decided they had to be marking up everything. But he bought the bread, and some milk, too. Why, he had no idea, but wasn’t that something that normal people did—bought stuff they didn’t need or couldn’t afford? He bought a candy bar as well. Why not. He looked over fishing gear, decided that was a waste of his time. He was about as likely to catch a bass as he was to hook Paris.
And he kept thinking about her.
That kiss last night—she’d tasted like that turpentine whiskey of her dad’s with a flavor underneath that had to be her own. Something sweet. She’d been warm, soft—and he had to admit he was disappointed that kiss hadn’t gone anywhere. What was she hanging out for? Another husband? Or something else?
He rubbed a hand over his face. He hadn’t shaved, but had gone out in a light sweatshirt and jeans and loafers. He wondered if he looked even more like his cover story—like that bum artist. Was that a point against him as far as Paris was concerned?
He’d had a couple of relationships that had lasted longer than a month or two. But in general he liked to keep things simple. He dated models who wanted to get their names and faces in front of the cameras. They loved the press. He loved them. They parted with smiles.
He avoided the society girls who were generally looking at his net worth and angling for a ring on their left hand. Every now and then he wondered if he should look for more than a maid who kept his house or an assistant who kept his schedule or a drinking buddy who could be counted on for a good time. But why? He didn’t see any point to passing along his genetic material, and for the rest of it—
A mom came out of the post office, a little girl in pigtails in her arms. He stopped and watched them. Mom seemed to be trying to cheer up the girl, who looked ready to throw a fit. She threw her doll to the pavement and mom bent to pick it up. He smiled. He could see Paris with a kid like that—red headed, both of them, with tempers to match. He wondered if Paris wanted kids.
He shook his head and turned his back on the mom and her kid.
But something stirred in him, a ridiculous tug that wouldn’t be ignored. He’d had to buy something at the store just to try and be normal, but what was he going to do with any of it? Turning back to mom, he walked over and held out his bag. “Here. She’s probably starving and you are, too, I’ll bet.” The mom stared at him. But she stood and took the bag. Dominic bent down in front of the kid. “You behave. You keep pulling a face like that and it’s going to freeze that way and then where will you be?”
The kid stared at him, eyes wide, her face bunched up like she wanted to start crying, but frozen now. He touched her nose. She blinked. Smiling at the mom, he straightened, turned, and walked away.
Ah, what the hell was he doing here? Pretending to be normal! That was a joke.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, got in his car, and started driving.
His entire life had been about building wealth—well, okay, about showing the old man he wouldn’t starve. Ever. Now he realized he hadn’t thought beyond that. He’d had a goal with no end. How could there ever be enough money or wealth to top the empire his father had built? But did he even care about that anymore?
He thought back to the guy who’d shot at him. Those could have been real bullets. His life could have ended there. He’d have ended with an obituary on the front page and not much more. He glanced around and saw he’d driven past the town. Pulling over, he glimpsed a tiny graveyard, not much more than a few granite stones chunked into the duff of the pines. Stopping the car, he got out and stared at the scene.
This is where we all end up.
When he’d lost his mother, he’d been damn sure he’d never feel so much for anyone again. He’d missed her every day of his life. But had he done anything to reactivate her charities? Or to make her memory a lasting one? Or to carry on her legacy of laughter? Hell, maybe he really was becoming his old man. Maybe he couldn’t help that. Or maybe…maybe if his mother had lived his father might have been a different man. The thought shook him.
Dominic glanced at the graves, got back in his car, and headed back to the hotel. But he was starting to wonder what he’d be like if he found someone who would love him as much as his mother had loved his father.
***
“Afternoon, Michael. Don’t suppose you have lunch, do you.” Dominic gave the bartender a wave and slid onto a seat at the bar. “Oh, and you might’ve warned me about that rocket fuel last night.”
Michael let out a laugh. He slid a bowl of peanuts onto the bar. “Dinner is my specialty. But you might talk Paris out of sandwich. And why should I have ruined all the fun of you finding out for yourself?”
“Ah, you’re someone who thinks we have to learn by doing.” Reaching over, Dominic scooped out a handful of peanuts. “Where is Paris, by the way? Don’t tell me she is still hitting the books.”
“Not my place to answer.” Michael leaned on the bar. “But, yes, she is. Accounting isn’t one of her strong points.”
A distant cursing carried out to the bar. Dominic grinned. “Sounds like the numbers are winning the battle. Will she kill me if I offer help?”
Michael’s eyebrows lifted. “An artist who knows numbers?”
Dominic waved a hand and stood. “Hey, I am not a walking cliché. I’ll just follow the cursing.” He wandered back into the lobby. He didn’t have far to go to find the source of the cloud of profanity gathering.
Paris’ office opened off the main lobby. She’d left the door behind the counter open and the cursing got louder and more creative. Dominic stopped in the doorway to admire.
She perched on the edge of her chair, a T-shirt tight enough to let him see her bra strap and the curve of her spine. She had freckles on the backs of her arms and from the way she sat—forward and tense—he was going to guess this wasn’t her favorite part of her job.
She sat in front of a computer and flat screen monitor, stacks of papers around her. If she had an organizing system, he couldn’t guess what it was. Muttering another curse, she pounded the entry key with the eraser side of a pencil. “Why won’t you add you stupid, fricking—”
“Keep pounding like that and you’re going to give the poor thing a complex.”
She whirled around. She had pulled her hair up and back, but strands escaped to frame her face. She blushed a bright red as she stared at him, and then relaxed back in her office chair and smiled. “You’re not supposed to sneak up on a girl like that.”