Chris

Walking into Crestfield Corporation is surreal—seven floors at the top of one of the tallest buildings in Chicago, people in suits and expensive looking clothing all bustle about, women in heels that look like they should be on the cover of magazines instead of in offices. Glass windows overlooking the waterfront. It’s unlike anything I’ve seen in Madison.

“Mr. Scott, you’re here to see Mr. Crestfield?” a short, cute, blond-haired woman asks me with a bright smile.

“Umm, yeah,” I tell her and she cheerfully gestures for me to follow her.

“I like your haircut.” She seems very lively and animated, and though I don’t remember her, she has obviously seen me before if she is noticing my haircut.

“Uh, thanks.” I follow her down a long hall toward two big glass doors. She swipes a card.

“Well, hello, Collin. You wanted to see me?” My face goes blank when I see who it is, and I look back at the woman who brought me here.

“I meant the other Crestfield,” I tell her and she looks at me baffled.

“But sir, you told me it was a priority to secure you the first meeting available with Mr. Crestfield Sr.,” she stammers. I nod and let out a an exasperated sigh. This meeting must have been Collin’s idea.

“He’ll be fine from here, Stacy.” Dexter gives her a charming smile before she scurries out of the office.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Have a seat.” He gestures to one of the smaller chairs in front of his ginormous desk. My feet feel stuck in place. I haven’t seen him in years. He still looks the same—dressed like a rich man in a cigar commercial. He tilts his head slightly to the right as if questioning who I am and a smile spreads across his face.

“Chris?” he says with a laugh in his voice. I push my hands in the pockets of these too-tight jeans.

“Come now, I’m not the boogeyman.” He lifts a glass of brown liquid to his lips. I swallow hard. There are tons of questions I should be asking this man—this man I’ve only known to detest and be weary of—yet he sits in front of me as if I’m his best friend. I reluctantly take a seat.

“I gather that it’s not you who asked for the meeting with me?” He leans back in his chair. It’s not a surprise that he knows the true nature of my condition. When my dad asked him for his help, of course he’d want to know all of the details and keep track especially since… he’s my biological dad.

“No,” I tell him shortly.

“Well, you have a half hour on my calendar. Most people would sell their first born child for that.” He displays a sly grin. I’ve only met Dexter Crestfield Sr. a few times in my life, and each of those times I’ve never been alone with him. I was always with my parents or a crowd. I study his face this time though, his hair is dark with streaks of grey, but still full and carefully groomed. His dark green eyes are deep set and his jaw square underneath a short-kept beard. I look at him trying to see myself in him. I can’t believe this man is my dad, and I share his blood.

“I must say that I expected more of an emotional outburst from you since the last time we met…. or when your counterpart intruded on my dinner.”

“I really don’t have anything to say to you,” I tell him coldly. He looks at me curiously, as if no one has ever said that to him. I know he’s my biological dad and I should have millions of questions for him—why he didn’t keep me, what my mother was like, did he regret giving me up—but all I see is the same man I’ve always seen. He is a distant relative with more money than one person should have and who’s used to being treated like God.

“How curious. I would think the first time you sit down with the owner of your company or at the very least, your father, that you’d have a list of things to say.” His condescending grin makes me so angry—I can feel my face harden and my whole body stiffens.

“You’re not my father. My father's name is William, my mother’s name is Gwen and regardless of who reached out to you, I don’t need or want anything from you. I have enough problems with my actual family than to go out looking for more.”

He looks at me as if studying me then lets out a laugh and nods his head.

“I like you, Chris.” He leans back in his chair. “William raised you well.” He seems pleased with himself, except how can someone be pleased over something they had nothing to do with? I imagine he’s like Dexter—a narcissist who will take credit for anything that makes him look good.

“The thing is… I see a lot of your mother in you,” he says leaning forward and my heart jumps.

“My mother’s name is Gwen,” I remind him, and he grins.

“If only that were true then you wouldn’t be as screwed up as you are.” He sniggers. I squeeze the tip of my knees.

“You don’t know anything about me.” I scoff at him and stand. He laughs and this time, it’s full of condescension.

“See that’s where you’re wrong. I know everything about you,” he says wagging a finger at me. I roll my eyes at him and shake my head in disgust, my teeth starting to grind against each other.

“I know your family obviously. I know who your friends are, every job you’ve ever held, classes you’ve taken. I even have a list of the women Cal screwed before he met that beautiful wife of his…. or yours. I also have evidence of the myriad of illegal conundrums he’s found himself in—including the newest—the attempted murder.”

“What do you want from me?” I ask him through gritted teeth.

“I want what any loving, kind father would want,” he tells me with a sincere smile but his tone is full of sarcasm. “Loyalty, honesty, and respect.” His smile is replaced with a serious sneer.

“Why would you want my loyalty or my respect? I’m just a kid you dropped off on your step kid’s doorstep.” The words feel good to say, though so foreign after I’ve said them. He laughs, but his eyes are hard as steel.

“Like it or not, we’re family… son.”

I think of my words carefully, this time before saying them. Though I can’t stand this man, I know the type of power he has, and as much as I’d like to punch him in the face, he’s not an enemy that I want or can afford to have with all of the things I have going on. I do know that for some reason he considers me a threat, or he wants something from me. He stands from his desk and walks toward me. Looking at him, he’s taller than I thought, maybe an inch taller than me.

“Family looks out for one another.” He leans against the front of his desk so that he’s closer to me. “Sometimes things happen that we don’t understand but it’s all for the best. We’re like a team. You and I, Dexter and Helen…. Lauren. If one domino falls, we all do.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and I have to stop myself from removing it.

“It’s good to be on the winning team, Christopher. I know that William probably painted me as some big, bad villain, but I’m not like that at all,” he says as if he’s the most misunderstood person on the planet. “I am a family man. It’s of the upmost importance to me. I’ll do anything to protect the ones that I love. I’m sure we both have that in common. So it’s in my best interest that you fall along the same line that everyone else does.” He pauses and I’m not sure if he’s waiting on a response or if he’s just doing it for dramatic effect.

“We’re on the same page, yes?”

“Sure. Whatever,” I tell him. His eyes stare into mine as if trying to identify my weaknesses, then he shoots me a wide smile.

“Great,” he walks back over to his desk and picks up the phone.

“Ellen, can you come and escort Mr. Scott down to Dexter Jr.’s office please?”

“It was nice talking to you, Christopher. We must do this again soon.”

I scratch my head and turn to open the door, but the woman from earlier has already opened it.

“You can follow me, Mr. Scott.” She waits for me to follow her. I walk behind her still thinking of how weird the conversation I just had with Dexter Sr. was. I felt like I was being interrogated and threatened at the same time, but he didn’t even raise his voice once. There was something sinister behind his smile almost like a threat underneath his words.

“Here we are,” she says opening the door to another office. I smile gratefully at her. Does she know? If I work here, wouldn’t she think it’s weird that I have to be taken places that I should know about already?

“Christopher, it’s good to see you,” he says. I walk into the office and feel relieved for the first time in my life seeing Dexter. After meeting his father, it’s great seeing an old friend.

“We’ll call you if we need anything, Stacy.” Stacy closes the door and I walk over and sit in one of the chairs in front of Dexter’s desk.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” he says wearing an amused smirk.

“I just saw your dad.” He arches a brow leaning back in his seat.

“Really. How did that go?”

“You didn’t tell him I was coming?” I ask him confused. He smiles slyly.

“My father knows everything that goes on in this company. He doesn’t need me to ring any alarms for him.”

I shake my head wondering how people work in this type of world, where calculation and manipulation seem to be key to surviving. I think back to when Dexter and I were close, almost like brothers before his mom died and he went away to boarding school. When he came back from school, he was different. I shudder to think of how I would have turned out if I was raised by that man. Though Dexter Jr. wasn’t really raised by him since he only came home during the summers. But for Dexter Sr. to be able to make decisions that would affect my life, be the person to shape who I would become, I’m thankful for the life I had growing up because I’m screwed up enough.

“So, you want to see your financials?”

I’m shocked that he doesn’t ask why his father wanted to see me… or our father. I wonder how he feels about all of this—knowing that his dad cheated on his mom and had a kid who he lied about his whole life. It doesn’t occur to me until I’m sitting here that Dexter isn’t a uncle through marriage but… my brother, and I feel sorry for him.

“Uhm, yeah,” I tell him trying to keep my emotions in check. He grins and slides a folder over to me. I open it and pull out the pieces of paper. My eyes scan what looks like screen shots of bank statements and financial portfolios. When my eyes land on the total net worth, I almost choke on my own spit.

“I’m worth seven million dollars?!” I am stunned in disbelief. I’ve never seen so much money staring back at me in my life. Before today, I had five thousand dollars in my savings and four hundred in my checking account.

“And Collin has been steadily increasing that. He has a spectacular eye for the market,” Dexter says.

“I can’t believe this.” I stare at the paper in front of me. Granted a lot of the money is tied up in stocks and my 401k, but sitting in just one of my personal checking accounts is five hundred thousand dollars.

“You’re a lot easier to please than your counterpart,” Dexter chuckles, and my eyes bug out.

“You mean this isn’t enough for him?” I ask in disbelief.

“Nowhere near it. He just negotiated an increase in your salary…”

“Which would mean?”

“Your salary is 1.4 million annually,” he says and my mouth drops open. I let out a long whistle, completely baffled.

“What is it that I do here exactly?” I swallow the huge lump in my throat. A grin spreads across his face.

“Well, it depends on who’s in the driver’s seat,” he sits a drink down in front of me and I wave him off.

“This isn’t my life. This can’t be my life. I’m not rich, I’m not a business shark…” I stand from my chair and begin to pace the office.

“Do I pay taxes on this?”

“Yes all of that is taken care of.” He watches me with amusement. I’ve got to pull myself together.

I’m rich.

“I-I don’t know what to say.” I am completely baffled.

“You seem surprised.”

“Well, yeah…” I feel like the reason should be completely obvious to him.

“You’ve been to your house. Have you seen his cars, the clothes he wears… did you think all of those things were on loan?” He chuckles.

“No, I mean I knew they were expensive but… it’s a lot different when you see the numbers…”

“I’m sending you a secure email with all of your usernames and passwords,” he tells me, and I gulp.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Well, I would suggest that you allow us to continue to manage your portfolio, and as far as what’s in your checking account, that’s entirely at your discretion.”

“I’m sure Lauren can go over the expenses that you incur each month but your mortgage is paid off, and all of your cars are owned or on company lease.”

I try to focus on breathing. “I don’t understand how or why do I have all of this?” I ask confused. His smile turns into a small grin.

“Well, after everything came out, it only makes sense. You’re a Crestfield.” It does make sense. Dexter Sr. didn’t help me as a favor to my dad—he helped me because I’m his blood, his secret son.

“Okay, so what do you want me to do? I don’t want any part of what ‘they’ve been doing,” I tell him nervously.

“I think we have a place that would be a great fit for you,” he says with a grin.

* * *

Lauren

“Lauren,” I open my eyes and see Chris standing in front of me. His face is lit up—his smile so bright—he’s almost beaming. He looks like he did right after I first met him, that simple time when he didn’t let the heaviness of our situation weigh him down. I sit up in bed and try to wipe the sleep from my eyes. He called me and said it would be awhile before he made it home, but I didn’t think he meant this long. I glance at the clock on our dresser; it’s 11:30 at night.

“Hey…” My voice trails off when I notice all the bags crowded around our bed. There are at least fifteen of them.

“Wow.” I laugh. I know I had mentioned that he needed some new clothes earlier, but I didn’t really take Chris as a ‘shopper.’ I thought he’d grab a few shirts and jeans.

“This isn’t for me. I bought Caylen some toys, and the saleswoman picked out some stuff for you and my mom too,” he says enthusiastically. He hands me a bag that distinctly says Neiman Marcus, and I am surprised. I didn’t take Chris for a Neiman’s guy, more like an Old Navy guy.

“I asked my assistant where I should go shopping since I’m not from here and she took a half day off and went with me to this place called the Magnificent Mile,” he says enthusiastically, like a kid in a candy store. I try to hide my annoyance at the fact that he went shopping with his assistant instead of calling me, but he’s so cute in his excitement.

“I take it your meeting with Dexter went well?” I open one of the bags he hands me and see a cute little purple and white jumpsuit for Caylen.

“Yeah. Did you know I had that much money?” he asks matter-of-factly.

“I had an inkling,” I say with a giggle.

We go through several bags of stuff for me and Caylen. I try to get a picture of his assistant in my head. She has amazing taste, and there isn’t one item I picked up that I didn’t like, but it’s all expensive. After marrying Cal, it put me into a whole other ladder financially, but I still consider myself frugal. That’s not to say that I don’t have several expensive handbags and pairs of shoes, but I still scoff at the prices of designer clothing, and looking at the tags of this stuff makes me cringe. I could have gotten similar items for Caylen from Target or H&M, but I don’t have the heart to tell him.

“Do you like it,” he asks me like a wide-eyed teenager, and I nod.

“Yes, it’s all really nice,” I tell him. “But where is your stuff?”

“Well, the stuff she showed me for men didn’t really fit me, but she did take me to get fitted for some suits. I guess when I start working there I can’t exactly walk around in jeans and T-shirts."

“Working there?” I ask surprised. I never in a million years thought that Chris would consider working at Crestfield Corp. I still thought he’d be on the fence about living in Chicago.

“Yeah, but not doing what Collin and Cal did. I don’t even really know what they did, but Dexter’s set me up with a position in their public relations division. They choose the charities the company donates to, the programs they sponsor, and coordinate events for fundraisers and things like that. I could really make a difference there.”

He looks so happy, it’s contagious. I’m so shocked that he went in reluctantly and came out almost enthusiastic about whatever they showed him.

“I did get one thing for myself today, though,” he tells me excitedly. He disappears out of the room in a flash, and when he returns he’s holding a guitar.

“Oh my gosh, it’s beautiful.” The guitar practically gleams—it’s white with gold trim, and looks as if it has always belonged to him. When he puts the strap on his shoulder, he looks like an ethereal rock star, especially with his new haircut. He strikes a few chords and I pull my knees to my chest and wait for him to begin playing. He smiles at me bashfully.

“Any requests?” He has a playful glint in his eye that I’ve missed, and I feel myself blush.

“Anything you play, I’ll love,” I tell him, and he grins and begins to play the most beautiful chords. They are slow and melodic, and I want to close my eyes and let the music wrap around me, but I don’t want to take my eyes off of him. He looks happy—not just happy but peaceful—and I haven’t seen him at peace in so long. When he begins to sing, the little goose bumps that have been absent the past few days wake up and walk across my body. His eyes lock on mine, and he begins to sing Justin Nozuka’s After Tonight. I was obsessed with this song the year I started dating Cal. Is it a coincidence or does he remember? He sings and my heart slows and my skin warms. I bite my lip and squeeze my knees together trying to downplay how wonderful he looks, how sexy this moment is, then he takes the guitar off and places it up against the wall.

“Please don’t stop…” I ask him quietly and his eyes smile at me.

“I mean the singing,” I tell him bashfully. He gives me a lopsided grin and continues to sing. He walks toward me and stops when he reaches the bed. I crane my neck to look at him. He leans down so we’re at eye level and continues to sing to me. My heartbeat has gone from slow to erratic. Chris never looks more confident or seems as sure of himself than when he sings. I smile at him and sway from side to side as he continues, and when his hands touch my waist, he pulls me up so we’re standing chest to chest. I can’t help but let out a breath to keep from floating away. We begin to dance. His hands slowly make their way across my back and I wrap my arms around his neck. His voice grows quieter until it’s just pretty whispers near my ear, but we continue to sway. I look up at him, his eyes are locked on mine and I can’t look away. His eyes glide down to my lips, and I can’t help but moisten them. Little by little we’re no longer swaying but taking little steps back toward the bed until I bump against it. I place my hands on his chest, and his hands slip between the material of my shorts and skin and linger there. Our lips hover near each other’s, the energy has changed from exciting and playful to hesitant lust. But why are we hesitant… because of earlier today? But that hesitancy doesn’t stop his lips from reaching mine, and they’re soft and our kiss is tentative. When I’m on the bed with him on top of me, his hands begin to explore my body and piece by piece our clothes come off and he’s inside of me. And all of our problems from earlier disappear.

When I wake up, the room is clean of all the bags and boxes from earlier.

“I made you breakfast,” I look over and see Chris sitting with a tray of what looks like pancakes, bacon, and a glass of orange juice. I sit up in shock. He’s completely dressed, wearing one of the few T-shirts and jeans he brought with him when we came back to Chicago. It looks like his hair has already started to grow back—the prickles of hair seem to be peeking out more than they were the day before.

“Thank you,” I pull the sheet over my naked body and he sits the tray on my lap.

“Where’s your mom and Caylen?” I ask taking a sip of orange juice to clear away my morning breath.

“At the park and then they’re going to the library. My session is in about an hour and I’ll be heading out.” He steals a piece of my bacon, and I giggle taking a bite of it. My eyes sweep over him, and he seems as if a burden has been lifted off him. Last night, he made love to me and it was sweet and fun. He was so playful during it that I felt like I was in high school all over again. The times Chris and I have slept together it was always intense and slow, but this time it was different.

“You seem different today,” I glance at him unable to contain my own grin. He smiles at me.

“Well, it’s still me,” he teases and I’m so surprised at how light and casual he is about it. He turns his body fully toward me and rubs the back of his neck.

“I think I’ve been looking at this through the wrong lens.” He shakes his head as if he’s figured out a problem he’s been working years to solve. I look at him curiously. “With what we have—the resources, the money, the influence that Crestfield Corp has—we could do great things,” he says excitedly.

“My mom and I have worked at that Kreuk place for years. Scraping barely enough together to implement programs for people who otherwise wouldn’t have access to what most people take for granted. It helped, and it felt good, but we weren’t able to do as much as we wanted.” His smile softens.

“But with the money that Crestfield pays me and having access to the resources they have, I could really do some good.” His eyes light up with excitement. He is genuinely happy, and it makes me happy for him. To know that he cares about people outside of himself, it warms my heart and I set aside the tray and crawl over to him and sit on his lap. He looks surprised but amused.

“You’re amazing, Chris.” I kiss him softly on the lips.

“You’re amazing, Lauren. I jumped to conclusions about you. Though you are rich, you’re so down to earth. I guess I don’t have a good history with rich people, and you never seemed like one,” he chuckles.

“I’m rich?” I ask in amused disbelief.

“You have ten times more money than anyone I know. Well, aside from the Crestfields,” he says.

“Well, you sort of are a Crestfield now,” I tease him back regretting the words as soon as I say them. His eyes crinkle a bit, and he lets out a small breath.

“I am and I plan on exploiting that name as much as I can to do as much good that can be done,” he tells me confidently. I kiss him again just for being Chris. I think I’ve fallen in love with this man all over again in the span of a day.

“I wanted to ask you something.” I smile at him bashfully. “About the song you played last night…” He looks at me and I see his cheek turn a bright shade of red.

“Did you like it?” He grips my waist tighter, and I bite my lip as I feel him come alive under me.

“Yes,” I tell him flirtatiously. “But what made you pick that song?” I ask him, as I feel the sheet being pulled down from my body. My breathing picks up.

“What do you mean?” His eyes glide over me, and I fight myself to not cover my body and allow him to see me, to let him know that I know I’m his.

“It’s one of my favorite songs. I played it all the time right before we got married,” I am proud of myself that I used the word we and not Cal. He flinches though, and the playful, lustful gaze he had is lost and has now turned serious.

“I know,” his face scrunches up as if he’s in deep thought.

“You know?”

“I remember,” he tells me quietly and my heart stumbles over itself.

“You remember?”

“It’s strange because I didn’t have a memory or a flashback. I just sort of knew,” he explains, seemingly confused himself. He scratches his head and I sit back on the bed.

“That’s great,” I tell him happily. For him to remember that—it’s small but it’s something—and for him to remember without actually trying is huge to me.

“Yeah,” he agrees but he doesn’t look too excited. His brow is furrowed and he seems like he’s in deep thought. I take his hand.

“It’s a good thing, Chris,” I take his face in my hands, and he smiles softly at me.

“Yeah,” he says before kissing me, but the energy that was just here before, how easy it was, is now different. If Chris was removing bricks off of his chest, I just set one back on it.