The answer to that is no. Not really. But I can guess. “We’ll make it work.”

  Her expression becomes strangely panicked. “You must see that this isn’t what’s best for Emme. You’ll have to be home every night with her. You can’t just leave a thirteen-year-old to fend for herself. Your entire life is going to change.”

  She’s right, but the look on Emme’s face prevents me from agreeing with her. “My entire life has already changed, and so has Emme’s.”

  “I can provide her with stability that you can’t,” she counters. There’s desperation in her tone and I’m unsure what the cause is. She’s not particularly close with Emme that I know of, despite working at her school.

  Besides that, I haven’t even had a chance to prove I’m capable and already she’s telling me I’ll fail. “You think your revolving door of husbands is indicative of stability?”

  Her expression shutters and she snaps at me, “Far more stable than you and your Tinder dates and sleeping around with whatever woman you pick up from the bar.”

  I pin Linda with an unimpressed glare. “You don’t know the first thing about me or my personal life. Emme is my sister. I’ll make whatever lifestyle changes necessary so I can support her and be there for her.”

  It’s not like I have a rotation of women warming my bed all the time. I have an old acting friend I see once in a while when she’s in town. It’s a no-strings kind of thing because we’re both too busy for relationships. Linda’s making me sound like a playboy, when in reality, I’m a thirty-year-old with a healthy sex drive, and I like to be safe and smart about my partners. I don’t just screw randoms on a whim whenever I feel like it. Not that I need to discuss this, particularly not in front of my sister.

  While I’m not sure I’m the best option, I don’t want to disrupt Emme’s life more than it already is, so if that means I have to move back here, then I’m willing to try to be the parent she needs, even if I have no idea how to do that.

  “Maybe we should ask Emme what she wants.” Linda smiles encouragingly at her. “Do you think it would be better for you to live with me, honey?”

  Emme looks from Linda to me and back again.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “You can answer the question honestly, Em. I only want what’s best for you.” Although it might literally kill me if she says she’d rather live with our aunt.

  “I want to live with Dax,” Emme says quietly.

  Linda sighs, annoyance pushing through. “Of course she wants to live where there won’t be any rules or supervision.” She pushes up from the chair. “This is a mistake. You don’t have the first clue what it takes to care for a teenage girl, Daxton. I think you should seriously consider the demands and whether this really is best for Emme.”

  And suddenly I realize I’ve gone from single to single dad.

  Once Thomas leaves, Linda packs her things, her frustration at the situation clear in the jerky way she moves around the house. I understand her shock, but I can’t quite figure out why she’s so upset. It’s not like I’m a drug addict or I go partying all the time. I’m more of a workaholic than anything.

  After she leaves, I search my dad’s office for the trust files, aware it’s another thing I’m going to need to go through. It’s been months since it was set up, and aside from the initial meeting, I didn’t have much to do with it. I find a set of papers tucked into a filing cabinet in my dad’s desk. They’re a draft and not exactly what I’m looking for, but it’s a start and I’m too tired to keep looking. It appears my parents kept every file from birth for both of us, so locating the full trust documents will be like finding a needle in a haystack.

  Later in the evening Felix comes by with a six-pack of beer. He was at the funeral yesterday, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to him since he delivered the news that my parents were gone. Emme’s in her room, exhausted by the whole custody thing and the reading of the will this morning. Frankly, so am I.

  I grab the file with the will, and Felix follows me outside to the backyard and drops down in one of the rickety Adirondack chairs my dad and I built together a good decade ago.

  “So give me the lowdown. What happened with the will?”

  I pass over the documents and give him the abridged version. “I have custody of Emme.”

  He’s silent for a few seconds, leafing through the papers without really reading them before he clears his throat on a low whistle. “So does this make you Daddy Dax?”

  “Screw you, asshole.” I laugh a little, though.

  I need to find humor in something. Felix is a joker and he’s good at making light of things. He sort of has to be, seeing as he’s a criminal defense attorney and he deals with some messed-up cases. I’m more than happy to spend my days dealing with actor contract negotiations, and the occasional harassment suit, thank you very much.

  “Seriously, though, your parents gave you custody of your sister?”

  “Apparently they decided to change guardianship from Linda to me when I turned thirty, and didn’t tell either of us.” I take a sip of my beer.

  “What the fuck were they thinking?”

  I shoot him a look, although that was pretty much my first thought, too.

  “I’m not saying it to be an asshole, well mostly I’m not, but come on, it’s not like you’re a candidate for the responsibility award.”

  “I’m responsible.”

  He snorts. “Remember that time you went to Vegas for the weekend? You forgot to manage the thermostat in your condo and all your tropical fish died.”

  “That was one time, and it was an accident.”

  “Accident or not, your condo stunk for weeks. We had to move poker twice until it went away.”

  “I’m not good with pets.”

  “Fish are the easiest pets in the world. They require minimal effort to keep alive. You sprinkle food in there and clean their tank, what, once every two months, if that? Teenage girls are like rabid, angry puppies. They’re yappy, they want your attention all the time, they make a mess. Take it from someone who grew up with three younger sisters: Even when they’re adorable, it doesn’t really make up for the rest of the bullshit,” Felix says.

  I give him a sideways glare. “You should definitely never have kids.”

  “I’m just saying, this isn’t like raising her from birth. You’re taking over someone else’s job when she’s on the downslide, you know? Like you missed all the years when kids actually like you and rely on you, and now you just get to deal with moodiness and fending off boys.”

  “Has anyone ever told you your pep talks are legendary?”

  “I just think you might need to consider what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “My parents gave me custody. It’s not like I asked for it.”

  “What about your aunt? Hasn’t she already raised a couple of kids?”

  I’ve thought the same thing more than once today. “Yeah, but if your parents had just died and entrusted you to take care of your thirteen-year-old sister, wouldn’t you at least try?”

  Felix drums his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I guess. But it’s a lot to take on. It changes everything, Dax.”

  “I know. Linda kept saying that. Talking about what’s best for Emme.” I rub the back of my neck. “You know what’s weird? My parents didn’t leave anything to Linda. She’s my only aunt, and she and my mom were pretty close. Or at least it seemed that way. They helped her through some rough spots in the past, so I figured she’d get something, you know?”

  “Maybe something happened that you don’t know about?”

  “Maybe, it’s just…odd.” I scrub a hand over my face. I’m so tired. “I should talk to a custody lawyer so I can get a handle on all of this.”

  “It’s probably a good idea,” Felix replies.

  “I’m going to have to talk to the lawyer who set up Emme’s trust, too, since I can’t seem to find anything but the initial draft, which should be fun.” I recall the way Kailyn reacted to me the last time I was in her office. She seemed less than excited to see me, which was strange since I’d kind of had a thing for her back then, and I’d thought it was mutual. “My life is so fucked right now.”

  “It’ll get better,” he assures me.

  I nod, but I have a feeling it’s going to get a lot worse before that happens.

  Chapter Four

  Fangirl Resurrected

  Kailyn

  Cara, my regular assistant, who is never allowed to go on vacation on weeks that don’t coincide with mine again, knocks on my office door and pops her head in about thirty seconds after I sit down at my desk. I’ve had a hell of a morning. It’s been meeting after meeting and I finally have a breather.

  Cara holds a takeout cup from the café down the street and her tablet. “Nonfat, double-espresso, two-pump vanilla latte with extra cinnamon?” It’s framed as a question.

  I raise a brow. “Is there some kind of emergency you’re buttering me up for?”

  “I’m so sorry, but there’s a drop-in appointment, and Beverly said it was urgent so…”

  Beverly is my boss, and she’s highly aware my schedule doesn’t permit for drop-ins. “I only have an hour until my next meeting.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry, Kailyn, but she said you would see him—”

  “Him who?”

  “Beverly wouldn’t give me a name.” Cara clutches her iPad to her chest and glances over her shoulder, possibly checking for interlopers. “I think it might be someone famous.”

  “Someone famous?” I parrot. It’s LA; there are a lot of famous people in this city.

  Cara pushes her glasses up her nose. “I only caught a glimpse of the back of him. She brought him to the conference room about half an hour ago and she won’t say anything about who it is. I tried, Kailyn. I know how much you hate surprises.”

  “I’ll just stop by her office before I go in there.”

  Cara’s gaze darts around the room for a second before returning to me. Her cringe isn’t reassuring. “She’s in a meeting.”

  “Shit. Okay. I guess I’m going in blind.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” I give her what I hope is a genuine smile. She’s a fabulous assistant, and if Beverly is being mysterious, it’s certainly not Cara’s fault. “I’ll just be a minute and then I’ll head to the conference room.”

  “Okay. Great. When you’re finished with the mystery client, we can review missed calls, and I’ve already adjusted your schedule for the afternoon just in case the meeting takes more of your time than you anticipate.”

  “Perfect, thank you.” This is why I love her.

  I wait until Cara leaves before I pull my compact out of the drawer and check my reflection, frustrated that I have no idea with whom I’m meeting or why. The last time this happened I embarrassed the hell out of myself. I smooth my hair and reapply my lipstick. Appearance is half the battle in this world. Appear poised and successful, and people will believe you are. Visualize success. I smile at my personal mantra. It’s gotten me where I am, albeit with a few bumps in the road.

  I adjust my glasses one last time and scoop up my tablet but leave the coffee on my desk so as not to appear as though I have time for chitchat. Cara is already behind her desk, typing away frantically. This whole thing has probably stressed her out and understandably so; I’m particular about how things are run, and while unexpected situations arise, this unpreparedness is exactly the kind of thing I prefer to avoid.

  I approach the conference room quietly, hoping I’ll get a peek at whoever is in there. A man in a slightly rumpled suit stands facing the windows, with his hands shoved in his pockets. I take in the broad shoulders and sandy hair, a little unkempt, and realize Daxton Hughes is back in my office.

  I lean against the doorjamb. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” My tone intentionally lacks warmth.

  He turns away from the window, eyes slow to follow. I take in his typically gorgeous face with those piercing blue eyes, and the cut jaw with what I would guess is two days’ worth of stubble. He looks…rough. Maybe he’s been on a bender.

  He blinks a few times, like he’s clearing his head, and rounds the conference table. He takes my hand in both of his. It’s disarming and unexpected. His voice cracks and he turns his head, clearing his throat before he tries again. “Thank you for agreeing to see me without an appointment. I know you must be very busy, so I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me.”

  I’m not the least bit moved by this show of false sincerity. “Beverly insisted it was rather urgent.” And I assume she fell prey to his pretty face; even as rough as he looks, he’s still stunning.

  “It was. It is.” He clears his throat again and motions to the chair across from his. “Can we sit?”

  “Of course. I don’t have long, though.” I drop into the chair and cross my legs, fighting not to do the same with my arms. This man seems to bring out all my worst traits, which includes excessive fidgeting and flailing.

  “Right.” He runs his palms over his thighs and exhales, eyes moving slowly over my face. It feels intimate and searching. “I have a personal custody issue.”

  Maybe Holly was right and there is an illegitimate love child. I can see the headline now: WASHED-UP FORMER CHILD ACTOR DAXTON HUGHES KNOCKS UP DEBUTANTE. “I don’t deal with paternity issues. I deal with trusts.”

  His brow furrows and he shakes his head. “It’s not a paternity issue. And it has to do with a trust, the one you set up for my sister.” He rubs his lips with his fingertips, drawing my attention there. “I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult week.” He rests his elbow on the table and bows his head, squeezing the bridge of his nose. He swallows thickly and his voice cracks again. “My parents…”

  I’m thoroughly enjoying his discomfort, and how hard this seems to be for him, until the next words come out of his mouth.

  “They were killed in a car accident last week.”

  It’s like being slammed in the chest with a bowling ball and doused in an acid bath of guilt. “Oh my God.” I reach out on instinct and cover his hand with mine. It sends an unexpected jolt through my body, so I draw back immediately. “I’m so sorry, Daxton.”

  His eyes drift closed and a weak smile touches his lips before it falls again. “I don’t know when it’s going to get easier to say that out loud.” He rubs his hands together, as if he’s trying to rid himself of that staticky feeling, too, before he lifts his head. “Uh, anyway”—he pushes a set of papers toward me—“I need to review the trust you set up for my sister, and all I can find is the draft form of the contract.”

  I almost feel bad for assuming the absolute worst about him, but our history doesn’t really allow for warm feelings or thoughts. Then I remember that his sister is only thirteen. I press my hand to my heart, as if it will stop the pang that melts a little of my hatred toward this man. My father passed the year after I graduated law school, and I was devastated. I walked around in a fog of grief for months. I can’t even fathom how painful this must be for his sister. “She’s so young. This must be so hard for you both.”

  His face crumples and he runs his hands up and down his thighs, as if he’s struggling to control his emotions. “It’s been a shock, and it’s a lot of change very fast.”

  “Who’s caring for her now?” I know what it’s like to be orphaned; I’ve gone through it twice now.

  “My parents granted me custody.”

  I glance at his hands. There’s no ring on his finger. He’s close to the same age as me. Maybe a year or two older, so thirty at best. What kind of background does he have in raising a child, let alone a teenage girl? “I see. That’s a lot of responsibility.”

  “Well, the alternative is going to live with our aunt, and that’s not what Emme wants.”

  “And what about you? What do you want?”

  “I want what’s best for Emme.”

  “And that’s you?” I shouldn’t be asking such personal, almost needling questions. This kind of antagonism isn’t acceptable for someone in a state of grieving. And yet, he’s just lost his parents and he’s here about a trust, which sends up a red flag—or maybe I’m looking for reasons to doubt his integrity.

  He taps his lips, pensive instead of affronted. “Honestly? I don’t know. But it’s what Emme wants, and my parents seemed to think it would be best for her, so I’m going to try.”

  He’s either being noble or delusional. Taking care of a teenager is no easy task. “And you need my help for what, exactly?”

  “I need to make sure Emme’s trust documents are up to date. My aunt was supposed to be the custodial guardian when the trust was drafted, and since that’s changed, I want to ensure there’s no conflict. I’m not sure at this point what that shift in custody means, and if there are any issues with the change that could impact Emme’s trust.” He rubs the space between his eyes. “Makes me wish I’d gone into family law instead of entertainment law so I’d know what’s what. Anyway, I was hoping I could get a copy of the most recent trust documents, and maybe we could set up a meeting to review it, preferably soon.”

  I flip through the draft in silence. He’s also attached a copy of the will stating Emme is in his care, the power of attorney, and the most recent bank statement with the trust funds. His sister will have access to obscene funds when she’s an adult. As long as the money stays safe and out of the hands of people looking to cash in on her. And I’m unsure whether Daxton is one of those people or not.

  “I’ll need to have my assistant pull the original files. She can email you a copy, and in the meantime I can review them and then we can set something up. I have meetings this afternoon, though, so it won’t be immediate.” I don’t know what his angle is. Is he worried about the money disappearing? Has he frittered all of his away on an excessive lifestyle and expensive cars and now he’s looking to cash in? I need time to look over everything and do some research.

  He gives me an apologetic smile. “I know I just showed up here today, and to be honest, it’s been a tough week. I tried to call early this morning, and then just figured you’d need all this documentation anyway.” He motions to the papers spread out between us. “I know you can’t drop everything to deal with this, but I’m a little overwhelmed, so if we can meet early next week sometime, that would be great.”