Pretending She's Mine

“Wouldn’t be concerned? You do realize that’s Journey Tessier? Her pinky finger is worth more than your entire body.” Dante’s voice was the highest-pitched in the room.

I thought Dante was being overly dramatic and rude. His exaggerated tone usually came off as charming but, right now, it made him sound like an ass.

“Miss Tessier is in excellent care. I’d like to take her into surgery to stop this bleeding. She’s not clotting on her own. And our plastics team will do their best to ensure minimal scarring.”

There was a long pause and I waited to hear how Dante would handle the information.

“Fine. But if it’s not absolutely perfect there will be a lawsuit.”

Shit, Dante. I don’t want to sue anyone.

“Let us help her. I understand you’re worried, but it doesn’t do anyone any good to start threatening legal battles before we even have her stable.”

Stable? I’m not stable?

My stomach flipped before twisting into a permanent knot.

The calm man continued, “Once she’s out of surgery we can assess if there are any significant brain injuries. But the bump on the back of her head is indicative of the hard hit she took on the pavement. I see no signs of a concussion. We have to stop this bleeding first.”

“Why isn’t she awake then?” Dante asked.

Good question. I’d like an answer.

There was a buzz of activity around me. I couldn’t open my eyes to see it, but I could feel it. Everything had shifted into another gear and there were more people in the room. People were whispering as they moved in all directions.

My body started to float and I realized I was being rolled somewhere. The wheels squeaked on linoleum.

Wait? I’m having surgery? What’s wrong with my arm? I need answers before you do this to me.

Dante called, “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll be right here waiting for you. You’ve got this. There’s nothing to worry about.”

A chill ran through me. Isn’t that what Tristan said just before…before…I couldn’t remember. It sounded familiar. It sounded so recent. But something inside told me not to try and figure it out. I shouldn’t press too hard. I shouldn’t question it. It was better to follow the sleep. Just sleep.

Three

Asher

I hated hospitals. Fucking despised them. This one wasn’t any better. High-dollar art on the walls and classical music in the waiting rooms didn’t erase the smell of antiseptic in the air. They could lay as many marble tiles as they wanted, set out expensive orchids—it didn’t change what this place was. Celebrities died and decayed like everyone else. I wondered if they thought adding this gloss and shine could change the outcome.

My two best agents followed closely behind me. I rarely traveled without them.

It shouldn’t have been so easy for me to gain access to this wing. I glared at the security guard watching as I walked past. Amateurs. They had no business being in charge of people’s safety. The press was camped outside, and I hadn’t seen any attempts to ask for their credentials or keep them from infiltrating the hospital. Who was in charge?

I had time to think on the flight to L.A., but not enough. The last couple of years should have been all the time I needed, but I had developed and fine-tuned a mechanism for blocking out anything related to Journey. I never saw her movies. I turned off the TV if she was being interviewed. I nev

er read the articles about her. I focused on building Westbrook Securities for my daughter. I wanted an empire that would keep her safe. It kept me away from Journey. I had deceived myself into believing it was a better alternative.

Until now.

We continued past the nurses’ station as I scanned the numbers on the doors. I heard the men’s heels hit heavy on the floor behind me, announcing our arrival. I was tempted to call in more of the Weston Securities force to fortify the entire wing. I had to face Journey first. I stopped in front of her door.

Room 321.

I wasn’t ready for this.

“Wait here,” I directed the agents. “Don’t let anyone in. Keep an eye on this hallway.”

“Of course.”