TRISTAN DRAGGED HIS fingers through his hair and forced his stare from the financial statements on his computer.

It had taken weeks to finalize the contract with Mischa, to transfer full ownership of the firm to Tristan, and even longer to move funds from one of Tristan’s accounts to the next to Mischa, and finally to pay off Wolfram.

The last three months had been stressful, but Tristan was on his way to recovering financially. Or, he should be. It seemed like every step he took, another obstacle appeared that kept him from feeling as secure with his accounts as he was before this whole mess started.

He leaned back in his office chair and turned his gaze to the ceiling. It wouldn’t hold answers for him, but it was a nice change of scenery. The whir of the office heater hummed in his ears, louder than it should be with no one else around talking over it.

Spending the week between Christmas and the New Year sorting out his real estate firm wasn’t his idea of a nice holiday, but with the rest of the office off, at least it was quiet.

He rubbed his eyes and turned back to the numbers. Tristan almost felt guilty admitting it, but the one good thing to come out of this was that the firm ran more smoothly with Mischa in a consulting position rather than as a partner. But Mischa’s pulling out had been costly. In a very literal sense.

Two more months, a little extra luck, and closing on Spencer’s purchase of a new Ride & Wave corporate building in Malibu would put any lingering deficits back in the black.

A loud pounding noise, like the side of a fist against a solid surface, startled Tristan. Someone was at the front door.

Odd. He stood and went to investigate. A woman was outside, peering in through the glass between cupped hands. She straightened when he approached.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open a crack. “May I help you?”

“I’m looking for Tristan Hough.”

It might be stranger if she was looking for someone else, but it was still weird. “That’s me.”

She handed him an envelope. “You’re being served.”

“Served... what?”

She shook her head. “I’m the messenger. Details are in the letter.”

“Right. Have a nice day?”

She gave him a hesitant smile. “You too. That is... I hope the news isn’t too bad.”

He shook his head and locked the door again. Impatience surged inside, and he stopped behind the front desk to grab a letter opener.

As he scanned the front page of the court document, key words jumped out at him. Subpoena... Internal Revenue Service... Financial records... Recent charitable donations...

Fuck me. He pulled his cellphone from his pocket and dialed Mischa. This had to be about the building. The one that sat on a block of property Mischa owned, because he hadn’t been able to sell it before his financing was due. The purchase was the reason Tristan bought him out of his partnership.

Mischa’s voicemail picked up, and Tristan growled. “Call me back.”

Tristan hesitated half a breath before making the next call. Any conversations he’d had with Victoria in the last few months were limited to hello and goodbye. She was always too busy to talk, and he made himself be all right with that.

Which was his way of pretending the whisper of a frown that creased her brow, whenever they were in a room together, didn’t mirror what he felt. If he thought about her for too long at any given time, he’d regret those last few exchanged words when he left her place three months ago, after the country club dinner. Regret was as much of a non-option as coming in second place.

Her cell and desk phones went to voicemail as well. Was he the only person working?

He swallowed his frustration. It was more important he talk to Victoria than Mischa, since he had access to the paperwork from Mischa’s side of the donation. She wouldn’t screen his calls—she was more professional than that—but he wasn’t taking any chances on something this critical.

If there was the potential of being audited, he needed to nip this before it got worse. It was time for an in-person visit. The little skip inside defied his attempt to pretend he wasn’t happy for the excuse to see her.

Fifteen minutes later, he parked in a public lot downtown, and strolled toward the building on the corner.

Older buildings, most of them built more than a century ago, occupied the block. Two- and three-story brick structures, squatting on prime downtown real estate.

He pushed though glass doors into the lobby, and bypassed the elevator, in favor of the stairs. The electronics in the lift had been upgraded, but the original, tiny boxes made him nervous.

The second floor was an open floor plan, with a maze of mismatched cubicles.

He smiled at the guy sitting near the front, then headed toward Victoria’s desk. Her monitor was off, and there was no sign of a purse or coat.

“She won’t be back for a few hours.” The woman in the cubicle across the aisle rolled her chair out so she could see Tristan. “Baby appointment.”

What? “For one of the girls?” That didn’t make sense. Victoria loved the cause, but she didn’t work directly with the kids.

Her co-worker furrowed her brow, as if she had the same thought. “For herself.”

Double what? “Sure. I knew that. Is the dad with her?” He didn’t like the scrape against his ribs, and the idea of her with another man. That was a bullshit reaction on his part. Unless it was his. Holy shit, what if the baby was his?

The co-worker stared at him. “I don’t think I should give you any more information.”

“No, of course. Will you tell her Tristan Hough was looking for her, and it’s urgent she get back to me?” Now more than before.

“What’s this regarding?” Suspicion had replaced friendly cheer.

Morbid curiosity. “The recent donation of the rec center by my former business partner, and the tax documents I have to file around it.”

Her scowl vanished. “Sure.” And now she sounded polite again. “I’ll have her call you right away.”

“Thanks.” He walked back to his car, unable to shake the unexpected conversation. Victoria was pregnant?

The idea tumbled through him as he headed to Mischa’s. The cocktail inside was a disquieting combination of flavors. If it was his, double holy shit. He was going to be a dad. One of those things he’d given up on, and hated doing so.

But she hadn’t told him. Maybe it was someone else’s. Some lucky bastard out there would have the family Tristan wanted. Not that he pictured a future with Victoria. It was more of a generic desire.

Fucking hell. His thoughts were a wreck when he reached Mischa’s.

He parked in the driveway of the familiar, large house, and knocked on the front door. Ash answered, smiling as soon as she saw him.

“He’s in the garage.” She nodded in that direction. “New board idea.” She opened the door wider.

That explained why Mischa wasn’t answering his phone. As Tristan stepped into the house, something else occurred to him. If he wanted answers, Ash and Victoria had formed an odd kind of almost-friendship. “Actually, do you have a couple minutes? Are you busy?”

“Yes to the first, no to the second. Is everything okay at the office?” Ash had morphed her position into social media manager and ruler of all things data related since she started with the company.

“No, but it’s not anything you need to worry about.” She already took on a lot of extra work. “But I wanted to ask you something not work-related.”

“Okay?”

“Is Vicky pregnant?”

A rainbow of reactions splashed across her face so quickly he couldn’t identify most of them. What was open friendliness morphed and landed on guarded hesitation. “She hates it when you call her that.”

“I know.” Except that Victoria hadn’t complained that night in her apartment.

“She might be more willing to tell you things if you were nicer to her.”

Tristan could push this. Ash had a knack for telling the truth, especially when she was on the spot, but he didn’t want to irritate her or put her in a bad situation. “Is the dad a nice guy at least?” He hid a wince when curiosity pushed the question out anyway.

She ducked her head, but not before he saw her clenched jaw. “Usually.”

“So you’ve met him.” Stop.

“Several times.” She spoke through her teeth.

None of her answers were proof, but fuck. If it was his baby, he needed to know. Could insist on being involved.

Further in the house, a door opened. “Hey, is that Tristan’s car?” Mischa called.

“We’re in the foyer,” Ash hollered back, relief splashing across her face.

“I’m grabbing a beer, if he doesn’t have to go back to work does he want one?” Mischa’s voice carried from the kitchen.

Ash looked at Tristan, who shrugged a yes, then followed her farther into the house.

They reached Mischa, who slid a bottle of beer across the breakfast bar toward Tristan. “Surprised you unchained yourself from your desk,” Mischa teased.

Tristan would much rather joke around than dive into business. “Gotta get out and mingle with the unemployed sometimes.”

Ash kissed Mischa on the cheek. “I’m going to get back to it, before I lose my train of thought.” She looked at Tristan. “I’m writing an API hook with the Amazon SDK—”

Tristan held up a finger. “I’m going to take your word for it.” He liked talking to Ash, but she dove into a lot of things for fun that sent acronyms flying over his head at high speed. He didn’t have to ask if she was doing it just because. That was almost certainly the case.

“Fair enough.” She was smiling when she left the room.

Tristan took a long drag off his drink, and set the bottle down hard enough it reverberated on granite. “She says you’re working on a new board.”

“Sort of. Nothing fancy. Just needed a new surface to lay some art on.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Fairies on rollerblades. Or skulls. On rollerblades,” Mischa said.

“Can’t wait to see the result.”

Mischa pushed himself up to sit on the counter, near the sink. “None of this is why you’re here, in the middle of the day, when I know you were working.”

“Busted.” Might as well get down to business. Tristan didn’t like the news, but it needed to be shared. “The IRS is subpoenaing our records—the firm’s—around the building you donated.”

Mischa’s frown matched Tristan’s mood. “Why?”

“It’s the IRS. I assume they think income tax evasion.” Tristan scrubbed his face, but it didn’t push away the frustration. “Right now it’s just a request for records, but given how sudden it came up, and how soon after we signed the property over, it makes me nervous.”

“What do you need from me?” Mischa asked. He sounded concerned.

“Your paper trail, every little bit, from the crowdfunding you did. I have everything else.” This wouldn’t be a big deal. They’d work together, they’d figure this out, and it would go away in a few days.

“You got it, boss.” Mischa gave a mock salute.

That was so odd to hear, but it was technically true since Mischa worked for him as a contractor now.

Mischa knocked back a long swallow of beer. “Do you want me to call Victoria? Do you need anything from her?”

“I already stopped by her office, left her a message to call me.”

Mischa raised his brows. “So... you’re on speaking terms again.”

“This is different. It requires some things to be set aside.” Not that Tristan had set aside that shared night in any way. No matter how much he tried to pretend.

Mischa leaned back against the counter. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened between the two of you, besides things didn’t go as expected after the country club dinner?”

Right. That. Tristan could continue to shrug off the question, but he’d be better off coming clean now than after finding out Victoria was carrying his child. The words stuck in his throat. Which was stupid. It wasn’t as though he was ashamed, and Mischa didn’t have those ties to her anymore. He was happy with Ash. Tristan pushed past that nagging voice of It’s the principle that matters. “We slept together. Well, slept isn’t the right word. Fucked?”

Mischa coughed, and stared at him with wide eyes. “No. Really.”

“Yes. Really.”

“That explains the attitude. Were you that bad?” Mischa looked like he was trying to hide his smirk. He was failing.

At least the conversation didn’t take a bad turn. “You’re not funny.”

“I kind of am.”

Tristan rolled his eyes. “Not even in high school.”

“Because back then it was true.”

Tristan snorted a laugh before he could stop himself. “You got me there.”

“Does that mean it’s your baby?”

“You knew she was pregnant?” Apparently, Tristan was the only person who didn’t.

“I assumed,” Mischa said. “She’s got morning sickness.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

Mischa’s humor faded, and he pursed his lips. “Why would I? You treat each other like you have the plague. Maybe if I’d known you had a stake in this...”

“Fair point.” That went better than well, all things considered. Too bad a looming IRS audit couldn’t be talked through and brushed aside with a buddy and a couple of beers.