Page 210 of LA King

Kristen and I respond together. “Of course.”

“Good,” she says with a sigh.

“But you might want to finish school or get your GED. Did you go to school in Chicago?” I ask.

Her face turns pink. “Yeah. Until my parents died.”

My own eyes threaten to fill at the idea of how much this girl has been through in her short life. “When did they die, sweetheart?”

“A little over two years ago,” she answers quietly.

For two years, she’s had no one to turn to. No one except Blake, a grown man who obviously took advantage of her and her situation.

She starts to sob, and I put my arm around her shoulders. Her tears soak my blouse when she buries her face against my shoulder. Rubbing small circles on her back and murmuring words of comfort, I exchange a look with Kristen that conveys our commitment to do everything we can to help this sweet girl. Between the two of us and my husband’s endless resources, we will make sure that Lucy gets to live the life she deserves.

Chapter

Fifty-Two

Alejandro

Taking a few days off, while wholly worth it, put me behind. Jax took care of everything he could, but there are some things he can’t fix for me. One of those is Foster Carmichael.

I’ve been trying to pin him down for a meeting regarding the permits for the hotels owned by my father’s business associates, and since our little get-together in Vegas, Carmichael has been a slippery fucker. Albeit, my focus hasn’t been on helping my father’s associate. No, it’s been concentrated on my wife, and now it’s on Blake Fielding and the true identity of Lucy Callaghan. Her story isn’t adding up.

On my way home, I call Carmichael again and am unsurprised when I get sent straight to his voicemail. Our intel says he’s in California, so I leave a message telling him to meet me tomorrow or I might start letting some of his many secrets slip out. I’m equally unsurprised to receive an immediate text confirming he’ll be at the meeting point as requested. Bet his fucking ass he will. Useless sack of shit.

I check in with my lawyer, and he answers my call on the first ring. Evan Goldman is the best lawyer money can buy, and I trust his instincts as much as I trust his considerable courtroom skills. We have a brief conversation, during which he assures me that he made sure Lucy was placed with a decent family in a good neighborhood, and that made Alana happy. But Evan also believes there’s something not quite right about Lucy Callaghan’s story. It rankles me that I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is.

By the time I end the call, my driver has pulled up outside the house. It’s dark, which means I’m late. And fuck, I’ll have missed dinner with my wife. When I don’t find her in the den, I check my watch. It’s only a little after nine—too early for her to go to bed alone. Unless she’s waiting for me with plans other than sleep. My cock twitches in anticipation.

She’s not in our bedroom either, but the balcony doors are open. I cross the room until I can hear her outside. She’s on the phone with someone, and her quiet voice carries on the breeze. I listen intently to her one-sided conversation. “I know … I don’t … Yes, I promise … I love you too,” she murmurs the last words, and I suppress a snarl.

Just who the fuck is she talking to? Jealous anger flares in my chest, so fierce in its intensity that I struggle to breathe. Somehow, I resist the urge to confront her immediately and tell myself it’s probably her father on the line. At least it better be him. Her mother can barely hold a conversation these days, or so I’m told, and if it’s anyone else … I roll my neck, getting a handle on my anger. Alana is not a cheater.

A few seconds later, she walks into the room with her cell phone in hand and looks surprised to see me. “Alejandro?”

“Not expecting me home so soon, princesa?”

She blinks. “I guess I didn’t realize the time. I was reading on the balcony.”

I arch an eyebrow, stepping closer. Is she fucking lying to me? That anger flares again, and I force it down. “Sounded like you were on the phone.”

“Oh, I was just now. My father called me.”

Relief. “Really? That’s who you were declaring your love to?”

“Of course.” She frowns. “Who the hell else would I be saying it to?”

“Nobody who would see the light of another day, Alana.”

She rolls her eyes, and I draw closer. “Did he have anything interesting to say?”

“Not really. He was just checking in.”

I nod and glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, there’s a book on the table next to her chair on the balcony, alongside a half-empty mug of chamomile tea. I take another step, and my body is only inches from hers. She inhales deeply and fidgets with the sleeve of her sweater.

“Why were you talking so quietly? And why do you look so suspicious?” I search her eyes for the truth, but I already know how good of an actress she is thanks to the displays she put on for my mother and the paparazzi back when she could barely stand me.