Hollywood Heir (Westerly Billionaire Book 4), Page 4

  “Sage. Practice this word—no. Whatever she wants, it’s probably the right response.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Are you fifty years old?”

  “No.”

  “Are you blonde?”

  “No.”

  “Can I have five thousand dollars?”

  “I don’t have that much, but—” Sage stopped herself with a laugh. I do have a problem. “No.”

  “Exactly. Okay, you sound ready. Good luck.”

  “Love you, Bella.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Sage pressed a button on her car panel to switch the call. “Mom?”

  “Sage, how are you, sweetie?”

  “Good.” Sweetie?

  “How’s Bella?”

  “Great. I was actually on the phone with her. She has a new apartment in—”

  “Yes, well, I was wondering if you could do me a tiny favor.”

  “Okay.” Shit. Should I have said no? How could I when I don’t even know what she wants?

  “I received a call from a very prominent woman from Boston. She’s in London for a short time. I still can’t believe she called me. I mean, I know who she is, but I had no idea she knew who I am. This woman is old money. Better connected than God. She’s dating royalty—that kind of connected. Anyway, she bought a small estate, only ten bedrooms, and is looking for someone to help her expand the rose garden. Finally, there’s hope your education wasn’t a complete waste. If you swear to me that you will keep your craziness in check, it would mean a lot to me if you met with her and talked me up.”

  Wow. “I have all the clients I can handle right now, Mom.” Not true, but my mother never could understand my faith that more work would come. “If this woman is as connected as you say, she’ll already have found someone.”

  “This is important, Sage—make the time.”

  “I can’t. And what you said was hurtful.”

  “Stop. Don’t make this all about you. If you don’t want to do it, just say no.”

  “I don’t want to do it.”

  “You would say that to me after everything I’ve given you? When do I ask you for anything? Anything? This is what happens when you give your children too much—they become little brats who won’t do a single thing that doesn’t immediately benefit them.”

  Here goes nothing. “No.”

  Her mother sighed. “I’m asking you to do one thing for me. One thing. Meet this woman and tell her your mother is a wonderful person. Is that so hard to imagine yourself doing?”

  Sage made a pained face. “Mom.”

  “I told her you’d meet her for dinner tonight and texted you her contact information. If you can’t make it, if you’re so damn wrapped up in your own life, then cancel with her—but don’t think I’ll be very happy with you.”

  “You never are.” That actually felt good to say.

  “Don’t try to twist this into an argument.” Her mother made a frustrated guttural sound, then in a forced pleasant tone said, “I heard that your father is coming to London.”

  “He’s not. Just his wife.”

  “Have you met her? It’s so sad what the plastic surgeon did to her nose.”

  “I don’t want to talk about her, Mom.” Not with you.

  “Fine. Sage, wear something nice when you meet Mrs. Westerly, and try not to speak too much. I hear she’s a real stickler for formalities.”

  “I already said I can’t g—Why do you care what she thinks of either of us?”

  “One day I’ll get news that you were switched at the hospital. There’s no other explanation for the way you are.” With that, her mother hung up.

  Sage let herself into her apartment and stood in the middle of the room, hugging herself. What would accepting that my relationship with my parents will never get better look like? Would I stop seeing them?

  They’re all the family I have.

  Them and Bella—that’s it.

  Until I have my own. If I ever do.

  She sat on her couch, kicked off her shoes, and opened the text message from her mother. Delinda Westerly. I have to at least tell her I’m not coming. She touched the number to make the call.

  “Hello,” a woman answered.

  “Mrs. Westerly?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Sage. I’m Victoria Revere’s daughter. About tonight—” Sage paused, trying to decide on a polite way to cancel.

  “Six o’clock,” she said in a sharp tone. “Don’t be late. I abhor being kept waiting.”

  She sounds delightful. “I’m actually calling because I won’t able to make it this evening.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Although I appreciate that my mother recommended me for your garden project, my schedule is packed at the moment. I can, however, send over a list of other highly qualified candidates.”

  “Nonsense. I’ve already cleared my schedule for you and made arrangements with my cook. Surely whatever else you had planned for this evening can wait one more day.”

  Growing up as she had, Sage was no stranger to Mrs. Westerly’s attitude. Rich. Demanding. Entitled. The problem with the wealthy was that they were often surrounded by people who wanted something from them, and therefore they weren’t often told when they were out of line. An unchecked ego could grow to ugly proportions. “Unfortunately, that’s not the case—”

  “Miss Revere, I would think very carefully before turning me down.”

  “Mrs. Westerly, how old are you?”

  “What a question!”

  “Seventy? Eighty? I’m guessing by your voice.”

  “What does my age have to do with anything?”

  “More than you think, but either way, I don’t have time for another client.”

  “With your lack of professionalism, I can’t imagine you have any at all.”

  Sage leaned back and closed her eyes. If I were a better daughter, maybe I’d apologize and say something amazing about my mother, but both of them are more privileged than either deserve. “Listen, my mother is a horrid, social-climbing, English-accent-faking American. My gut tells me you’re a hypercontrolling socialite battling chronic loneliness with a tangible amount of regret. I’ve never been able to reach my mother, and you are likely beyond my skills as well. So, although I must pass on your dinner invitation, please consider inviting my mother instead. The two of you have quite a lot in common.”

  Sage hung up without giving the other woman a chance to respond and dropped the phone beside her on the couch. It didn’t take long for Sage to feel bad about what she’d said. Even though Mrs. Westerly had been condescending, she hadn’t deserved what Sage had volleyed back.

  I took out my frustration with my mother on a little old woman, who will now likely eat dinner alone because of me.

  She glanced over at the Polyscias in the corner of her living room that a client had given her after she’d brought it back from the brink. It had done well in her apartment for years, but suddenly it was drooping.

  Great. Just great.

  It had been several days since Eric had gone on the walk with Sage, and he’d spent most of his time telling himself he didn’t care if he saw her again. Yet he swore as he entered the coffee shop, looked around, and once again did not see her. He gave his order, then took it to the table that was no longer his haven.

  Where was she? Had she already come and gone? Perhaps his poor attempt at being charming had driven her to choose another shop. He knew next to nothing about her, but the uncomfortable truth was that he wanted to see her again.

  It wasn’t just her rounded little ass or her lush curves that stood out against the reed-thin women in his circle. By entertainment-industry standards, Sage’s hair was too wild, and the color in her cheeks looked as if it might be . . . gasp . . . from actual sunlight. He knew many in his circle would have considered her beauty natural but unpolished.

  There was an earthiness to her. She hadn’t flirted with him or name-dropped to impress him.
She’d been as open as a springtime window and just as refreshing. Despite the way they’d parted, thinking about her made him feel—hopeful.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d bought those balloons for the children near the fountain. When was the last time he’d looked at the people around him and asked himself what they needed? Somewhere along the way, his focus had shifted inward. Even as he’d watched Sage bring happiness to the young girl, his thoughts had been on himself and the darkness in his own life. It was a realization that had haunted him since.

  While in rehab, he’d come to terms that there were parts of his life he resented. After his parents divorced, his childhood had become lonely. As one of five children, three boys and two girls, he should have scars from wild adventures, memories of laughing until his stomach hurt, and embarrassing stories about each of his siblings.

  He didn’t.

  His mother had taken the three youngest with her and built a new life with another man. Money was the evil she’d blamed for the failure of her first marriage. She’d turned her back on everyone and everything associated with it—including her two eldest children, Brett and Eric.

  Brett aligned himself with their father and grandmother and became as cold and judgmental as they were. Eric withdrew from his two families, not comfortable in either. He found solace in books—and later in theater.

  Wealth came at a heavy cost. His father’s obsession with the family business had made him absent from not only Eric’s life, but Brett’s as well. For a long time, Delinda had been Eric’s only family.

  There’d even been a time when he’d believed she understood him, but as he’d grown up, he’d realized she viewed even him only in terms of achievements. She didn’t ask, nor did she care, how he felt as long as he was the best at whatever he did. Only scoring the lead role was celebrated, and then only if his performance had been flawless.

  The entire Water Bear Man series had appalled her. She’d warned him not to take the role, then lamented the loss of his ability to be taken seriously by anyone once he had. Her complete rejection of the project had already driven a wedge between them before he realized how right she’d been. He shouldn’t have taken the role. Jasmine had seen him as nothing more than an ATM.

  Delinda had predicted that as well when he’d announced their engagement. When it came to having a brutally clear vision of how things worked, Delinda was often painfully right. He’d won her approval back when Water Bear Man exceeded everyone’s box-office expectations again and again, but it had been an empty victory. He felt like the joke Delinda had warned him he might become.

  So he’d done what he did best—withdrawn.

  One counselor had outright asked him if he’d taken the anesthetic drugs because he wanted to kill himself. The question had shaken Eric. He hadn’t seen how far he’d sunk until then.

  He didn’t want to die.

  He wanted a reason to get up in the morning, a friend who didn’t care about his fame or fortune. He had more money than he could spend in his lifetime, with profits rolling in daily. It was a burden his counselor hadn’t been able to understand—similar to survivor’s guilt.

  Why me? Why not someone more deserving?

  And what is wrong with me? How could anyone have as much as I do and not be happy?

  The door of the coffee shop opened, and Eric’s breath caught in his throat. Sage. Their eyes met across the room. She nodded once at him before looking away. Eric stood and knocked his coffee over, spilling it. One of the workers, a young man, rushed over to mop the mess off the table. Eric absently tried to help, but his attention remained focused on the woman who hadn’t seemed the least bit excited to see him.

  He thanked the worker, slapped a generous tip down on the table, and stepped around him. She turned from the counter with a coffee and scone in her hands and made her way to the table where she’d sat with her friend. His hand instinctively went to his scar as he strode to her. Without asking permission, he took the seat across from her.

  She didn’t smile at him, but she met his gaze and held it without blinking for a long moment. He was accustomed to female attention, but this was different.

  He drummed his fingers on the table before him, then said, “I’m sorry about the other day. I shouldn’t have left the way I did.”

  Her expression softened. “Was it something I said?”

  “No.” He realized he was drumming his fingers again and stopped. Women didn’t normally make him nervous. It was a novel feeling. Yes, she was attractive, but had she offered to fuck him right then and there, he would have been disappointed. Somehow, although he couldn’t explain how he knew it, she was meant to be more. “It’s complicated.”

  “You’re complicated,” she said, maintaining that steady gaze of hers.

  “Not really. Just an ass.” Her eyebrows shot up, and he had to admit that even he was surprised by his comment. He wanted her to like him, so why was he still pushing her away?

  She sipped her coffee. “There’s a cure for that. Our behavior is really the only thing we can control.”

  He wondered if anyone in his family would agree. Money allowed them to shape their environment. Even his younger siblings, the ones who thought they’d been raised outside the influence of their wealth, had never known real adversity. Brett had covertly paved the way for them. There was no loan they hadn’t gotten, no grant they were passed over for. For Brett and Eric, their financial status had shaped their lives, defined how people saw them, even dictated whom they interacted with. It was both the wings that had allowed them to fly and the tool that had reined them in. “Because a handful of powerful people make the decisions the rest of us have to live with?”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Or think they do. I prefer to make my own path.”

  He nodded. Yes, that was part of what drew him to her. She lived by her own terms.

  All the reasons why he shouldn’t start a relationship with a woman while his life was still off-kilter didn’t matter now that she was in front of him again. He savored the way she looked him directly in the eye when she spoke. She wanted nothing from him. She was simply a confident woman having a conversation with a man. He pushed aside his attraction to her because he craved this part of her as well. “I missed you.”

  His words hung in the silence that followed. He hadn’t expected to say it, but he didn’t regret that he had. Another woman might have volleyed back that he didn’t know her well enough for that to be true. Many would have taken it as an invitation for much more than he was offering. In his experience, everyone had an agenda.

  What was Sage’s?

  She broke her scone in half. “Would you like a piece?”

  He shook his head. “Do you live in this area?”

  “No. I have a place in Acton.”

  “What brings you here every day?”

  She broke eye contact to look down at the napkin she began to fold into smaller and smaller triangles. “Nothing in particular.”

  She’s lying.

  He was fascinated. “Do you work?”

  “I told you what I do.” She tore off a piece of the napkin and rolled it between her fingers before repeating the action. “Go ahead, say it’s ridiculous. I’m used to being mocked for it.”

  He leaned forward and cupped her chin with one hand, raising her eyes back to his. The feel of her sent desire shooting through him. Her eyes widened as if she felt a similar jolt. He dropped his hand. Holy shit, he wanted her, but not the way he had the first time he met her. He didn’t want to wake up and slip out while she slept. When she looked at him that way, he wished he really were Wayne Easton. Wayne hadn’t left more women than he could remember the names of. He wasn’t a pathetic sap who would fund a movie for a woman simply because she said she loved him. “People aren’t kind to what they don’t understand.”

  She shrugged, but there was sadness in her eyes. “Like I said, I’m used to it.”

  He would have accepted her answer from most peopl
e, but he felt a sudden protectiveness. He himself had joked about her choice of career, and he regretted not being kinder. “How did you become a plant psychologist?”

  She took a bite of her scone, chewed, then sipped her coffee before answering. “I have a master of science in ethnobotany. It’s essentially the study of human-environment interaction and the sociocultural importance of plants around the world.”

  “Impressive.” And not at all the response he’d imagined.

  “The subject is. Plants are complex creatures humanity has underestimated. Science is proving that, although their movements occur at a rate too slow for our eye to register, they make choices, and some believe they even feel pain. People are driven to explore space, but there’s so much here on our own planet that we don’t understand.”

  “Feel pain? Don’t tell vegans that. If science gives lettuce a voice, they’re screwed.” She didn’t smile, and he regretted making the joke. He hadn’t been making fun of what she did. Hell, he still wasn’t sure what that was yet. “That was stupid, sorry.”

  “No, it was funny,” she said while looking down at her napkin and demolishing it again.

  He’d disappointed her, but she wasn’t going to say it. Although he’d spent his life dreading the constant criticism he received from his family, he didn’t like that she accepted his bad behavior as her due. “You didn’t think so.”

  “What I think isn’t going to change your mind.”

  God, how many times had he thought exactly that? “So, tell me to fuck off.”

  She choked on nothing, then said, “I would never do that.”

  “Try it. It might feel better than you think.”

  She swirled her coffee in her cup. “It wouldn’t. I’m still feeling crappy about the last time I lost my temper.”

  Now this he had to hear. “What did you do?”

  Sage raised her eyes to his. “I said hurtful things to a person who didn’t deserve it simply because I’ve never been brave enough to say it to the person who does.”

  “And that bothers you.” He’d done much worse and felt less remorse about it. Like someone witnessing a miracle, he wanted this to be real—wanted her to be real. He leaned forward in his seat.