11. The Father

After our initialmeeting with Cal, I drove us to Spago, a restaurant in Beverly Hills I’d always heard about and wanted to try. I slipped the hostess a few hundreds, and she sat us at a cozy table for two, leaving our arms or knees brushing each other constantly. The physical contact kept me humming, eager for opportunities to push the boundaries of our intimacy.

While enjoying our meal and light conversation, my head snapped here and there, catching sight of celebrities. Couldn’t help it, and Honey noticed.

“Please, don’t let all of this change you, Buddy,” she drolled

, with a roll of her eyes. “These are just normal people like you and me, but with extraordinary jobs that put them in the limelight.”

“I promise, it won’t. If I were to move here, I’d eventually become desensitized to it all, I imagine.”

“Will you move here?” Her brows arched with a soft curve to her lips, giving me the impression she might want that.

“It would make things easier for us, you know, while making my film.” And to fuck often. My eyes drifted down to her cleavage in the red dress. “Among other things.”

The swipe of her tongue along her lips held my attention, until another celebrity walked by, causing me to do a double take. “Is that Richard De Niro?”

“Probably,” she responded with a sigh, clearly disinterested. “He’s a friend of Cal’s if you ever want an introduction.”

“Hollywood bores you, doesn’t it?”

“Some parts. Think you’ve learned that much about me all ready?”

“The mysterious Honey Adams is one of my favorite subjects to study. Let’s see. You only drink water, or the occasional red wine. No coffee for you or any caffeine because you’re so passionate about what you do, you run from morning to night nonstop. And although you play the Hollywood game well, you’d rather be doing something else to make you happy.”

“Humph. Like what? Think you’re so smart? You tell me.”

“Like I’ve said before, I can think of a dozen ways to make you happy.” I winked with a sly half smile and a deep growl to finish.

She chuckled at that. “And I’ve told you. It only takes one.”

“But which one would be the right one? That’s my challenge to figure out.”

“You agreed to the terms of our…situation. I’m happy enough with that.”

“Come back with me to my hotel tonight. I’ll make you so happy, you’ll scream my name.”

“Easy there, fella. We’ve only just begun.” Her eyelashes fluttered away over the rim of her wine goblet, and if I didn’t enjoy her tease so much, I’d be rather disappointed to be spending another night alone in bed.

I called this progress, though, and I spent the rest of our meal attentive to only her, face to face, deepening my arousal for her with every syllable she spoke, and every glimmer from those crystal eyes.

After so many easy women I’d had in Baja, the particular challenge Honey posed to me got my spirit revved in new ways unimaginable. I adjusted my cock quickly under the table throughout the rest of our flirtatious meal.

As we exited, my hand rested comfortably on the small of her back. Someone with a camera took a photo of us as we waited for the valet and asked if we were dating. Honey dazzled with twinkles in her eyes, and flashed her ring.

The next morning when I woke up, entertainment headlines sparked with questions about Honey’s new man, and speculations about our engagement. From that moment on, all week, I learned exactly what being hounded by the paparazzi meant. I couldn’t go anywhere without a mob of people with cameras in my face.

With my privacy threatened, this wasn’t fun anymore. I missed my beach hut and hammock in Baja, but even that didn’t feel like it’d be home now.

A week later,I received a call the morning we were to leave for Boston to visit her stepmother. Thankfully, I hadn’t left my hotel room yet, and could handle it privately. One look at who it was, and I knew I must handle this one with care.

“Hi Dad.” I hadn’t heard from him in a while.

“Son. I see you’re out in California now.” I could picture him, with his stoic nature, sitting in the den of his mansion—a fifteen room, three-story home for one man—smoking his cigar and wondering why the hell his son threw his life away all these years.

My hand met my forehead. The photos of Honey and I in the press must have made it all the way across the country.

“Yes. I’m in L.A. looking into a potential investment. How are things with you?” I hoped to steer him away from the topic of me and definitely wasn’t about to tell him I wrote a script and had an interest in a film career of some type. But he persisted.

“Why are you moving so fast on this engagement with one Hannah Adams?”

Hannah? So that was her real name? Damn, Dad’s private investigator had a knack for digging deep into anyone’s lives.

He continued. “I see a reporter online says you’re getting married in a few weeks. I don’t recall getting an invitation.”

“Yeah, about that. It’s just an intimate affair. I didn’t think you’d be interested in attending.” Fuck, I hoped he wouldn’t show up.

“Is she pregnant? What do you even know about this woman?”

I kept my snicker to myself. Of course he’d go there. Always concerned for the Rodgers family name. The reputation of the Fund with all of his charitable works couldn’t be soiled by involving ourselves with the wrong people. Yada yada. I knew this speech he’d called to give me by heart.

It’s the whole reason I relied on my own money, instead of the family trust.

“I know enough about her. I wouldn’t be marrying her if I had any doubts. And no, she’s not about to give you a grandchild.” I rubbed my temple. Although, if this thing with Honey were real, it moved way too fucking fast for my tastes.

“I hope you have a prenup. Of course, our money is tied into the trust and cannot be claimed in a divorce.”

“I’ve got it covered. And damn, thanks for the vote of confidence. You have Hon—Hannah and me divorced before we’ve even begun.”

A heavy sigh reached through the phone and choked me with his disapproval. But I didn’t care. Long ago, I decided I never needed his permission for anything I did.

I just didn’t want to turn out like him. A lonely fucker. Sure, he did good works in the world. Too bad one of his good deeds couldn’t be supporting me in whatever I did with my life, unconditionally.

“Look, I’m running late. I hate to cut this call short.” Yes, I did.

“I’m aware of your trip to Boston. And since you haven’t called to tell me you’re coming, I can assume you have no plans to see me or to bring Hannah to meet me?”

How—? “What are you doing? Tracking my every move?”

“Always. Someone has to look out for you and this family, protecting you from any mistakes.”

I had myself to blame for the mistake he referenced. Sara… The first love of my life. Her tragic ending brought a lot of exposure to the family, the kind Dad hated.

Dammit, I couldn’t go back to the night of the accident…to all the signs I’d missed about her mental wellness…to the guilt I lived with for years after.

“Why do you even pretend to care, Dad? Is it a control thing with you? If I’m that much of a burden, then take me out of your will. Remove me from the family trust.”

“I would never. You’re a Rodgers. My own blood.” His voice raised.

“Whatever. I have to go. Let’s keep in touch. These chats are always so predictable.” I hung up and stewed about it all the way to the airport hangar to meet Honey.