A Good Time

Chapter 1-3

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 resolving 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 The Bostwick Charity: An Insider’s View.

Moira had gotten a byline in the Times. His chest filled with pride, as if she were 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 a*s. 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. She excelled at her job, so 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 keep throwing money in and nothing more.”

“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 it’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 a*s. 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 purpose. 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 d**k 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’Leary’s, 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 it 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 singing karaoke 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 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. The back of his neck tingled.

“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 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. He’d prefer being a bastard 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.