More Than This (37 page)

Read More Than This Online

Authors: Shannyn Schroeder

The office door flew open. Griffin looked up from the file to meet his publicist’s
eyes. Kendra was one of few people who would enter his office unannounced. Some days
she stopped in to say hi. Today she looked pissed.
“What’s wrong now?” He settled back in his chair. Every time she had that look, he
imagined lightning bolts shooting from her spiky blond hair.
“What’s
wrong?
Didn’t we spend hours talking about your image and how you appear in the press?”
“Yes.” It had been the longest afternoon of his life. Almost as bad as the time Sister
Mary Bridget lectured him about how discussing a problem didn’t involve fists.
“Then what is this?” She slapped the society page of the newspaper on his desk. “A
reporter? Not your smartest move, Walker. Especially with the mom brigade downstairs
telling the world you’re bad for their kids.”
“Huh?” He’d already managed to avoid the rally point for whichever parent group hated
him today. Every few months, a group showed up at his office building and picketed.
He never thought creating video games would be so controversial.
He focused on the picture and smiled. “That’s Moira O’Leary, Ryan’s sister. She wasn’t
a date; she just wanted to get into the benefit.”
“But now you’re linked to a reporter, someone looking to make a name for herself.”
She slapped a second paper down. Kendra had a flair for the dramatic. The headline
read: T
HE
B
OSTWICK
C
HARITY
: AN INSIDER’S VIEW.
Moira had gotten a byline in the
Times.
His chest filled with pride, as if she was his sister. “So? I got her in the door;
then I left.”
“You were photographed with her, and then she wrote the story. If that’s not bad enough,
they have another picture of you with a senator’s daughter.” She tapped a small photo
on the bottom of the page.
“This is an old picture. I haven’t seen Ashley in over a month.” He pushed the paper
toward Kendra.
Kendra growled. “You don’t get it, do you? This is how people see you—different women
at every turn. You can’t commit, you’re not loyal, you’re not trustworthy.” She drummed
her fingers on the photos.
“That’s bullshit.” He flicked the paper away and stood to pace.
“We agreed absolutely no politicians.”
“Who her father is shouldn’t matter. She wanted a good time.”
“Which is even worse. We talked about this. Given your history, we don’t want anyone
to dig. The story is going to come out sooner or later and we need to be prepared
for it, but we don’t want to offer up fuel. All we need is one person to link you
to political families.”
Griffin didn’t respond. Kendra was right. His past would come back to bite him in
the ass. Too bad he hadn’t been smart enough to hire someone like Kendra ten years
ago. “I never did anything wrong.”
She inhaled a slow, deep breath. “Look, I know it’s bullshit. It doesn’t matter if
you were right or wrong. All that matters is how people perceive you. I know you and
I know what you want to accomplish. You’re a good man, but it’s not me you have to
convince.”
“So I’m supposed to give up my social life?”
Kendra laughed, the sound tinny and hollow. Kendra was so good at her job, he never
knew when she was being genuine.
“Like that would happen. Discretion, Griffin. Don’t date the flighty socialites who
enjoy posing for the society page. Keep your
social life
out of the limelight. When people Google you, this is all they see. We need to change
that perception.”
He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Fine. I get it.”
She moved to stand next to him. “That’s what you said before. The idea for your foundation
is fabulous. The program will make a huge difference in the lives of those kids. If
the public doesn’t trust you, you might as well just keep throwing money in and leave
it as that.”
“It needs to be more.”
“I understand,” she said, her voice soft. “It will be, but you have to believe in
me. I know what I’m doing.”
He thought of his own childhood and what a program like this could’ve done. Money
alone couldn’t make the differences he wanted.
“That’s why I hired you.” He pointed at the newspaper. “I helped a friend, so I don’t
regret it, but I am sorry it threw a wrench into your plan.”
“And Ashley?”
“Has moved on down the list of Chicago’s most eligible bachelors. No hard feelings.”
Kendra rolled her eyes. “Are there ever? I have a feeling you con these women into
thinking they’ve left you brokenhearted.”
He gave her a half-shrug. “It’s a gift.” A skill he’d nurtured after the one and only
time he’d fallen in love had ended in a spectacular fiasco.
She turned and went back to the desk. “Any luck finding a house so you can get rid
of the bachelor pad?”
“No.” Thoughts drifted to Indy and her bare legs.
“You know that’s an integral part of the plan.”
He nodded and returned to his chair. “The house will be a bachelor pad, too, since
I won’t be getting married.”
She shook her head at him.
Waving the papers, she headed to the door. “I’m going to see what I can do about this.”
Kendra was one of the best PR people he knew, but she was a pain in the ass. He’d
listen to her, though, because she understood his goal.
He’d been working toward the creation of this foundation for years. Helping troubled
teens gave him a goal. If he could pass on his knowledge and skills, it could change
their lives. He was finally in a position to make it happen.
As long as he didn’t let his dick screw it up.
He looked over the notes he’d taken on each of the houses he’d visited with Indy.
By pinpointing why they weren’t the right ones, he should be able to find what would
make it right.
He wanted the O’Leary house on a bigger scale. Ryan O’Leary had been his best friend
since first grade when he’d punched Ryan in the nose. He’d spent more time at the
O’Leary house than he had at home.
At the O’Learys’, loneliness was impossible. Six kids, two parents, and however many
friends filled the house to bursting. They ate dinner together. Fought over the TV
together. Shared victories and suffered defeats together. Home.
That’s what he wanted in a house. He had no idea how to explain that to Indy.
His mind wandering to her bare legs didn’t help. His mouth watered at the image.
She’d been stiff but professional throughout their meeting. Unlike the steal-the-spotlight
woman he’d seen at Ryan’s bar, Indy, the agent, was a different person. At least until
he’d caught her stripping off her pantyhose.
When he saw that, he wanted to help her loosen the rest of her outfit, starting with
her hair. She’d had it all pinned up and neat. He preferred the wild long hair of
Indy the singer. He’d been attracted to her from the first time he laid eyes on her,
but she’d kept her distance. Being rejected, even subtly, stuck in his gut. He found
himself wanting to press the issue just to see if he could change her mind.
His secretary buzzed, interrupting his less than professional thoughts. “Mr. Walker,
there’s a Mr. Malcolm on line one. He wouldn’t give a reason for his call. He said
it was personal.”
Malcolm. He knew only one person with that name.
“Mr. Walker?”
“Sorry. I’ll take it.” His finger hovered over the Hold button. He prayed that for
a change, his gut would be wrong. “Hello?”
“ ’Bout time. How do you like that Mr. Malcolm business? I know how much it bugs you
to share my name.” The pride in his cleverness sang across the line.
Griffin’s shoulder muscles knotted.
Dad
. As if his life needed more complications. “What do you want?”
“Now, is that any way to talk to your old man when we haven’t spoken in three years?”
“With you it’s always the appropriate response.” Griffin pinched the bridge of his
nose, grasping for composure.
“I thought I’d stop by for a visit, but you have some crazy protesters in front of
your building . . .”
Malcolm obviously wanted to make it clear that he was already in town. Griffin’s mind
raced. Everything with Malcolm led to one thing—money. “It would be better if you
didn’t come to my office. We have a lot going on right now.”
And the last thing I need is questions about who the hell you are.
“Do you still have the address for my condo?”
“Of course.”
“Meet me there later. Nine o’clock. Don’t call me at work again.”
After they hung up, Griffin paced his office. He wanted to throw something across
the room and smash it, but he didn’t want to draw attention. He’d actually thought
his father was gone for good. Maybe even dead. No contact for three years. Before
his mother had died.
If he knew Mom died, he would know that he doesn’t have a hold on me anymore
. He wouldn’t be back looking for more. Tonight Malcolm would learn. No more handouts.
No more contact. No fake father–son bullshit.
Griffin pushed down the innate desire to have a real father. Being a bastard was better
than being Malcolm Walker’s son. He’d get rid of his father one last time.
No one would know Malcolm Walker existed, just as it always had been.
 
Griffin leaned hard against the drywall and screwed it into place. He wasn’t sure
how Ryan had suckered him into helping, but it actually felt good. He hadn’t done
much manual labor since college. Back then he’d worked any job he could to pay tuition.
Today it felt like coming home, a nice escape before having to meet with Malcolm.
Ryan’s drill whirred away on the opposite side of the room. The radio blared over
the noise of their power tools. Kid Rock sang about being seventeen. Before slapping
up the next sheet, he grabbed a beer from the cooler on the floor. Having a friend
who owned a bar had its perks.
The room came together. Ryan and his brothers had spent many hours over the last month
to get this first apartment above O’Leary’s Pub fit for habitation.
After taking a long drink of beer, he hefted the next sheet of drywall into place.
“So what’s the rush with the wedding?”
Ryan answered over the sound of the drill. “When it’s right, you know it. Besides,
you know my mom.”
Ryan’s brother Michael crossed the room to the cooler. “Don’t listen to him, Griff.
The old man just wanted to beat me to the altar.”
“Is the bathroom done?” Ryan asked.
“No, slave driver. It’s hotter than a three-alarm fire in there.”
“Being the big, bad fireman, you should be able to tough it out.” He took the open
beer from Michael’s hand and drank.
Michael took another beer and disappeared back into the bathroom.
Ryan turned a bucket over and sat on it. “Quinn’s pregnant,” he said quietly.
Griffin stopped, holding the drill poised for driving in a screw. He finished the
sheet and took a seat on the floor.
“You have nothing to say?”
Shit, he didn’t know how to respond. “Congratulations?”
“Is that a question?”
“Seriously. I don’t even get the marriage thing. Now you’re talking about a kid.”
He didn’t think he could be faithful to only one woman for the rest of his life. But
being a father. That was a forever thing. “How do you feel about it?”
He looked at Ryan. No one hid stress better.
Ryan took a deep breath. “I’m happy. Mostly I’m scared shitless. What do I know about
being a dad?”
“You’ll be fine. You had a great role model. If you’re half the father your dad was,
you’ll already be better than most.” The conversation brought Malcolm back to the
forefront of his mind. And he couldn’t tell his best friend.

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