Derek

“You’re twenty minutes late.” Kyla storms down the front steps of her Victorian McMansion Sunday afternoon. The closer she gets, the more I notice the ridiculous amount of makeup covering her wind-burned cheeks and the pale outline around her eyes marking where her ski goggles once sat.

“There was a lot of traffic.” I climb out and go to the backseat.

“At four o’clock on a Sunday?” Her hand flies to her hip.

Any other mother would be fawning over their daughter, having not seen her for several days, but Kyla is more concerned with berating me over nothing.

“Did you have somewhere to be?” I unbuckle Haven and lift her from her car seat.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” She lifts her head. “Herb made us reservations at this new French restaurant in Hawthorne. It’s a forty-five-minute drive, and our reservations are in forty minutes.”

“Will Haven eat French food?” I deposit my daughter on the grass and she runs toward the front door, stopping once to blow me a kiss. She waits as I pretend to catch it in the air, and then she disappears inside.

“We’re not taking Haven.” Kyla speaks quickly, eyes darting past me. “We got a babysitter.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Kyla?” There’s a growl in my throat, and I’m two seconds from heading inside, scooping Haven into my arms, and taking her home with me. But I’m not about to get myself arrested because of this fucking twat, so she’s lucky. “You haven’t seen our daughter in four days, and you make me rush her home Sunday night so you can go on a date with fucking Herb?”

“We’ve been on the wait list for months.” Kyla stomps her foot. “We got the call on the way home. We weren’t expecting it. Completely last minute.”

As if that makes this any more acceptable.

“This is un-fucking-believable.” I shake my head, threading my fingers through my hair and pulling, my teeth grinding. I move to the backseat, grabbing Haven’s bag, and I shove it in Kyla’s arms. “You don’t fucking deserve to be her mother, and you know it.”

Her jaw hangs. “You did not just say that to me, Derek.”

I climb back in the car, and her expression softens as she moves to the driver’s window.

“Where’s your pretty little friend?” Her tone is sweet. She’s fishing.

I start up the engine and shift into reverse.

“Fine, don’t answer me.” Kyla snorts. “Oh, don’t forget. You have Haven next weekend too. I’m hosting a trunk show for a local designer, and then Herb is taking me into the city for a little bit. She’d just be in the way. And we need to talk summer, because that’s coming up soon. We’re doing six weeks in Europe, and that’s just too much for a four-year-old, so she’s going to have to stay with you. Also, we need to talk summer childcare. I assume you want to help me interview nannies. I just don’t have the patience to spend all day, everyday with a four-year-old. Also, she’s going to be staying with my mother in San Francisco for a month before preschool starts up again.”

I turn to her slowly, and my mind is made up. “Can you send all of this to me in an email, please?”

Kyla’s brows arch. “Um, sure, okay.”

Fucking moron.

I peel out of her driveway, mentally building my custody case as I drive the long two hours back home.

* * *

“Have a nice drive back?” Serena greets me when I return, though I’m not in the best of moods. She lingers by the kitchen island, studying me. “Everything okay?”

I groan, mumbling nonsense and swatting her away.

“Okay, I won’t bother you.” Serena pulls away from me, stepping toward her hallway. “It’s getting late, so . . . have a good night.”

“You have an appointment tomorrow. Ten AM,” I realize I forgot to tell her that over the weekend, but to be fair, she’s pretty much avoided me since Friday night.

Serena, who’s halfway down the hall by now, stops and turns. “With?”

“A local psychiatrist,” I say. “Her name is Dr. Lia Perez. She’s going to clear you, and as soon as I have her statement, I’ll file the papers and petition the courts to cancel the conservatorship.”

Her face lights, and I think she’d run into my arms right now if I wasn’t so gruff.

“Thank you, Derek.”

“I’ll pick you up at nine thirty. Don’t be late.”

I head to my room, not waiting for her to respond. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing left to talk about as far as anything else is concerned. She wants to leave, and I sure as fuck won’t try and stop her.

* * *

We’ve said two words to each other all morning Monday.

Now I’m seated in the waiting room of Dr. Lia Perez’s private mental health clinic, paging through a tattered copy of Men’s Fitness from October of last year. It’s been two hours now. I’d have been better off not waiting.

“Mr. Rosewood?” Dr. Perez’s nurse opens a hall door. “You can come back now.”

I follow her down a wallpapered hall with cherry wainscoting. This place used to be a bed and breakfast. Now it’s a place where the locals come to pour their broken hearts out to people who are paid to listen.

I’ve never found the value in spilling your soul to someone who’s only financially vested in caring, but that’s just me.

“Right in here. The doctor will be in soon.” The nurse points to a shiny wooden door, and I catch a glimpse of Serena already seated in front of the doctor’s desk.

Her legs are crossed, her foot twitching and bouncing like she has something to be nervous about.

Dr. Perez waltzes in by the time I take my seat. She’s a tiny thing, pushing forty, with jet black hair that frames the very face her glasses are trying to hide. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s just as guarded as the next person. Listening to people’s secrets for a living tends to do that to a person, and I speak from experience.

The doctor shakes my hand. “Mr. Rosewood, nice to meet you in person.”

“Likewise.” I release her soft hand and flatten my tie as I take a seat.

Serena watches me, chewing the inside of her lip.

“So,” she says. “I’ve spent some time with Ms. Randall, and I see no reason she should need a conservator of her estate.”

Dr. Perez’s mouth spreads into a wide smile, and her eyes relay between Serena’s and mine.

Serena exhales slowly, readjusting her legs and sitting up straight. She’s relieved.

“That’s excellent news,” I say.

“My evaluation should be typed and ready by the early part of next week. I generally request seven to ten business days, but given Serena’s extenuating circumstances, I don’t want her to have to wait that long.”

“We appreciate that, Doctor.” I speak for the both of us. The sooner she’s gone, the sooner I can get her out of my fucking head. She’s been playing in there like a loop since the day I met her.

I knew it was a mistake. Touching her. Kissing her. All of it was wrong.

I wanted to resist.

But I wanted her more.

Hell. Now, I’ll probably have to pass her estate case off to someone else. Let them deal with the Veronica Kensington-Randall Shit Show. Wash my hands of this family.

When I rise from my seat, I realize we weren’t done discussing this quite yet. Dr. Perez and Serena exchange puzzled looks, and I recover by checking my watch and mentioning an imaginary appointment I have at noon.

“Sure,” Dr. Perez says. “I’ll let you two get going. Serena, I gave you my card. I want you to contact me if you ever need anything. Stopping your medications without doctor supervision was quite risky, but I’m glad to hear you’re doing okay. Call me if anything changes, okay?”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Serena grabs her purse and stands before following me to the door.

By the time we reach my car, we still haven’t said much of anything to each other. But I’m fine with that. She’s not my girlfriend. We fucked once.

I don’t need to tiptoe around her. I don’t need to smooth anything over. I gave her the best part of me, and I owe her nothing.

She should consider herself lucky.

I don’t open my home to anyone, especially not in the presence of Haven.

I shake my head, shaming myself because I goddamned knew better.

Who cares if she’s equal parts beautiful and unpredictable? Who cares if she’s amazing with my daughter? Who cares that she choked down Demi’s spaghetti without so much as a complaint and then offered to clean up afterward?

Women like Serena are a dime a dozen. I could hit the town tonight and bring five of them home just like her.

Fuck.

No, I can’t.

“Are you going to keep giving me the silent treatment?” Serena asks when we’re halfway home.

“I’m not giving you the silent treatment.” I grip the steering wheel. “Just have a lot on my mind. Not in the mood for piddly conversation.”

“Ouch.”

Fuck.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I add.

Serena stares out her window, refusing to look anywhere in my general vicinity. I guess I deserve that.

I drop her off in front of my building and head back to work, only I’m not expecting to find my father sitting in my desk chair, arms folded and brows furrowed.

He stands, dragging his thumb along his mustache. “Derek. Come in and have a seat. We need to talk.”