Do you think you need stitches?" He presses close to my side, watching intently as I rinse my finger in cold water.

"I'm. Fine," I placate, raising an eyebrow at his overreaction.

"Let me see your damn finger," he growls, grabbing my hand from the water stream. He studies my finger. "You at least need a butterfly bandage for this. Do you have one?"

"No." Shaking my head, I pull my hand away and wrap a paper towel around the finger. "It will be okay. It's not the first time."

Scooping up the pieces of apples with my healthy hand, I take them to Alex's tray. Turning back to the kitchen, I pause.
Where the hell did he go?
Ignoring Damon's sudden absence, I move onto toasting some frozen waffles.

"Where is your first aid kit?" Damon's voice carries from my hallway.

"Damon," I groan, "my finger is—"

"Fine. I know, I heard you. Where's the kit?" he shouts over clanging and rustling.

"It's in the hallway closet."

Alex's waffle pops up, so I prepare and serve little man before he starts slamming his fists on his tray.

"Give me your hand." The screech of the barstool accompanies Damon's demand.

Damon has the kit open and items spread out in a very surgical fashion on the marble countertop. His hand extends out expectantly for mine.

"Just give me a bandage. I can put it on." I reach out, palm up.

He grabs my wrist and pulls me toward him, examining the cut and then his supplies.

"Will I lose it, Doc?" Feigning fear, I press my good hand to my chest.

He rolls his eyes in my direction and presses his lips tightly together.

"It could get infected if you don't take care of it properly."

Now it's my turn to roll my eyes.

"I've done worse to myself, and look," I hold up both hands and wiggle my fingers, "I still have them all."

Not amused, he grabs my hand back and begins cleaning out the cut before placing a bandage over the injury.

"Thank you," I mumble and pull my hand away.

"No need to thank me." Smiling, he stands and kisses my forehead before I can back away.

The gesture warms me, which irritates the shit out of me.

"Damon, you need to figure out where you're going to stay."

"I have." He cleans up the first aid kit, putting things away in better order than he found them.

"You have?" Part of me is disappointed. I quell the warm fuzzy feelings and replace them with indifference.

"Yes. I'll be staying here." First aid kit put back together, he faces me with a smile, propping his hip against the counter.

"You can't stay here," I blurt. "It's too awkward and—"

"Awkward how?" He studies me with one brow raised.

"You're my…stalker?" The answer came out more like a question.
What is wrong with me!

Annoyance washes away the amusement from moments ago.

"I'm not a stalker." His words are hard, determined.

"Your actions have suggested otherwise," I mumble while I start cleaning up the kitchen.

"My actions only prove I am determined, especially when I know what I want."

I tense and my body warms, but not from his words. He stands so close behind me, his breath brushes over the back of my neck. His hands plant on the counter, trapping me. My traitorous body kicks into hormonal overdrive, every nerve-ending coming to life.

Inhaling deeply, the masculine smell of him almost melts my resolve. To clear my head, I clench my hand, causing the cut on my finger to throb.

"Stalker," I repeat.

"Liv," Mercedes calls, stopping short to take in Damon and my position. Her lips curl up on one side. "Am I interrupting?"

"What's up, Ced?" I take the moment of distraction to pull away from Damon.

"Uh, you have some fondant down there that Sarah's not sure what you were doing with and it's drying. She was going to put it away, but I told her I'd ask you about it first." Ced leans against the wall, her arms crossing over her chest. "I can finish up with Alex and then bring him down."

"I've got him," Damon interjects.

Releasing a breath of annoyance, I turn to him.

"He usually spends the day in the bakery with us."

Turning back to Ced, I ask, "You sure you can bring him down?"

"Yep." She straightens from the wall and slips into the kitchen. By the tightness of her lips, she's trying not to smile, still amused by the position she found us in.

As I pass by, I shoot her a glare.

Fifteen minutes after my return to the bakery, and the fondant, I hear one too many sets of feet on the stairs from the apartment.

Glancing up, Mercedes enters and Damon follows with Alex in his arms. The sounds of the bakery kitchen fall silent, everyone's eyes on Damon and Alex.

"Right here." Mercedes points out Alex's play area.

Damon takes a moment to look at the area before setting him down within the gate.

"This is set up really well," he comments and nods to Ced.

"We hired a safety specialist to create the space." Ced's eyes come to mine, though she is speaking to Damon. She gives me a wavering smile and quickly turns away.

"Up," Alex demands. My eyes go back to my son, who is currently holding his arms toward Damon. "Up," he demands again with a little hop.

Sitting down on the stool next to my worktable, I drop my forehead to the cold steel.

My own son, a traitor.

Damon

She watches everything I do as if I'm going to run away with the boy. Perhaps my methods have been a bit unconventional, but not once have I given her reason to think I would harm either of them.

"Up," Alex calls out.

Looking down, my chest squeezes tight.
He wants me. He's asking me to pick him up.
Quickly, I lift him into my arms. A feeling of contentment I haven’t felt in so very long relaxes my tense muscles.

His hands press over my eyes, then pull away quickly. A large grin meets me as he shouts, "Boo!”, and giggles. My own loud laugh encourages him to repeat the game he's playing.

We play the game until I catch sight of Olivia watching us. Again, she looks nervous. Ruffling Alex's hair, I give him a quick hug before placing him back in his play area. He walks over to a box full of toys and my resolve solidifies.
There's no way I'm giving this up.

I turn back toward the kitchen. Olivia has turned her attention to a cake and no one is directly staring, though a couple sets of eyes slant in my direction every few seconds before shifting away.

For a moment, I don't know what to do with myself. There are no conference calls, board meetings, client visits, or any of my mother's demands to be concerned with.
What the hell do I do with myself?

I'm contemplating climbing into the play area with my son when the phone in my pocket vibrates.

"Hello?" I answer, feeling lighter than I have in a year.

"Damon?" Hugh sounds unsure.

Turning from the bakery kitchen, I go back up the stairs to speak to my brother.

"Of course it is. Who else would answer my phone?"

"You don't sound like yourself," he states.

“Don’t I?” I smile, knowing Alex, and even Olivia, are the reason.

“No. You actually sound… I don’t know the right word for it.” He pauses. “Let’s just say you aren’t barking hello and using your typical clipped tone.”

“What can I do for you, Hugh? I’m on vacation, as you know." I follow my teasing words with a laugh.

"Now you're scaring me. Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"

"Hugh, what's the problem that couldn't wait until my return?"

"There is a complication with the Proneau Investment," he states, his voice returning to his familiar business tone.

"What complication?" I move to Olivia's living room where I've set up my laptop.

Hugh launches into the problems with Proneau. Apparently, the CFO has been accused of embezzlement.

Growling, I move my laptop to the kitchen island, push the button on my cell to activate the speaker, and begin pacing the length of the room.

"Is my mother involved?"

"Not that I know of. I haven't talked to her, but you know she has her spies around the office."

"Yes, I know. Well, if you get wind that she's meddling, let me know and I'll take care of her." Sitting on a barstool at the island, I bring up my email and start going through the documents Hugh sent.

"Did you receive the file?" Hugh breaks the short silence.

"Yes, I'm reviewing your highlights and notes now."

"So, are you with her?" Nervousness laces Hugh's question.

I sigh.

"It's not really any of your business, but yes, I am with my wife."

"Damon—"

"Don't," I warn. "I am not up for another lecture."

"I'm just concerned. Scarlett and I both think—"

"You've discussed my business with Scarlett?" Annoyance courses through me, washing out the contentment I felt just moments ago. "Why is my personal business a topic of gossip for you two?"

"It's not like that and you know it. We love and care about you, Damon." Hugh's voice raises a bit with concern. "It wasn't so long ago when you were simply trying to make it to the next day without a breakdown in your temperament. Now…now you're married to a stranger. And you've made it sound like she's your wife by force." He sighs heavily. "You cannot replace Rebecca and DJ with a new wife."

"Damn it, Hugh!" Grabbing the phone from the counter, I put it to my ear. Anger charges through my body, bringing me to my feet again. "Mind your own fucking business!" Fury seethes out of my every pore.

"Bullshit, Damon! You've been a mess since losing them. I've only just seen a scratch in the surface of who you used to be before they—"

"Shut the fuck up and listen to me, because I will only say this once, little brother." Before he can interrupt me, I continue my rant. "I am not trying to replace my son! Nothing could ever replace him or the love I have for him. And as for his poor excuse for a mother, I am definitely
not
trying to replace her."

My fingers dig into the skin just above my heart. It's beating rapidly and a vision of DJ fills my mind. Hair the color of mine, eyes a cool blue like his mother’s, and his laugh…
God
his laugh.

"The hole they left when I lost them has never gone away, regardless of the head doctors you and our father thrust upon me and all the dates you and my mother attempt to set up. Nothing, except this, makes the throbbing ache ease. They make me better."

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath.

"They?" Hugh chokes. "Damon, you didn't…I mean, you didn't marry this woman because she has a child, did you?" His frantic questioning flares my defenses back up.

"No, of course not! I found
my
son, Hugh. He's
my
son."

"What? Damon, where are you? I'm going to come get you."

He wants to fetch me home and to the asylum we will go.

Rolling my eyes, I sit back on the stool.

"I'll be back in a couple weeks. I know you don't completely understand and it's my fault for not explaining. There's no need to
collect
me or break out the straight jacket," I snort.

"Damon, please," he begs. "Don't turn me away. I want to help. You need to understand that your son is gone. He died, Damon. This boy isn't DJ."

Anger boils inside until the flesh on my face tingles from the heat of it.

"You don't fucking think I know that?! Christ, Hugh, you're not the one who has spent the past years running from memories." I slam my fist onto the counter. "I have! I know DJ is…gone. But Alex is alive and magnificent."

"Who is Alex, Damon?" Hugh’s voice calms, trying to soothe the crazy by using one of the many tactics the doctors taught my family. This question is designed to show me the difference between real and delusion.

"He's my son, Hugh. The woman I married gave birth to my biological son," I explain as clear as I can.

"You…you had an affair?" He coughs. "When did you…how…?"

I can't help but laugh.

"I didn't have an affair. More like fate dealing me a second chance to be alive again."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Defeat weakens his voice. "Just tell me where you are, Damon."

"I'm with my family." As I answer, the sound of walking catches my attention.

I glance over my left shoulder with the phone still to my ear as Hugh rambles on about needing an explanation. Olivia is standing in the room looking at me from under her furrowed brow.

"I need to go." I cut off Hugh's diatribe. "I will call you later after I've looked over the Proneau situation." I hang up on Hugh's protest and slide my phone back onto the counter.

"We need to talk." She walks stiffly, standing in front of me with her arms defensively crossed over her chest.

"Alright." I turn around on the stool, facing my body toward her.

"You need to find somewhere to stay. I can't…I'm not comfortable with you being here."

Her eyes roam over my face, searching for my reaction. I know she's waiting for my temper to flare, but nothing can kill the happiness brought back to me today by Alex. And while I'm happy and content, there will be no leaving.

With one brow raised, I purse my lips in feigned contemplation.

"No." I shake my head.

"No?" The exasperation is evident in her question.

Standing, I walk toward her. She backs up until she's next to the chair in the living room. I pass by her, close enough to brush my arm against hers, and sit on the couch. She turns to face me.

"That's what I said." Sighing, I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees. "I can only be here for a couple weeks and I want as much time as possible together."

Relief washes over her face.

"So, you're leaving in a couple weeks?"

I don't like the hopefulness of her question.

"Yes, however, I would like for you and Alex to join me." I raise my hand, stopping her protest. "I want you both to meet my family and see what New York has to offer."

"No," she answers, giving me a
go ahead, argue with me
look.

"No?" My frustration begins running higher, leaking into my words.

“That’s what I said.” She kicks my words back at me.

Narrowing my eyes, I sit up straight and frown.

“You won’t allow me to introduce Alex to
his
family?”

She sighs and walks around, slouching into the chair across from me.

"Damon, I said I would allow you to know Alex. You know I won't go to meet your family. And you should realize I won't allow you to take Alex either."

Allow me? She won't allow me to introduce my son to his family?!

I inhale deeply and exhale the large breath, hoping it will quell some of my anger.

"My family will meet my son and I will take him to meet them."

"I want proof you're really his father," she snaps, sitting up straight on the edge of the chair. Her hands grip the arms of the chair so tight, her knuckles turn white.

"You want a paternity test?" I smirk.

"Damn straight I do. Like I'll just take your word as fact. We both know you have deceitful tendencies," she sneers.

I can't keep my laughter at bay.

"Oh, Olivia, if you think I'm lying and this is the way to rid yourself of me, you are sadly mistaken."

Her body tenses at my words.

"Ah, so that's what you're hoping for?" I ask, rhetorically.

Standing from the couch, I walk to my phone and put it to my ear.

“What are you doing?” She pushes out of the chair and stands.

Putting up a finger, I silence her while I wait for my call to be answered.

“Damon?” His voice is as professional as always.

“Good afternoon, Father. I need to ask a favor.”

“Of course, what can I do for you?” He sounds distracted. Maybe I interrupted him during his rounds.

“Can you call in a favor from a doctor in Pittsburgh? I need a blood test.” My eyes meet Olivia’s anxious, wide eyes.

"A blood test? Are you okay? Did something happen?" Going into full doctor mode, Dr. Knyght has taken the place of my father.

"Everything is fine, I assure you. Actually, it’s quite better than fine.” I keep my eyes locked on Olivia’s. “I need a paternity test done. Today would be great, if we can."