All He Really Needs (8 page)

Griffin held up a hand palm out. “Hey, I’m not criticizing, I’m
just surprised. I would have thought you’d be headed back to Colorado by now.
It’s been, what, a couple of weeks since Dad’s big announcement?”

“I was busy doing…” Cooper’s voice trailed off as he
apparently fished around for the right word. “Stuff.”

“Business stuff?” he asked, even though it was none of his
concern. If Cooper could give him a hard time, then he damn well better be
willing to take it, too. Besides, if Cooper was also searching for the missing
heiress, Griffin wanted to know about it.

“No,” Cooper said simply. Then his mouth spread into a wide
grin.

“Any chance you’re still in town because you’re looking for the
heiress yourself?”

Cooper’s smile broadened without necessarily softening any. “Do
you really think I’d tell you if I was?”

No, he didn’t. They’d never been close, so why would Cooper
share information, even if he had it?

“Are you leaving soon, though?” Griffin asked as Cooper headed
for the front door.

“My flight leaves tomorrow morning.” Cooper pulled his hand out
of his pocket, extracting his keys. He sent a last look back through the door to
the kitchen, which he’d just walked through a few minutes ago. “But I’m
considering changing my plans. Extending my stay a little longer.”

Cooper had almost made it out the front door when Griffin said,
“Hey, if you’re going to be in town, we should get together.” Cooper turned to
stare at him, his mouth slightly agape, his surprise so obvious, Griffin felt
obliged to add, “You know, hang out or whatever.”

That cynical smile flirted across Cooper’s lips again. “And not
talk about the heiress at all.”

Griffin laughed. “Yeah. I can see why the offer looks
suspicious. But I mean it. You’re not in town that much. Dalton and I don’t see
you often enough.”

“Oh, but you and Dalton hang out all the time?”

“I wouldn’t say all the time. But after the divorce he moved
into my building, so, yeah, I see him. Not that he’ll be around much this
week.”

“Right. ’Cause of Laney.”

Because Cooper had lived in their house for a couple of years
after his mother had died, he knew Laney, too, and, as far as Griffin could
tell, they’d even been close back in high school.

Cooper had looped his key ring on one of his fingers and he
gave the ring a jostle so the keys flipped around his hand and he caught them
again. Griffin smiled because he did that same thing with his keys.

“What do you say? There’s a great sushi place not far from the
office.”

Cooper shrugged, though he still looked surprised. “Sure. We
should do that.”

But, in truth, the invitation had surprised Griffin, too. He’d
never before had the impulse to bond with Cooper. Neither he nor Dalton had ever
been particularly close to Cooper. Yeah, they’d lived in the same house for
Cooper’s last two years of high school and during summers before that. They’d
wrestled and fought. They’d played touch football more roughly than they
probably should have. But had they ever really talked? About anything?

For the first time in his life, that bugged Griffin.

It occurred to him now that once Hollister died, Cooper might
never again come down to Texas. Unless there was some major shift in his
relationship with his brother, once Hollister was gone, he might never see him
again.

Suddenly, he thought of Sydney and all that he’d learned that
morning from that damn file. Of the foster mother she still kept in touch with.
Of the other kids who’d grown up with her in that foster home with whom she
still kept in touch.

It wasn’t the kind of thing Sydney talked about. Hell, he
shouldn’t even know about it, but he did. And he couldn’t shake the impression
that if Sydney knew just how lazy he was in his relationship with Cooper, she’d
be disappointed. Why that mattered, he couldn’t say. All he knew was that if
Sydney had a half sibling, she’d damn well have done more than have her
assistant send a card at the holidays.

He didn’t stop to ask himself why it mattered what Sydney would
do. Instead, he followed the faint sound of clattering dishes into the kitchen,
where he assumed he would find his mother. Yes, it was rare for her to cook and
even odder for her to clean, but he figured that must be where she was because
the house was otherwise quiet.

However, instead of his mother, he found Portia at the sink,
quietly loading glasses into the dishwasher. Portia had been married to Dalton
for nearly a decade before their divorce a year ago. Though Dalton never
complained that Portia still flitted about the edges of their family, Griffin
found it bizarre as hell.

She looked up when he walked in and gave a jump as if he’d
startled her out of deep thought. “Oh, it’s you.”

He stopped on the far side of the kitchen, not wanting to get
too close to Princess Portia. “I was looking for my mother.”

Daintily drying her hands on a dishtowel, Portia sighed, making
it clear that speaking to him was a burden. “She’s having lunch at the country
club.”

He glanced at his watch. “Perfect. I’ll check there.”

“You should call first and have her add you to the guest list,”
Portia said in her most
helpful
voice. “Otherwise
they might not let you in.”

Like all good Southern women, Portia’s helpful voice was
designed to eviscerate unsuspecting victims.

“Just out of curiosity, why are you here at all?” he asked. “I
mean, you do know that you’re not actually part of this family anymore,
right?”

Her hands clenched on the towel before she tossed it aside.
“I’m here because your parents are going through an extremely difficult time and
none of you boys has the common sense to check in on them.”

Ignoring the sting of truth that accompanied that barb, he
said, “I’m here now.”

“And I’m guessing you came to harass your mother about what she
knows about Hollister’s illegitimate daughter.”

“I—”

“She knows nothing. And I can’t begin to tell you how
distressed she is by this mess that whore stirred up.”

The vehemence in Portia’s voice nearly rocked him back a step.
“Wow, that’s an awfully harsh word, Portia. Did it tarnish that silver spoon on
the way out of your mouth?”

She ignored his jab and strode forward to the massive island
that divided the kitchen and separated them by a good eight feet. She planted
her palms down on the granite and leveled a stare at him.

“You may not give a damn about this family, but I still do,
even if Dalton and I are not together.”

“Yeah, can we circle back around to that? Because I’m still not
sure I understand what you’re doing here now when you and Dalton are
divorced.”

“I’m here because Caro asked me to come.”

“I had no idea you two were so close.” There was a sneer in his
voice and he didn’t bother to hide it. It irked him a little, that she and his
mother were close. Nothing he’d ever done had been good enough for his mother.
But she’d welcomed Portia like a long-lost daughter.

Portia must have heard the bitterness in his voice because she
shrugged without really meeting his gaze. “Your mother and I have a lot in
common. We were both pressured into marriages with powerful men who didn’t give
a damn about us. I think she admires me for having the courage to walk away.
Besides, she was like a mother to me for ten years.”

For the briefest moment, he wondered if it really was cowardice
rather than greed that had kept his mother by Hollister’s side all those years.
Then he decided it didn’t matter. She could have left. At any point in her
thirty-plus years with Hollister she could have walked away. She could have done
what was best for her kids and left an emotionally abusive man. Instead, she’d
stayed. Maybe it was callous of him, but he resented her for it.

He snorted his derision. “Right. You came running to be with
her because she was like a mother to you for a decade, but that’s about ten
years longer than she was ever like a mother to me.”

Portia’s expression softened and she blew out a sigh. “Look, I
know she wasn’t a perfect mother to you or to Dalton, but try to see this from
her point of view. She never asked for this. She’s the victim here as much as
you, Dalton and Cooper are.”

“I’m sure she’s hoping either Dalton or I will win the company
and throw her a bone or two.”

Portia gave him an assessing look. “And will you? If you find
your sister, will you give your mother some of Hollister’s fortune?”

He answered without even having to think about it. “Yeah. I
will. But don’t tell her that.”

“Her husband is dying,” Portia said. “You could show a little
sympathy.”

“More to the point, her dying husband is cutting her off. If
she’s crying, I think I can guess why.”

Portia stared hard at him and then tossed down the dishtowel
she’d held clutched in her hands. “You know, Griffin, you really are a piece of
work. You act so superior. You criticize your parents for caring more about
money than people, but when it comes down to it, you’re scrambling after
Hollister’s money, too.”

“That was the point of this challenge, wasn’t it?” Griffin said
past the hot knot of anger choking him. “He wanted us scrambling after him.”

“Maybe he just wanted your attention,” she countered.

“I suppose you think I’m a worthless son for not caring.”

Portia shook her head in exasperation. “Look, it’s not my
business.”

“Well, at least we agree on that.” He moved to walk out but
then stopped at the last minute. “You never told me who she was having lunch
with.”

Portia had turned away from him to face the sink, and before
she turned back he noticed that the tail of her shirt was untucked from her
pants. And the twist in her hair had come loose and then been hastily repinned.
Looking at her from behind, he realized she was more rumpled than he’d ever seen
her. Before he had a chance to wonder why, she turned around and offered him a
cold smile.

“I thought you knew. She’s having lunch with Sydney Edwards.
Your assistant. I’m surprised you didn’t know.” His shock must have shown on his
expression because a broad smile cracked the icy beauty of Portia’s face. She
looked at her watch with an exaggerated gesture. “In fact, they should be
sitting down for lunch right about now.”

Eight

S
ydney knew she was outclassed the second
she set foot in the River Oaks Country Club. Actually, she knew she was
outclassed the second she pulled her aging Civic up to the security gate. River
Oaks County Club was one of the most exclusive in the country. The sprawling
antebellum clubhouse was built of pale bricks, its grandeur reinforced by oil
fortunes and a century of social climbing. None of that intimidated Sydney.
She’d spent her whole life being outclassed. The way she saw it, in terms of
class and social prestige, pretty much everyone was higher on the totem pole
than she was. No point in getting upset about that. When it came to interacting
with people beyond her means, she was used to faking it.

When the maître d’ showed her into the dining room where Caro
Cain was already waiting, Sydney had to clench her hands around the strap of her
purse to hide the faint tremble in her fingers.

But Caro stood up and, rather than shake Sydney’s hand, gave
her an air kiss, which somehow managed to be welcoming and dismissive at the
same time.

Taken aback, Sydney awkwardly reached out to return the hug,
but Caro had already stepped away.

“Um, thank you for inviting me to lunch,” Sydney said.

“Of course!” Caro enthused. “I want to do anything I can to
help.”

“I see,” Sydney said as she lowered herself to the cushioned
edge of the seat. The second her bottom touched fabric a waiter was at the table
filling up her water glass.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Caro asked, as though she was
a hostess rather than merely another guest at the country club’s restaurant.

“Just tea, please,” Sydney answered.

Caro gave the waiter a distant smile. “Another wine then for me
and a sweet tea for my guest.”

“Unsweetened,” Sydney quickly corrected her. “I like to keep
things simple.”

“Very well.” Caro nodded. “An unsweetened iced tea,” she said
to the waiter. Her tone was beleaguered, as if Sydney’s choice was a personal
affront to her.

“So,” Caro said when they were alone again. “Now you’re helping
Griffin with his search for the girl.”

“Yes.”

“I’m certainly willing to do anything I can to help.”

“Yes, well, the forty-two boxes of household records you sent
over have been very informative.”

“I’m so glad,” Caro said, and though her tone was effusive, it
lacked true feeling. “Though I’ll admit I was a bit worried about just handing
over so much personal information. But I suppose it can’t be helped.”

Caro gave a fragile smile accompanied by a fluttering hand
gesture. Sydney had the odd impression that she wasn’t really having lunch with
Caro, but rather that she was attending a stage performance. Maybe something by
Tennessee Williams, something with a lot of wispy Southern women dripping with
family drama. Sydney had never cared for Tennessee Williams. She was more of a
Mamet girl, herself.

She couldn’t help wondering if Caro Cain was truly as fragile
as she appeared. After the waiter dropped off the drinks, Sydney pulled out her
iPad and prepared to take notes.

“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” she began.

Caro pressed her fingertips to her chest, feigning surprise.
“Were the household records not enough?”

“There is a lot of information in those forty-two boxes.
Searching through them is quite a job. Because we are a bit short on time, I’m
sure you can appreciate the need for efficiency.”

Caro delicately brought her napkin up to her eyes as if
blotting away fresh tears. “Of course. My dear Hollister could pass at any
moment.”

The phrase “my dear Hollister” gave Sydney pause, especially
after what Griffin had said earlier about Caro abhorring Hollister.
Abhor
was a pretty strong word. And perhaps his
failing health had softened her emotions.

“Erm…yes, of course,” Sydney hedged, fiddling with the
settings on her iPad as she wondered how best to steer the conversation. “If we
could just—”

“You don’t like me much, do you?”

Sydney snapped her gaze to Caro’s face. She cringed. “It’s not
my place to—”

“I supposed Dalton told you all sorts of horror stories about
me.”

“Dalton never really discussed his personal life,” she was able
to say honestly.

“Hmm.” Caro took another sip of her wine while pinning Sydney
with a cool, assessing gaze. “Then I suppose you’ve just formed your own opinion
based on what you think you know about me.”

“I…” Christ, what was she supposed to say to that? “It’s
really not my place to have an opinion about you.”

“Nonsense. Everyone has opinions.” Caro waved a dismissive hand
and then studied Sydney shrewdly. “I suppose you think I brought this on myself.
That I’m as much to blame as Hollister because I turned a blind eye for so many
years.” She sighed, staring off into space for a moment. “And maybe I should
have left, but I knew he loved me in his own way. Hollister is a great man. But
even great men never accomplish great things without the right support system. I
told myself I could be that support he needed. Perhaps I fooled even
myself.”

Slowly, Caro’s gaze swiveled back to Sydney. Though Sydney met
the other woman’s gaze, she had no idea what to say. Honestly, she couldn’t
pretend to be sympathetic, but she also couldn’t deny that she understood what
Caro meant. Hadn’t she just had a similar thought herself at the office? Not
exactly, of course. But similar. That’s what being an assistant was all about.
Taking pride in someone else’s work. Helping someone else achieve greatness
while being content to stay in the background.

It seemed she could see Caro’s faults so clearly, but perhaps
that was because they mirrored her own.

Caro seemed to be waiting for some response, so Sydney spoke,
hesitatingly at first. “I can’t speak to your relationship with Hollister.
That’s not my place. But I can say this—Griffin also has it in him to be a great
man.”

“Griffin?” Caro asked.

“Yes, Griffin.” The surprise in Caro’s voice annoyed her.

“Oh, I’m not disagreeing,” Caro added hastily. “I’m just
surprised. You worked for Dalton for much longer. I expected you to be touting
his greatness.”

Heat rose in Sydney’s cheeks as she realized her mistake. She
had only been Griffin’s assistant for a handful of days, and that’s how Caro
would see it. “Of course Dalton is also great,” she fumbled for a response.
Something, anything to hide the depth of her involvement with Griffin. “Dalton
is incredibly intelligent. And ambitious. And…” Now she was overplaying it.
She paused to take a sip of her tea. “I merely meant that I can see greatness in
Griffin, too.”

“Yes. I agree.” Caro leveled another one of those cool,
assessing stares at Sydney, giving her the feeling that she’d hidden nothing
from the other woman but exposed entirely too much.

“Well,” Sydney said with forced confidence. “About those
questions I had…”

“Yes,” came a voice from right behind her. “I have some
questions, too.”

Sydney’s heart gave a little jump. She knew his voice without
having to turn around.

Griffin was here.

She slowly looked over her shoulder. He was standing behind
her, just to her right. How much had he heard? More to the point, why was he
here? Was he angry with her?

She pasted an ingratiating smile on her face. “Hello, Mr.
Cain.”

Her use of his last name must have irritated him because his
gaze narrowed slightly. “Ms. Edwards,” he said with a nod. “Mother.” He crossed
to Caro’s side and brushed a kiss across her cheek. “You look beautiful, as
always.”

Caro offered him a restrained smile. “Hello, dear. I assume you
want to join us. We haven’t ordered yet. Shall I have the waiter pull up a
chair?”

She was already gesturing when he stopped her with a hand to
her arm. “No. Thank you. I’ll take Sydney’s chair. She can’t stay.”

“I can’t?”

“No. You can’t. I need you back at the office.”

“You do?” Nice try, but she wasn’t going to let him bully her,
not when she was just starting to feel like she was making real progress with
his mother.

“Yes.” He gave her a pointed look. As if she was too dense to
get the point. “There’s a lot of work to do today.”

“Then I’ll stay late.” She smiled back at Caro. “Your mother
was nice enough to invite me to lunch. It would be rude to leave her now.”

“You can go back to the office and I’ll have lunch with
her.”

“But—” Sydney began, but then broke off. Glancing back at
Griffin, she said, “Perhaps we should discuss this in private.”

Griffin looked like he’d rather discuss it back at the office,
but instead he gave a tight nod. “Mother, if you’ll excuse us?”

“Yes, of course,” she murmured.

“Come on, then.”

Sydney stood, leaving her shoulder bag at the table because
that way he couldn’t just show her out. However, instead of taking her out the
front of the club, which she’d feared he would do, he guided her out the back,
through one of the many glass doors, onto the sprawling patio that overlooked
the expansive golf course.

Even though it was late October and theoretically the
temperatures should be dropping, it was still in the eighties and the persistent
humidity made the air feel sticky. The view of the pristinely manicured lawns of
the River Oaks golf course was stunning. It was almost oppressively beautiful.
Too beautiful, actually, like the photo on a postcard that’s been touched up so
much it no longer looks like a real place.

And she knew that was true of the River Oaks Country Club.
There was nothing here that was real. Nothing solid. It was all surgically taut
skin and chemically brightened grass.

But perhaps she was prejudiced, her opinions colored by her
status as an outsider.

Beside her, Griffin said, “Don’t pretend you came here to lunch
with my mother just to admire the view.”

She glanced up at him, taking in the lean lines of his face.
Griffin also had that otherworldly quality to him. Not false, exactly, but still
too pretty to be real. Unbelievably handsome.

She turned to face him fully. No, she was done pretending.

“Of course I’m not going to pretend. I’m here to talk to your
mother, just like you are.”

“The question is, why are you here when you’re supposed to be
back at the office?”

“Your mother called
me.
She offered
to help in any way she could. I tried to get a hold of you, but you weren’t
available. When she offered to talk to me instead, I accepted. I wanted to
strike while the iron was hot. I didn’t do this to undermine you or go behind
your back. I was trying to help. That’s all.”

He opened his mouth, his hand raised like he was about to jab a
finger toward her to emphasize his point. Then he snapped his mouth shut, spun
around and paced about five steps away. Only to turn back around, fists clenched
at his side, and glare at her. “You do not need to be here.”

“I feel like she’s really starting to open up to me. Maybe
I—”

“If you feel like she’s starting to open to you it’s because
that’s what she wants you to feel.”

“You’re saying she’s manipulating me?”

“That’s what my mother does best.” Suddenly, there was no
belligerence in his tone. No frustration. Just exhaustion. “Just go back to the
office and let me handle her.”

She responded with as much honesty as she could. “I don’t think
I should,” she answered simply. “I’m supposed to be helping you find the missing
heiress. Your mother obviously has information that we need. If she’ll open up
to me—”

“We don’t know that.”

“She must! And I’m sorry, but the fact that you can’t see that
makes me question your judgment.”

“My judgment?”

“Yes, your judgment. This argument we’re having is ridiculous.
I’m trying to do what’s best for Cain Enterprises and I really believe your
mother will open up to me. You’ve admitted to me that you don’t get along with
her. Maybe I’ll have more luck. Shouldn’t you at least let me try?”

*

And this, Griffin realized, was why sleeping with his
assistant was a dumb-ass idea.

Marion might be nearing fifty and matronly, she might be a
little slow to navigate the latest software and she might even be still
reporting to his father—which he’d long suspected, but never had any firm
evidence of—but at least Marion followed directions. If he’d sent her back to
the office to dig pointlessly through boxes, she’d have done it with a cheerful
smile and brought him cookies later.

But no, not Sydney. Because Sydney knew him too well to fall
for his bull.

“Look, there is nothing wrong with my judgment. Let me question
my mother.”

Her brow furrowed with doubt. Hoping to push the argument over
the edge, he ran a knuckle across her cheek. Her eyelids dropped a fraction and
she swayed just a little. And this was the advantage of sleeping with your
assistant. At least when she was as responsive as Sydney was.

“Trust me,” he coaxed.

Her eyes snapped open. “Trust you?” She stepped back, putting
more distance between them. “I’m supposed to just trust you? That’s really rich
coming from a guy who won’t even let me glance at his Day-Timer.”

Where the hell had that come from? “That has nothing to do with
this.”

Her gaze narrowed slightly. “Try to see it from my point of
view. How am I supposed to trust you when you never explain anything? Do you
deny that you’re hiding things from me?”

He turned away from her and stared out at the lush green lawns
of the golf course. He gritted his teeth. “I was just trying to protect
you.”

“I don’t understand…protect me from what?” Her expression was
blank with confusion.

“I’m trying to protect you from my parents. They’re not nice
people,” he admitted. “Bitter. Angry. Manipulative. Pits of nuclear waste are
less toxic. And things at the house have only gotten worse since this crap with
the heiress started. Why the hell would I want to expose you to that?”