Malik removed his welding helmet. “What do you think, girl?” he asked his dog.

He rolled back on the stool, away from the metal table he’d been working on, and examined the aluminum fragments he’d forged together.

Sunning her black coat in the entrance to the barn, Daisy lifted her head and barked.

“You’re right. Needs more work.” Malik stood and tossed his gloves onto the bench. Stretching his arms high above his head, he let out a low moan. “Lunch time. I’m starving and Unc will be here soon.”

Malik locked the barn, and he and Daisy went into the house. He poured water and dog food in bowls in the kitchen and changed into a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. Minutes later, his uncle, Oscar Brooks, pulled into the yard.

Malik ran down the steps to meet him. “Perfect timing,” he said, as he hopped into the SUV.

Oscar was married to one of the richest women in the country, Sylvie Johnson, billionaire entrepreneur and philanthropist. She tended to use a chauffeur, but not his uncle. When alone, he preferred to drive himself wherever he needed to go.

“How’s my favorite nephew?” Oscar asked, backing out of the driveway.

“Hungry.” Malik buckled his seat belt.

“Good thing we’re going to lunch, but I’m in the mood for Brazilian.”

“Sounds like a plan. I haven’t had Brazilian food in a while. I could eat a bucketful of that cheese bread.”

“Pão de queijo.”

Malik’s father, Dirk, had been born a few years before Oscar, and both men shared the same father. Oscar’s mother was a pale-skinned Brazilian woman, and his father was a brown-skinned Black American. His mixed-race background resulted in swarthy skin and loose curls that contained a patch of gray over his right temple.

They drove until they arrived at the side of metro Atlanta that contained a solid Brazilian presence, resulting in restaurants and bakeries that specialized in food from South America’s largest country. At the restaurant, they were greeted by the current owner-chef, son of the original owner who’d been a friend of Oscar’s mother.

They were shown to a seat in the small dining room of the semi-crowded restaurant, and after they placed their orders, Malik took a good look at his uncle’s hair. “So Sylvie hasn’t told you to cut your hair?”

“What do you think?” Oscar said, running his fingers through the loose curls.

“I should have known better. Of course she did.”

“That’s my punishment for marrying a fashion maven,” Oscar said with a wry twist to his mouth. “She and I have an event to attend tonight. After we finish our meal, I’m off to see the barber for a cut and shave.”

“She still won’t let you grow a full beard, huh?”

He shook his head. “I’m working on her, but she’s stubborn. I’ve learned to pick my battles.” After a divorce that spanned fifteen years, last year the couple remarried in a ceremony that took place in a small village in the south of France.

“What’s the event you’re attending tonight?” Malik sipped his water and then set it back on the table.

“Hell if I know. I’m only an escort. Something organized by a wealthy venture capitalist and friend of Sylvie’s. Someone she met after we were divorced.”

By the way his eyebrows sank over his eyes, Malik suspected his uncle wasn’t too happy about tonight’s activity. “You got a problem with going to the event?” he asked.

“I have a problem with the man hosting it. He has the hots for my wife, and he doesn’t have the decency to hide it. Not even when I’m around.”

“You don’t trust her?” Malik asked.

“I trust Sylvie. It’s that disrespectful louse I don’t trust. He thinks because he’s loaded he deserves her more than I do. I told Sylvie if he makes one more inappropriate comment to her tonight, there’s going to be a problem. My subtle attempts of telling him to stay the hell away from her haven’t worked. She said she’ll talked to him and set him straight. I told her if she didn’t, I will, and my words will be accompanied by a fist to the face to help him get the message.”

Malik laughed. “Unc, you can’t go around punching people.”

“Some people deserve it,” Oscar muttered.

Under normal circumstances, his uncle was as cool as an icicle and very laid back. The only times he’d seen him lose his temper was where Sylvie was concerned. He used to go into angry rages after one of their confrontations, but ever since the reconciliation, he’d turned possessive. Not surprising, since he was a man who’d lost his wife once before and had no intention of losing her again.

“Enough about me. I brought you out to lunch to get an update on you. Tell me what’s going on with your work.” Oscar folded his arms on the table and settled in to pay attention.

Malik updated him on the pieces he’d worked on and caught him up on other matters in his life. Talking to Oscar was a welcome relief, as he’d become a surrogate father since Malik wasn’t close to his own father, Dirk.

After Bessie died, he hadn’t felt like he could reach out to his Brooks family because they’d never been close. Bessie kept mostly to herself, steering clear of the Brooks because of her toxic relationship with Dirk. Embittered when she passed away, Malik also steered clear of his father’s family because he thought they’d rejected him and his mother. He spent a few years floundering until Oscar tracked him down and became a positive influence in his life.

Like Bessie, Oscar believed in Malik and was part of the reason he worked so hard over the past few years. He needed to prove that Oscar and Bessie’s belief in him hadn’t been misplaced.

By the end of the meal, he had told his uncle about Lindsay’s scheme. They were close enough that he felt comfortable sharing the story, though he left out the part that they’d had sex.

Oscar’s eyebrows raised when he heard about the ruse, but he made no comment, only sipped his post-meal cafezinho as he listened. “Well, whatever you two have going on, at least she’s hard at work for you.”

“There’s nothing going on between us.” Except for hot sex that made him realize once wouldn’t be enough. At first, he told himself it was because he hadn’t had a woman in a long time but immediately recognized the lie for what it was. It was Lindsay, and he wanted her again. “This…whatever you want to call this thing we’re doing…is only temporary. If she does what she says she will, I can pay back the loan.”

Oscar waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about that. Take care of your needs first. There’s no rush. I’m not hurting for money.”

“You know I can’t do that, Unc.” Malik appreciated his uncle’s nonchalant attitude about the loan, but he couldn’t let the debt slide. He pulled out his wallet and handed Oscar a folded check. “That’s the first installment.”

Courtesy of Winthrop Hotels, he’d made enough money on his first sale to catch up his bills and make an effort with his uncle. The hotel contact hadn’t purchased the tree sculpture, but they’d liked some of his other work and purchased a couple of pieces for the lobby of two of their hotels.

Oscar shook his head. “Just like your mother. Stubborn as hell.”

Malik smiled. Maybe so. Oscar had once told him he didn’t have to build a business on his own. He encouraged him to use their connections, but he’d wanted to succeed on his own merits.

“I prefer to say I’m resolute.”

“I bet you would.” Oscar tucked the check into his shirt pocket without even looking at it. “I told you that you didn’t have to pay me back, but you insist on doing it. I won’t stop you, but helping you was the least I could do after the way Dirk treated Bessie. I would have been there for her financially if I’d known the details.”

Malik nodded and rubbed a finger across the spot where his upper lip jumped. He realized, now anyway, that Oscar would have helped them, but at the time he hadn’t known the isolation he and his mother suffered was really a result of her own pride and stubborn nature. At least now he had a new family—one that was supportive and non-judgmental. One that had embraced him in a way he’d previously hoped for.

“Malik.”

He had been lost in his thoughts and looked up to see Oscar staring at him.

“About your mom and Dirk—”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“None of us were pleased about the way he cheated on her and never took care of the two of you. I don’t know where he learned that behavior because our father was not that kind of man. He took care of his responsibilities. Dirk should have been there when you were growing up. He should have been there to help her when she needed him.”

“It is what it is. Can’t miss someone if they were never there. I don’t blame him for what happened to my mother.”

His stomach tightened with renewed grief and his upper lip jumped into an erratic beat, which happened when he thought too much about her last days. How she’d tried to protect him by keeping the gravity of the situation from him almost to the very end. Her disease-ridden body had been frail after she’d given up hope, her eyes dull, and a grayish pallor in her previously glowing brown skin.

“The blame lies with the company that she’d invested her money in. Steele Investments…” Malik shook his head, grinding his teeth against each other. “I’ll never forgive them. They stole her life savings, and as far as I’m concerned, they killed her.”

“You still have a lot of anger, Malik, and I can’t say I wouldn’t feel the same way if I were in your shoes. Be careful, okay? Think about what your mother would have wanted, and think about what’s best for you and your peace of mind.”

“Are you saying I should forgive them?” He didn’t believe in forgiveness when another person caused such irreparable harm. They didn’t deserve to be absolved of wrongdoing.

“I’m saying don’t let anger consume you. When we’re angry, we make the worst mistakes. Take it from an old guy who’s made his fair share of terrible mistakes. I wouldn’t want you to live with the same regrets I have.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I think anger can be a good thing, actually. Keeps situations in perspective and keeps us from being taken advantage of.” Malik forced his body to relax. “My mother didn’t deserve to die like that, and I’ll never forgive those sons of bitches for what they did to her. The ringleader is lucky he’s dead. If he wasn’t, I might have killed him myself.”