The Scandal (Billionaire's Beach Book 4) (19 page)

“This is where we lived,” he told Essie.

Her eyes widened. “Here?”

“Not quite like your Bel-Air digs.”

“Our mother lived
here
?”

Joaquin grinned at her shocked tone. “Hard to imagine Renata’s wardrobe fitting into one of the units, let alone a single closet. But yes, she was here for a while before the divorce.”

Essie shook her head. “It’s not that it looks rat-infested or anything…”

“But maybe you can see why our mother moved on to better things.”

His sister darted him a quick look. “She’s not proud of leaving you and Felipe, you know.”

“Don’t worry, hon,” he said, patting her shoulder. “Renata’s conscience may prick, but the truth is Dad would never have let go of his meal ticket and his meal ticket’s little sidekick.”

Her brows rose. “You were the sidekick.”

“Definitely. Dad had hopes that I’d get infected with the acting bug like Felipe, but it was never for me.”

“He really liked it then? Felipe? It wasn’t just your dad pushing him into it?”

“Nah.” Joaquin rubbed his jaw with his hand. “It’s true that our big brother was being spooned baby cereal for commercials before he could speak a line or go without a nap, but later…it was all him.”

“Our big brother,” Essie repeated, as if trying out the phrase.

“Point a camera at him, and he lit up. I don’t know if he practiced the way he could turn just so—I never caught him at it, anyway—but then, he made everything look natural.”

“Girls—”

“All over him. And he soaked up the attention, but also knew that it was the fame and the money that was part of the allure. He always told me I was the lucky one, because the girls who came my way liked me for myself.”

Essie frowned. “It’s not as if you’re hard to look at.”

He smiled at her. “You, either.”

“Would he…would Felipe…” She glanced down at her hands. “Would he have liked a little sister, do you think?”

Joaquin’s chest tightened. “Sure.” And he was almost glad she’d never met Felipe, because her loss would have been greater to know him and then to lose him.

Fucking Felipe.

Something hot and ugly churned in his gut. He breathed through the pain of it, then ruthlessly willed it away. “Do you want to see the park where they put up a plaque in his honor? It’s not far. Our father donated money for a building in his name after he died.”

They drove there, and this time they got out and walked on a shady path to the Felipe Cielo Youth Center. Inside it was clean and there was ping pong, a foosball table, couches and bookshelves filled with magazines and books.

Some kids lay on the carpeted floor, staring at their phone screens.

In the distance down a hallway, he could hear the splat of a bouncing basketball on hardwood. They headed that way, and Joaquin was drawn up short when he noticed the framed photos on the walls. Enlarged stills from the set of Felipe’s three major movies, including
New Kid
. There was even a photo of Joaquin, skinny and sullen-looking, on the weed-choked playground from the opening scene.

What would he tell that kid if he could go back in time and talk to him?

Watch your brother more closely. Tell your
father Felipe’s
out of control.

As if that would have helped.

That burn began in his belly again, but once more he quelled it.

“I’ve got another place we should visit,” he said, turning from the old photo. “Let’s go.”

Their next destination wasn’t a shady, residential street, but the gaudy circus of Hollywood Boulevard with its throngs of tourists and strutting “superheroes” and “celebrities” willing to make a photo op in trade for some cash. Musicians played on the street corners, banjos and fiddles and a group of Peruvian musicians with pan flutes. With his arm around Essie’s narrow shoulders, he threaded them both through the crowd of people, their heads bent as they scrutinized the Walk of Fame.

There were stars—five-pointed, pink terrazzo, outlined with brass—embedded in the sidewalk naming entertainment notables in the categories of radio, theater, television, music, and film. Some were ignored by the visitors because the names were of people long gone and forgotten by most. Others became places where fans lay tributes. When they came upon Felipe’s, Joaquin wasn’t surprised to find it scrubbed, polished, and with half-a-dozen fresh, blood-red roses placed across the tile.

Essie crouched, then used one finger to trace his name. With that same fingertip she brushed the petals of a flower. “I didn’t know he has his own star. Mom never said.”

Joaquin cleared his throat. “He would have gotten a kick out of it,” he said. “And of you visiting.”

Fucking Felipe
, he cursed again,
missing out on all this
. But he sucked the viciousness from the thought and stood behind his sister so that the mass of people flowed around them. When Essie finally stood, she hung on to Joaquin’s elbow and looked up.

“Thank you,” she said, with their brother’s smile.

“You’re welcome,” he replied and led her back to his car.

She seemed lighter in spirit now, so he decided the afternoon called for a little more driving. He headed up Laurel Canyon Boulevard and then turned onto Mulholland Drive. As they wound along the ridgeline of the Santa Monica Mountains, he heard Essie release a little sigh.

The sound spurred him to pull into a generous overlook that offered a stupendous view of the Los Angeles basin. He turned off the car and stretched his arms overhead. Then he glanced at Essie.

“So are you ready to talk now?”

She shifted in her seat to turn his way. “I’m ready to talk about you.”

“Me?” He blinked at her. “Why me?” But he heard Sara’s voice in his head.
She wanted to find a way to feel close to you.
Of course Felipe wasn’t the only sibling missing from the girl’s life.

“I’m a boring business guy,” he confessed.

“We’ve already established that.”

“Brat,” he said, laughing. “We would have won that paddle boat race if you and RJ weren’t such cheaters.”

“And if Sara had managed to stay out of the water.”

He thought of the figure the butler had made when he’d fished her out. For the first time he’d verified the sweetness of the curves beneath the plain, loose-fitting clothes. And there’d been a fire in her eye he’d not seen before—and that definitely had been extinguished during the last few days. Frowning, he considered the reasons for her renewed detachment.

“Mom says you’re done with Portland and moving back to Southern California,” Essie said, interrupting his ruminations.

“Yeah.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “We sold off a division that was—” With a chuckle, he stopped himself from further explanation. “Never mind. Boring business stuff.”

She smiled at him, and it compelled him to make promises. “So I’ll definitely be around your life more, Essie.” Even if that meant dealing with Renata and the ways she made him crazy. He looked into the distance, then pointed at the cluster of buildings that comprised downtown Los Angeles. From this far away, it looked like some kind of futuristic imperial stronghold. “That spire there on the left? We have the penthouse offices.”

Essie’s hand tented over her eyes. “Cool. I bet it has a great view. Can we go see it?”

Joaquin hesitated. “Not today.” Then he decided that if he wanted her to open up, he might have to start first. “Can you keep a secret?”

Her brown eyes went huge. “Sure.”

“I, uh, my doctor says I need to stay out of the office until the beginning of next month.”

“You’re sick?” One hand crept to her throat.

“No. Not really. I’m…well, I’ve been stressed from all the boring business work. I had chest pains, went to get them checked out and—”

“You’re not going to die are you?” Essie’s big eyes welled with tears.

“No, honey. No.”
Shit.
“What I’m going to do is take it easy now, and when I return to work I’m going to do it like a normal person. Forty-hour work weeks. Evenings and weekends off.”

She looked doubtful. “You’re not very good at relaxing. You admit you have no hobbies.”

“I’m getting better with the relaxing! I go for runs on the beach—”

“That’s not relaxing.”

“Far more like it than when I’d use the treadmill desk and work on my computer while putting in five miles.”

Essie narrowed her eyes. “You definitely need a hobby.”

“I’m going to take up gardening,” he said on a whim.

His sister hooted. “Yeah, right.”

He thought of the fascinated hours he’d watched Sara fussing with the plants and tending to the flowers. When she walked by afterward she’d smell like earth and sunshine and growing things, and he’d want to lick and nuzzle her heated skin.

“We need a vegetable garden,” he decided. “Tomatoes and…and…cucumbers and those big purple things that look vaguely obscene.”

More giggles from the sixteen-year-old. “
This
I gotta see.”

And Joaquin smiled, satisfied as she continued to laugh at his expense. Maybe she hadn’t told him what caused her to frown so much, but he’d brought that brightness back to her face. It was a good first step for a big brother.

Sara took a deep breath and then strode into the great room. It was night and Joaquin was stretched on one of the couches in front of the enormous television, channel surfing.

She cleared her throat.

He glanced over, his brows rising in surprise, and slowly sat up. “Did you want to watch something on the big screen? You’re welcome to it.”

“No.” Struggling to keep her composure, she clasped her hands together at her waist. “I wondered if I could have a word with you.”

“Sure.” Patting the cushion beside him, he sent her a smile. “Sit down.”

“In my quarters.”

His brows came together. “Your quarters.”

“Yes. Where we’ll have privacy.”

Without waiting for his agreement, she turned on her heel and walked in that direction, hoping she didn’t appear to be stomping. She felt like stomping. And yelling. Any outlet for her temper and her alarm would be welcome.

He stepped in behind her and she swung shut the door, then pressed back against it. For a moment a memory flashed in her mind. Her body just here, Joaquin’s against it, his mouth greedy on hers.

But she shoved it aside and slammed her arms across her chest. “I promised Essie I wouldn’t say anything, but I just can’t hold my tongue.”

His eyes widened. “Uh—”

“How could you!” Emotions tangled inside her—anger and worry and that love that she shouldn’t be feeling. “How could you keep quiet about something like this?”

Joaquin frowned. “Did Essie tell you—”

“Yes,” Sara hissed. “Yes, she told me.”

“She made me a promise not to say anything.”

Sara flicked that away with an impatient wave of her hand. “And I promised her in turn that I wouldn’t say a word about it to you. But here we are anyway.”

“Look. It’s no big deal—”

“It’s a big deal to Essie! It’s a big deal to…to…” She hauled in a breath and told herself to calm. “It’s important the butler be made aware of all health considerations going on in the household.”

That made him grin. “Christ, I love your butler-speak. It’s so…I don’t know. Charmingly starchy? Endearingly proper?”

“And you’re annoyingly maddening!” she retorted, nearly shouting. “How could you have neglected to mention you’ve experienced chest pains?”

“Not recently,” he said, his tone mild.

It only served to stoke her ire. Sara pushed away from the door and stepped past him to take a calming turn about the room. The large space had an adjacent attached bath and tiny kitchenette. Besides the bed and side tables there was a sitting area with a loveseat, chair, and a flat-screen TV on a console. Taking in calming breaths, she made a minute adjustment to the position of the chair, swiped a speck of dust off the television with the edge of her sleeve, and smoothed the already smooth coverlet stretched over the mattress and sheets.

“You did something different to your hair,” Joaquin observed.

Self-conscious, she put her hand to it. That afternoon, following the visit from the furnace repairperson, she’d gone to a salon in town—recommended by Charlie, naturally—and had her hair restored to her natural shade. Still blonde, but with a honey base. The platinum strands were only highlights now, and she liked them. Her old self but with a bit of Malibu sun on top.

“Yes, well…” Looking down, she pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t say anything silly such as,
Do you like it?

“It’s very pretty,” Joaquin said. “Very, very pretty.”

“Thanks,” she couldn’t prevent a quick smile at him.

“You should let me take it out to dinner again. Well, your hair
and
you.”

She’d borrow a dress from Emmaline or Charlie. Or maybe she’d buy a new dress, though her finances were already wincing after the hit at the hair salon.

“I heard about this place up the coast,” Joaquin continued. “The best fried—”

“Fried!” Whirling to face him, she jammed her fists on her hips. “Okay, for a moment I got sidetracked, but now we’re going to have this out. A man who has had chest pains is off fried foods. Permanently.”

“C’mon, Sara…”

“And we’re cutting down on your sweets and limiting your alcohol intake and—”

“Next you’re going to tell me I can’t have sex.”

Now her own heart seized. She threw up her hand and pressed against it. “Oh, God, were you not supposed to have sex? Could I…? Did we…?”

“Yeah, baby, you killed me.” He rolled his eyes and held out his arms from his body. “I’m here, aren’t I? Healthy-looking? I venture to say maybe even handsome? How about hunky?”

Her eyes pricked with hot tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

On a sigh, Joaquin reached forward and pulled her against him. “Because the situation doesn’t require a ban on fried foods and fucking.”

Pressing her palms to his shoulders, she pushed away enough to see his face. “What does it require?”

“Sleeping, eating three meals a day, letting the day-to-day stress of running the business fall on someone else’s shoulders for a few weeks.”