On the House
It took every ounce of Ashe’s willpower to leave Riley’s bed that morning after she’d woken him at dawn with kisses that began on his lips before moving down his body and underneath the covers, leaving him out of breath and his body trembling from his release. Afterward, Ashe envied the way she’d burrowed herself deep underneath the covers as he dressed for the day, grateful that he still had clothes hanging in her closet. He didn’t mind anyone photographing him leaving the building; after all, they were still engaged. What he did mind was being photographed wearing the same clothes he’d worn the day before, which would be obvious from the daily gossip columns.
The Honda Civic was already parked in front of the coffee shop when Ashe arrived, and he spotted Lance and Ben waiting for him at a table by the window. Though the location of their table gave everyone a clear view of Ashe, it also gave the three friends a clear view of the paparazzi, which was what really mattered.
Ashe wasn’t worried about photos being snapped by random strangers; he’d showered and dressed, and that was good enough for him. All he cared about was finding out who it was that these men were waiting for.
“What exactly are we here for?” asked Ben, yawning as he brought the coffee cup to his lips. “We’ve been on this reconnaissance mission for over a month now. I thought this business with Catriona was over.”
“I agree,” said Lance, pulling his beanie lower on his head, no doubt to hide his messy hair. “She got what she wanted; she got her series renewed, and now there’s also a movie in development. Maybe she’s finished with you.”
“If that’s true, why are the paps still waiting outside?” asked Ashe.
“They haven’t looked over at you once,” said Ben, chuckling. “That’s not good, is it?”
Suddenly Lance tapped Ashe’s arm. “Looks like something’s happening.”
Ashe could see movement inside the Honda as a camera lens emerged from the half-open window. He turned to look at the four customers standing in line to place their orders and the two other customers on the right of the counter who were waiting for their drinks. There was nothing that made anyone stand out, Ashe thought as he studied each person in line. No one famous, or at least no one he recognized.
As he scanned the back of the shop, his gaze rested on the table farthest from the entrance, set between two bookshelves. An older man was reading a newspaper, sipping his espresso from a white demitasse. With a thick head of gray hair, kind blue eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses and a strong jaw, the man’s movements and the way he smiled when Tessa spoke to him reminded him of a famous classic actor.
“Bloody hell!” Ashe rose, the legs of his chair scraping noisily against the floor. “I think I know who they’re taking pictures of.”
Without waiting for a reply, Ashe made his way to the back of the shop, weaving his way between the tables. This must be the man Riley had spoken about, Mr. Kyle, he thought, wondering how he’d managed to miss the man’s entrance. Hadn’t she said he hadn’t been in the coffee shop for the past three weeks?
As he approached the far table, Ashe took in the man’s bespoke suit with its red pocket square; there wasn’t a wrinkle to be seen as the man sat with his back straight on the chair, his right hand holding a newspaper and his left resting on the table in front of him.
“I apologize for intruding, but is this seat taken?” asked Ashe, pointing to the chair across from the older man. If this interruption took Mr. Kyle by surprise, he didn’t show it. He folded his newspaper and nodded, gesturing Ashe toward the seat.
“Please sit down,” he said in a faint New England accent. Ashe recognized it because his dialect coach was originally from that region, although she did an impressive country twang. “You’re the actor Ashe Hunter, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am, and I apologize for disturbing you,” said Ashe, hoping his seating arrangement blocked the paparazzi’s view. He could be wrong; the men in the car might be after someone entirely different, but Ashe was in need of a challenge.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Hunter?”
“Please call me Ashe,” he said, trying not to stare but finding it difficult. He tried to see something of Riley in this man’s face: the eyes maybe, or the nose or lips. But Ashe was too nervous to notice the man’s features, except to realize that he didn’t so much look like Cary Grant as exude his manner: regal, friendly and somewhat paternal. Was that what children picked up on, the essence of a man rather than his features?
“You’re Mr. Kyle,” Ashe said. “Riley has mentioned you.”
“Call me Kyle; that’s my given name. I’m stuck with the title because my employees prefer to use it. I’m Kyle Lloyd,” he said, his eyes twinkling as Ashe shook his hand. “Riley’s been making my espresso since I started coming here three years ago. I hear that she owns the place now. When you see her, please tell her Mr. Kyle says hello. I’ve been out of town for the past month.”
“I’ll let her know,” Ashe said. “She noticed your absence.”
Kyle glanced at his watch and finished his espresso. “My car should be out front. I have a meeting in twenty minutes, so I can’t linger.” He got up, and Ashe shook his hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Ashe.”
Kyle lifted his coat and slung it over his forearm, turning to the employees behind the counter and wishing them all a good morning. Tessa’s voice rang out loudly. “So nice to have you back, Mr. Kyle!”
With a bookshelf on one side of them and another table occupied by three young men gazing at their phones, Ashe had to take a step back to allow the older man to walk past him. It was now or never, he thought. If he was wrong, then the man would let him know with a look or a word; but if Ashe was right, that would explain why there were paparazzi outside and confirm his fear that Catriona wasn’t finished with him.
Why, though?
“Did you know Riley’s mother, Mimi Eames?” Ashe knew the name was incorrect but wanted to see if Kyle would correct him.
“It was Millie, short for Melisandre, not Mildred or Millicent as most people thought,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, but I do have to go.”
As he walked past Ashe, Lance and Ben stepped aside from the bookshelf to let him pass before glancing back at Ashe.
What now? mouthed Lance.
Ashe couldn’t move. He could only stare as Kyle made his way through the crowded coffee shop to the door, where the two paparazzi were waiting for him.
As the men took pictures, Kyle ignored them and headed straight for a car double-parked next to the paparazzi. Ashe saw a familiar face through the front passenger window of the Honda, and suddenly everything made sense.
Of course, he thought, remembering the night he’d first gone to Jackson Heights to retrieve the picture book. He’d already been selling information about his daughter long before Ashe arrived, and now it all made sense. But why?
He pushed his way through the customers, almost tripping over a pair of legs in his path. As his long legs propelled him forward, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place at last, and the anger he’d held in check since Riley had moved out of his condo released itself like a coiled spring.
He rushed toward the paparazzi, who turned their cameras on him. Kyle’s car was gone, lost in Manhattan traffic. Behind him came Lance and Ben, yelling Ashe’s name, but he didn’t hear them. One of the paparazzi backed into a fire hydrant and fell backward, the camera flying from his hand and clattering on the pavement.
Ashe could see it now: Beleaguered Actor Loses Cool Outside Fiancée’s Coffee Shop. No, the headline wouldn’t be that long. Ashe Hunter Loses His Cool would probably suffice.
He yanked open the passenger door and found himself face to face with Sid Eames.
“Why can’t you just leave her alone?” demanded Ashe as he grabbed hold of Sid’s jacket and dragged him out of the car. Behind him, a crowd had gathered to watch, but he didn’t care. Let them say whatever they wanted; they already did, anyway.
“Get the fuck away from me!” Sid yelled.
“How much did she pay you?” Ashe demanded, ignoring Lance and Ben’s hold on his arms, pulling him away even as people around them recorded the scene. “How much did you charge her for this information? Twenty? Thirty? Is that how much Riley is to you?”
Sid stared at him for a few moments, before he burst out laughing. “What does it matter to you how much she paid me, you cheap son of a bitch. Besides, who said this is about Riley? This is between me and him, kid. So stay out of my damn business!”