I walk into The LaClaire Restaurant to find it empty except for two waitresses. No customers are sitting around the damask-covered tables under the crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling.

My heart lightens. Did Derrick decide not to come after all? He’s not here and I happen to be ten minutes late.

I consider walking back out the door before he shows up. If he really wanted to talk, he would have been here. Avoiding eye contact with the waitresses, I turn to head back to the glass doors.

A woman’s voice stops me in my tracks. I turn around to find a forty-something-year-old woman walking toward me with a warm smile.

“Are you Miss Rayner?”

“Yes, I am.” I shift, wanting to ignore her and walk away.

“Mr. LaClaire is waiting for you on the terrace. You can go right ahead.”

I curse inwardly but nod. “Thanks.” I hold my handbag closer to my body and follow her through the empty restaurant, nodding at the other waitresses as they greet me.

The first thing I see, once we exit the interior dining area, is a buffet of everything one can imagine to have for breakfast, at the table where Derrick is sitting.

“You’re late.” He gets to his feet. “But it’s fine. I have all the time in the world.”

He pulls out a chair for me and I sink into it before my knees give way. “I don’t.”

“I appreciate you coming to meet me.” He sits back in his chair. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt with blue white-washed jeans. He looks fresh and relaxed.

Hot fury flushes through my body. He has lived his life so carefree, doing what he likes while I went through hell. “Please have something to eat while we talk. I thought maybe you might be hungry.”

I place my handbag on my lap and hug it, needing something to comfort me, to shield me from my discomfort. “It’s okay, I’m not hungry.” I try not to look at all the food, try not to smell the bacon, the eggs.

“You sure?”

“I’ll just have a drink.” I reach for a glass of orange juice, the glass cold beneath my fingers as I lift it to my lips. It takes all my energy to keep it from sloshing as my hands shake. I take a sip and put it down again. “What do you want from me?”

He leans back in his chair. “First, I want to tell you that I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what exactly, Derrick?”

“I didn’t have the right to follow you and to show up at your friend’s place unannounced. I went too far.”

“You’re right, you had no right.” I drink more juice, the coolness melting the heat of anger building in my belly. “I wish you would leave me alone.”

“Look, I let you down. I was a kid and I was a jerk. But the fact that you’re working at The Mirage tells me that you’re having some kind of troubles and even though we’re not friends or anything, I do care about you.”

“Care about me?” My eyes blaze in his direction. “Suddenly you care about me?”

“Yes, I do.” He flings out a beige napkin and places it on his knee. He pours himself a coffee. Through the steam rising from the cup, I watch his face. There’s no remorse there. “Why is that so hard to believe?” he asks.

“You’re such an asshole. You think I can close my eyes and pretend the past never happened?”

He puts down the cup and reaches across the table for my hands but I snatch them away, almost knocking over the orange juice. “Don’t you dare touch me!”

“I had no idea I hurt you this bad.” He rubs the back of his neck. “For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry. I know it’s coming a little too late, but I really hoped you would still take my apology and allow me to make it up to you.”

“I don’t know what you can do to make it up to me. Too much has happened.” I push back my chair and get to my feet. “I’m sorry, I can’t look at you. It hurts too much.”

I blink away the moisture clouding my eyes. I refuse for him to see my pain. “I never want to see you again. If you dare follow me again, I will call the police.” I step away from the table and turn to leave.

“I know you’re in financial trouble.” He pauses to allow his words to sink in. “You’re in debt.”

I turn around slowly, fire burning in my chest. “You’re getting into my business now? You’re so full of shit.” My temperature rises as I imagine him making calls to find out private information about me.

“You wouldn’t talk to me, so I had to find out what’s going on.” He leans back in his chair. “I want to help. Let me pay off everything you owe.”

As much as I want to rush out of the restaurant, I can’t move. So I stand there, frozen, goosebumps scattering on my arms. “You . . . You want to pay—”

“It’s the least I can do. Please, come and sit . . . talk to me.”

I do as he says only because my legs won’t let me stand longer and I’m too shocked by his offer to even do something as simple as walking. “Who gave you the right to get into my business?” I should be glad, grateful that he wants to help, grateful that I no longer have to do things I’m not proud of to pay off my debts and save for college. But at the same time, he has invaded my privacy. He opened the door to my life and walked right in like he owns it.

“You need help. I have the money, and I’d be glad to spend it on you.” His eyes soften as he reaches for my hand again. The heat of his hand seeps through my skin and I want to pull away but I can’t. I’m frozen. I’m not sure how I feel at this moment. I’m both furious and relieved. I lean forward and rest my head on the table, my eyes closed. He puts a hand at the back of my head and I lift my face, smothering a sob. “Why are you doing this? Why now?” I whisper.

“It’s hard for me to imagine you selling your body for money. You must’ve gone through a lot.”

“What do you know about my life? What do you know about what I went through?”

“Not much, I have to admit. I’m sorry, Brooke.”

I shake my head. “Why should I accept your money?”

“Would you rather be drowning in debt than accept my help?” He reaches for his phone. “I know it was wrong to get in your business but—”

“Damn right, it’s none of your business.” I clench my hands, my nails digging into my palms. “You know what? Fine. I’ll take your money, but I want to pay you back every penny.”

“I don’t want you to pay me back. It’s a gift. I’m offering you my help, expecting nothing in return.” His phone rings. He glances at it but does not pick up. “I’m not asking anything from you. I can have the money wired to your account by tomorrow morning. After today, you don’t even have to see me again. But, promise me, to never go back to The Mirage. Start over. There are so many things you can still do with your life.”

“There are many things I wanted to do with my life, but I didn’t get the chance because I had to focus on survival. If I choose to return to The Mirage, it’s my choice. And I will pay you back. I don’t care how long it takes. I refuse to be indebted to you. You never wanted to be a part of our lives and I don’t know why that should change now.” I swipe away the tears, furious at them for unveiling my weakness. “I needed you.” I choke on the words. “He needed you.”

A crease appears between his eyebrows. “What are you saying? Who needed me?”

“Eric, that’s who. He needed you and you were not there. You chose not to be there. So why are you here now? Is your guilt too heavy to bear?”

“Who the fuck is Eric?” His phone rings again and he presses a button to silence it, eyes filled with questions. “What’s going on here?”

I moisten my lips. Of course he doesn’t know Eric’s name because I never told him. “Eric . . . our son.” I purse my lips. “The name reminded me of—”

“Derrick.” The phone falls from his hand and hits the table with a thud. When he speaks, his voice is damaged. “Our son?”