Four

FOUR

W e had both unpacked, then showered and changed, and later, in the elevator, on our way to dinner, I smiled when I noted him scowling at me. "What now? You thinking we should have taken the stairs so you could have shoved me down a flight or something?"

"I didn't hurt you when I?—"

"You don't know that. Maybe I'm delicate," I teased him.

"Just… Listen. I got a world-class blowjob and you got nothing," he said, shaking his head. "I feel terrible, and I'm very concerned that you won't think me a fit companion to spend your time with."

I squinted at him. "I enjoyed the hell out of having you, and why on earth would you feel terrible when you enjoyed it?"

"I want you to be excited about having sex with me. How does me being a selfish asshole, not taking care of you at all, make any kind of good impression?"

I turned into him then, pressing my face into the side of his neck as I knocked him gently back against the wall of the elevator. "You made a great impression, and I can't wait to get back in bed with you. It was fun, and we talked, and I loved every minute of that."

He wrapped his arms around me, clutching me to him, holding me tight. "You did? You swear?"

"Intimacy isn't just screwing, you know that."

"I do know that," he husked, his breath warm on my skin. "But most people don't."

"I'm not most people."

"No, you're not," he agreed, smiling at me.

One arm wrapped around my shoulders, his other hand went to my face before he lifted and kissed me. Hard. He wasn't messing around, he was staking his claim, and since I myself was possessive, I loved finding it in others.

When the elevator dinged as we reached the first floor, it took a moment for us to pull apart. I didn't want to move and so lingered there, in front of him, getting myself under control, taking several breaths.

"You really do want me," he whispered, not letting me go, holding me still, lips hovering over mine as the doors closed and the elevator started climbing again.

"Everybody wants you," I assured him.

"No," he said flatly. "They want whatever character I played that turned them on. They want a version of me, not the real Ash Lennox who's an introvert with a very low social battery."

"Is that right?"

"I like people, I'm good with them, but once I'm done… It's why I never stay at award show after-parties very long, except for this one time with my father, Sherman Todd."

"Your stepfather?"

"I think of him as my father, as Mr. Walder never was one."

"Got it. Okay, so you and your father went out, let's hear about that." I grinned because that sounded like a story worth hearing.

"The horror."

"Really?"

"You have no idea."

"Because he was with you or––"

"I just don't enjoy parties."

"Even with all your friends around you?" I asked, leaning sideways to push the lobby button for the second time.

"I have very few people I'd call friends. I know many, but my circle is small."

"Well, you can count on me for that—when you're ready to go, we'll get outta there. You're my priority."

"Because you're paid to look out for me."

I scowled at him. "Even if you called off the contract right now, I would stay here with you because for one, I like you, and for two, I wanna get laid."

"Do you? Really?"

"Do I really what?"

"Want to get laid?"

"Yes," I replied, grinning at him.

"Well, then have me and stop talking."

I chuckled. "No more talking? Not at all?"

He growled. "You're making me crazy."

"I don't hate that," I teased him. "But I very much want to have you under me."

His smile lit up his eyes, made them glow green fire. "And I believe you," he whispered, taking my mouth, bumping me back into the wall of the elevator just as it dinged and stopped.

Breaking the kiss as people got on, I loved seeing the flush on his cheeks.

"I like you so much," he said under his breath.

"I'm a bit enamored myself," I replied with a waggle of eyebrows.

"Ohmygod! You're Ashford Lennox," one of the women said, and that was the end of us talking until we reached the lobby.

There was a line, of course there was, and I saw that the entire restaurant, the only one at the inn, was reserved for the welcome-to-the-wedding dinner.

"I have never been to a wedding like this in my life," he told me. "Have you?"

"Can't say that I have." I took hold of his hand, stepping in close to him. "My sisters all had more traditional weddings, with just the rehearsal dinner and the wedding the next day. It wasn't this big summer blockbuster you're paying for."

He turned to me slowly. "You know about that?"

I nodded. "Your agent told my boss."

"Levi," he grumbled. "Certain things the man will take to his grave, others—forget it."

"So why?"

"Bitsy's parents weren't going to foot the bill as they don't want her marrying Orson."

"Why? What's wrong with Orson?"

"Money."

"As in, he doesn't have any, or he has no prospects?"

"He's just starting out, they both are. She's twenty-two, he's twenty-three. They both need some time."

"So because you believe in love, you're paying for the wedding."

He bumped me with his shoulder. "I'm paying for the wedding because her folks backed out at the last minute. Bitsy was getting calls from everyone saying that deposits were nonrefundable no matter what her mother wanted."

"That's horrible."

"Yeah. Imagine thinking everything is set for your big day, and your parents pull the rug out from under you and demand you give them their money back."

"So you did what?"

"I sent her folks what they were out, had Bitsy call all her vendors—the bakery, the florist, this inn, etc.—and put my billing information on everything."

"If someone trashes their room, that's on you, then."

"It is not," he informed me. "All this big-ticket stuff, like the open bar at the wedding, that's on me. Rooms, things like the eight a.m. bridal boat ride around the bay the morning after the bachelorette party…that's on other people's credit cards."

I had to take a moment. "Someone planned a boat ride at eight in the morning after the bachelorette party?"

He cackled.

"All that's gonna be is barfing."

His eyes were dancing as he looked at me.

"That's evil."

"Yeah. I don't know what her maid of honor is thinking. I'm wondering if they're really even friends."

"So are Bitsy's parents even here?"

"Oh, of course, and everyone thinks they're footing the bill."

"That's not fair."

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me. I don't need people to know my business. Bitsy knows, I know, Orson knows. Those are the ones who matter."

"Okay."

"You sound so convinced." His snort of laughter made me smile.

More and more people got in line behind us, either not noticing him or maybe, since they weren't watching him in a theater or on TV, had no idea who he was.

"You're a real prick, you know that?" a man said, striding across the lobby toward us. He had to be in his late forties, early fifties, tall, handsome, looking a bit like Ash but not at all in his league.

Immediately, I stepped in front of Ash as he reached us.

"Who the hell are you?" he barked at me.

"Who are you?" I replied, my voice as sharp as his.

"It's okay, he's my half brother Hunter," Ash explained as I moved aside so the two of them could face off. "And he's always mad when we speak, normally on the phone, and this time he's upset because I didn't allow him to borrow money against his son Rafferty's trust fund."

"All you had to do was sign the?—"

"It's not what our father wanted," Ash said flatly.

"Like you would know. You never even lived with him," he retorted. "It's not like he ever thought of you as a son."

Ash nodded. "Perhaps. And yet, I'm the one in charge of the Walder estate."

"There's another hearing on that," he spat at Ash. "We'll see what happens."

"Certainly," Ash agreed as Hunter spun around and headed back toward the restaurant, to a table I could see from where we were standing.

Once he was gone, I saw Ash tip his neck from side to side as though releasing tension.

"Are you afraid of being removed as executor at this hearing?"

He scoffed. "There have been seventeen of these hearings, and nothing's happened yet. The will went through probate years ago, and the board of trustees that sign off on my continued tenure, assess all my decisions, and make recommendations to the CFO, have all reported back that I should remain in position. Three years ago, when I tried to resign, I was told that as my father's will stipulated me as executor, if I stepped down, all the trusts would come under review and be frozen during that time. That means anyone counting on money to go to school was screwed. I couldn't have that, so I took it back."

"So really, he's stuck with you and should wrap his brain around that fact."

"That's right."

"Well, once we're sitting down, I want you to tell me all about this, all right?"

"Oh no, I don't want to waste good dinner conversation on this. I'll tell you now."

"But"—I gestured ahead of us and then behind—"we're not alone, yeah?"

He shook his head. "None of this is a secret. Everyone here who's a Walder, or related to one, knows my role in the food chain. No one cares about this."

"Okay, then, hit me."

"My father—and you probably got this from the file my agent sent your boss—was Coleman Walder. I imagine that means nothing to you, but his family made their money in railroads and steel back in the day, and then he moved the company into oil and natural gas when he took the reins in the late fifties."

"So he was a very rich man."

"Yes. When he passed away, five years ago now, he had billions."

"I'm sorry you lost him."

"Thank you, but we weren't at all close. The important part here is that he came from old money and then made more himself, and it all grew from there. The company, Walder Industrial, still makes a mint."

"And where do you come in?"

"My mother, Barbara Lennox, who teaches high school English now, was a secretary in his office, working her way through college to become a high school English teacher. This was in the late eighties, in New York. They met when he was between wives."

"They fell in love," I said, smiling.

He scoffed. "No. He knocked her up and offered her money to terminate the pregnancy."

"This isn't a very good story."

Instantly, he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. "I love that you care."

"Go on."

"Well, once he realized my mother was keeping me, he had her sign an NDA, which she did, and he gave her a lump sum to cover child support until I was eighteen. But she also made him create a college trust fund for me, as she knew he'd done for all his other children—she's always thinking ahead."

"I already like your mother."

"Yeah. She's scary in the best way."

"What about her family?"

"Her parents and sisters were very supportive of her moving out of state to Denver so no one could see her unwed and pregnant."

"Ah. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. She's always steered her own boat, you know? Once she got the money, she left New York for the west."

"It had to have been lonely for you, growing up without grandparents or aunts and uncles and cousins," I said sadly.

My family was huge. My father was the youngest of seven, my mother of eight. There were always what seemed like hundreds of people around all the time, and even more during the holidays. I still saw everyone all the time, and I couldn't imagine anything different. I had no idea what I would have done without the giant safety net that was my family.

"Not at all. No one makes friends faster than Barbara Lennox. Complete strangers will unburden themselves to her on buses and in line at the bank. It's insane. I can leave her for like five minutes, come back, and she'll say, that poor woman is having such a terrible time with her son, but we're all crossing our fingers that rehab will take this time ."

I smiled. "She sounds just like mine."

"Oh, that's good," he said, grinning. "They'll be fast friends."

"Go on," I prodded him, touched that he cared about our mothers becoming pals.

"So two years after we moved, she met a man named Sherman Todd, another teacher who taught photography and shop, and finally figured out what true love was all about."

I sighed deeply. "I take it back, this is a very good story."

"Yeah, I knew you'd like that."

"Did they have any kids?"

"Sherman is genetically predisposed to some things he didn't want to pass on, and since my mother's pregnancy with me was tough, they decided they would both focus on me and themselves, and between the two of them, I could not have asked for more balanced, loving parents."

"Do you call Sherman Dad?"

"I called him Papa when I was little because that's what he called his, and when I got older, Pop. He really enjoys Pop."

"And so you grew up having no idea about your biological father?"

"I mean, I knew of him, his name, but that was it."

"Until when?"

"Until he called out of the blue and wanted to meet me. I was living in LA at the time, working as a waiter, struggling actor and all that, and he was going to be in town on business, so I agreed."

"You must have been curious."

"I was. I remember the first thing I did was thank him for my college tuition."

"What did he say?"

"He said he was happy the money helped me and that he was sorry he hadn't reached out sooner."

"I bet it was awkward."

"You have no idea," he said with a roll of his eyes.

"Do you look like him?"

"No. I look like my mother's grandfather more than anyone."

"He must have been a handsome man."

"Smooth talker."

I shrugged.

"Yeah, so, he wanted to get to know the son he didn't raise."

"Because?"

"I think mostly because his own kids didn't necessarily like him. But when you don't make time for people, how are they supposed to care about you?"

"So he was busy making money, and all his kids grew up without him being around."

"That's right. It's very ‘Cat's in the Cradle.'"

I chuckled. "There's a reference I haven't heard for years."

"I suspect your mother listened to the same seventies music as mine did."

"Yeah," I said, grinning. "Do you think Mr. Walder thought that maybe he could have a redo with you?"

"I don't think he had any illusions about that. I mean, we both knew we were never gonna be close, but whenever he was in town on business, he always took time out of his schedule to see me and buy me dinner."

"He didn't offer to buy you a house or something?"

"No. I made it clear from the beginning that I didn't want anything from him at all."

"What did your mom and pop say?"

"She said to make my own choices where he was concerned, but I know her, and she was thrilled when I told her I didn't take a dime from the man. She always sent me monthly care boxes from home. That was all I really needed. And Pop, I think he was pleased as well. He never said anything, but he likes being my father, whom I took with me one year to the Academy Awards and the after-party."

"Oh, I want to hear more about this. G'head."

He looked pained all of a sudden. "You haven't lived until you've seen your father lead a conga line. I wanted to go home, he wanted to party until the next morning. He was a wild man."

"What did your mother say?"

"That he used to dance in a mosh pit when he was younger. I had no idea."

I couldn't help laughing. "You're saying Sherman was the life of the party?"

"Don't let the name fool you," he said, shaking his head over the memory. "He drank people under the table. The last time I saw Brad Pitt, the first thing he said to me was, how's your old man, Len ?"

"I love this."

He groaned.

"Okay, so when did everything happen with the trust?"

"Two years before Walder passed, he asked if he could put me in charge. And as I mentioned, it's been a bumpy ride, with the likes of Hunter popping up on occasion."

Something had been nagging at me, and it suddenly occurred to me what it was. "Where's Benny?"

"Well, now, I think somebody's been following me on Instagram," he said, grinning crazily.

"I do. Yes. He's a cutie."

"Benny's my boy," he gushed, pulling his cell phone from the breast pocket of his suit jacket, opening it, and showing me yet another picture of the black pit bull mix—I'd seen so many over the years, just like all the rest of his fifty million followers. "He just turned four."

I had seen him in a birthday hat and scarf, and watched the reel of him demolishing a piece of cake while lots of celebrities clapped in the background.

"And he normally travels with me everywhere, but the inn has a no-dogs-allowed policy."

"Who's watching him now?"

"He's in Denver with my mom and pop and their three demon dogs."

"Demons?"

"You sounded skeptical there," he said haughtily, "as though you think I'm overstating the facts. I am not."

I loved this playful side of him.

"Sir, I must inform you that my parents have chihuahuas," he said with a shudder. "And they are a horror."

"Oh, come on."

"Six months ago, Benny and I were there visiting, and Benny had to get an allergy shot. My mother made the appointment, and when I walked in with him—and not my mother with one of her dogs—the receptionist nearly wept with relief."

I shook my head at him. "You're such a liar."

"No," he insisted. "I'm telling you; the vet was so relieved to see Benny instead of one of my mother's dogs, she hugged him, then me, and didn't charge me a dime."

"Could that be because you're you?"

"No. Not at all. If I had brought one of the trinity of evil, she would not have been so nice to me."

"They can't be that bad; chihuahuas are tiny and supercute."

He grunted. "They don't like me, and I don't like them."

"Do they like Benny?"

"Thankfully yes, though he does do a lot of swimming in the pool at my mom's house to get away from them."

He had many pictures of his dog, more than of his celebrity pals, sunsets, or himself. In fact, there were hardly any of him other than at awards shows.

"As one of the many fans who follow you on Instagram, I would request more photos of you and less of the dog."

He turned those big green eyes on me. "But he's so cute."

"You're pretty cute yourself, and we would all like to see more of your abs."

His scowl made me choke out a laugh.

"It's important to take away the stigma people have against bully breeds," he insisted.

"Yes, it is, but maybe pics of both Benny and you lying in the sun, and you in all your different suits and tuxedos, not just your dog."

"I'll consider that."

"It's also good to show a little skin."

"You're kind of a pervert. I don't know if you're aware."

I grunted.

"No argument from you?"

"I'd like to see you in less clothes."

His eyes heated so fast, I nearly swallowed my tongue. The man was not only breathtaking, but ridiculously sexy as well. When he leaned close, I could feel my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest.

"I would like to see you in less clothes as well," he whispered in my ear. "What do you say we skip this, go upstairs, order room service, and you strip down for me so I can give you all the attention you deserve."

It was the best offer I would ever get, I had no doubt, but he'd made the decision to come to this wedding before knowing me, and I didn't want him to have any regrets. I had the idea already that his father's side of the family were not people he saw on a regular basis.

"I would love that, but you came to this thing to interact with these people, did you not?"

He groaned.

"Finish the story."

Deep sigh as he put his phone away, and then he draped his arm around my neck, clearly liking the closeness. "Well, right after I was cast in Queen Mab —did you see that one?"

I scowled at him. "I've seen them all."

His smile was wicked. "Big fan, are you?"

"Just get back to the story, will ya, please?"

"Fine," he huffed out. "Right after that movie, my father asked me to be executor of the family funds, trust, whatever, as he was stepping down as both CEO and chairman of the board and wasn't going to be around to divvy up the cash anymore."

"Why?"

"Why was he stepping down, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"He was tired of it. He wanted to sail around the world with his new wife, Terese."

"New?"

"Yes."

"How many has he had?"

He thought a moment. "Terese was his seventh and last."

"Wow."

"Wow is right. She's also younger than me."

"You're only thirty-six."

"Yep."

"Holy crap."

He waggled his eyebrows. "Listen, I didn't care, but his ex-wives and their children certainly did."

"She was in his will too, I'm guessing?"

"Oh yes. Another slice of the pie. No one was happy."

"Okay, so for the million-dollar question, why you? Why did he want you to be executor?"

"I asked him the same when he put me in charge, and he said it's because I wasn't attached to the money."

"Which makes sense if you think about it. You have your own, you don't need his, and you didn't grow up with a silver spoon."

"I have a theory that he also did it to piss them all off. He wasn't close to any of his sons or daughters. He thought they were all jackals."

"Are they?"

He shrugged. "I can't say, and more importantly, I don't care. All I know is that in the beginning, I had to deal with all of them for a couple of years before he died."

"Again, I'm sorry he passed."

"It's fine. I went to the funeral, and before the man was even in the ground, they were all circling, wanting to know what they would get."

"Was he still married to Terese when he died?"

"He was, but she was smart enough to know that she was getting her portion and that was all, and to ask for anything more was an exercise in futility. She had no interest in fighting; she just wanted her piece."

"She didn't love him?"

"I think she liked him more than some of his other wives, and they were friends and laughed a lot. Companionship was what he was looking for by then, and she is a stunningly beautiful woman. He hit the jackpot marrying her."

"Good."

"She has her own makeup line now, and it's doing really well. She remarried a duke or something, and they live in Paris with their three kids."

"Good for her."

He nodded.

"What happened after your father died?"

"The first thing I did was move my father's account from being taken care of internally, by his company's attorneys, and hired an outside firm."

"So finally, you were insulated."

"That's right. There are lawyers and accountants, and only when something comes up, like Hunter wanting to borrow against his youngest son's trust fund—which can only be used for college when he turns eighteen, or will be turned over to him when he's twenty-two—then and only then does that question come to me."

"Then the head lawyer gives you a call, and you say yes or no."

"Correct."

"And the firm gets paid by the trust as well, as do you as executor, so really, it's a machine that spins along, completely self-sustaining."

"It's been great since I hired the firm. They're in Chicago, actually. Jenner, Knox, and Pembroke. Rick Jenner is a managing partner there and takes care of my account."

"Managing partner, so he must be good."

"Ever since I signed the contract with him, my siblings no longer call me. They also don't have my number anymore, but still."

"New trusts must get made all the time with people having kids."

"Yes. And some get paid out. In fact, that's the gift Bitsy is getting, along with me paying for her wedding. Since she's now turned twenty-two, she will receive access to her trust fund, which her father, Charles, my father's second-born son, wanted to break, back when she was in high school. He also wanted access to it when she decided not to go to college but become an influencer instead."

"But that's not really a gift if everyone who has a trust gets it once they go to college or hit the required age."

"No, but there's also a clause pertaining to moral turpitude."

"You're kidding. Who defines that?"

"My father did when he set up the trusts in perpetuity."

"I can't wait to hear this."

"The paperwork states that the trust can be held until thirty, or given to his or her parents, if the trustee has any run-ins with the law, shows any unseemly behavior, or could in any way tarnish the Walder name. It's all very serious."

"Moral turpitude clause."

"Yes."

"She's an influencer, you said."

"Yes, so her feed is full of things that could be construed as not adhering to the morals clause."

"Seriously?"

"You have no idea. Her parents have sent certified letters attesting to how she in no way should receive her inheritance as it will go to drugs and questionable men."

"Questionable men?"

"I know, right? Like we haven't all been there."

I chuckled, and he leaned into me to kiss my temple. "Worst of all, now she's marrying Orson Phillips, who's a software engineer, and not Reggie Muehler, whom she dated for three years and who's now on the partner track with some firm in Boston, where they live."

"Oh dear God, she's marrying a software engineer? That is horrible."

"I know. How very bourgeois."

"Only rich people, I swear to God. We'd all be lucky to marry a software engineer."

"Hey," he warned me. "Watch it. Actors are a good bet too." When I looked at him, he cracked a huge smile. "The disgust on your face."

" An actor ?" I said, going for aghast.

"I hate you," he muttered, tightening his arm around my neck.

"Yeah, I can tell. Okay, so who has the final say about Bitsy getting her money?"

"That would be me."

I smiled at him. "And you said yes."

"Of course I said yes. Letters and affidavits saying she's a drug-addled whore when I can watch any of her videos on TikTok or Instagram and know that's total crap? Give me a break."

"And so she gets what, keys to the kingdom?"

"She gets a letter with instructions—and we're talking about a set amount that everybody gets, so don't go nuts thinking it's tens of millions of dollars. It's more like tens of thousands. The sum won't make her rich, but she can buy a house, depending on where she wants to live, put money into her business, or whatever. But it's a good amount to help, plus everyone gets yearly dividends from the company after their trust is paid out."

"Now I get why Hunter's pissed at you. His illegitimate half brother oversees his family finances. That's gotta sting."

"Yeah. True."

"I'm glad you had good parents growing up."

"Me too. The good in me is all them—that's nurture right there, them nurturing me. Me coming late to wanting a home and one person to share that with, taking my brain a long time to come online, that's on me, and that's all nature."

"Oh, come on, give yourself a break. You had a career to start and oats to sow. You can cut yourself some slack for being young and gorgeous and rich. Lots of actors just burn out with drugs and alcohol and a myriad of other vices."

"True."

"You've had no scandals?—"

"That you know of," he teased me.

"Stop. You haven't been stupid, there's no string of broken hearts in your wake, and though you didn't seal the deal with…what was his name?"

"Hagen."

"Despite things not working out with Hagen, however many years ago that was, it doesn't mean that the next serious one won't stick."

"Yes," he agreed. "You're right. I have only been finding Mr. Right Now, but that doesn't mean Mr. Right isn't out there."

"Very good. I'm glad we got that cleared up."

"You actually think I'm a good man."

"Of course I do."

"Even though after these few days, I'm going to go my way and you're going to go yours and our paths may never cross again?"

"Why wouldn't I? This is a gift—you spending time with me. I'm very lucky."

He only stared at me.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I… What if I'm in Chicago? Could I see you?"

"Of course," I assured him, leaning close.

"And sleep with you?"

"If there's no one else, without question."

"You'd turn me down for a boyfriend?"

"I'm built loyal, right?" I said, then whispered in his ear, "That's why you get the small room if I find you in bed with anyone else."

"Our bed," he repeated as I put space between us.

"Now stand here while I go find out what is going on with this line."

There was a chorus of agreement from the people around us.