pale eyes found him and she sat up as a purely sexual smile curved her lips. Trace’s stomach turned.
“Where’s the boy?”
“Out,” she purred as she moved from the sofa, her dress barely covering her thighs. “Can you stay a while?” The implication was clear.
“This shit stops now, Heidi.”
She came to stop just in front of him, her lips pouting in an expression he supposed was meant to be a turn-on, but he felt his breakfast lurching up his throat. When her hands found his chest, he grabbed her wrists.
“I agreed to help, but you threaten me and we’re done. The only one who stands to get hurt in all of this is the boy. I would think that as his mother, you’d be more motherly.”
She pulled from him and hissed, “I never wanted the little beggar, but he comes from a wealthy family. You don’t toss that kind of good fortune away.”
“You fucking bitch.”
“I’m serious, Trace. You might not like that, or me, but you don’t have a choice. We’re family, whether you want to admit it or not.” She sat on the arm of the sofa and spread her legs, her thong barely covering her assets. “Besides, you took us on.”
“I don’t know what it is you think you stand to gain from this, but I promise you it will not end the way you hope.”
“Oh Trace. Don’t worry about me. As long as those checks keep coming regularly, we’re good.” She ran her finger up her thigh. “If you wanted to take some of the money out in trade, I’m always up for that.”
“Never going to fucking happen.”
“Whatever.”
At that moment the door opened as a boy of about sixteen entered. Every time Trace saw him, he felt a searing pain in his chest. The black hair and blue eyes . . . the boy was almost his mirror image.
“Hey, Trace.”
“Seth, how are you doing?”
“Good. Got to eat, though, and get to my homework.”
Trace watched as Seth disappeared into his room. He never once looked at his mother and it was that, more than anything, that left Trace with a sour taste in his mouth. He knew how it felt to be neglected. Guilt twisted inside him just as Heidi said, “He looks just like you.”
“Fuck off.” Trace slammed the door behind him. What was that expression Lucien was forever saying? Lie down with dogs and get up with fleas. Fuck if that wasn’t true.
Darcy arrived to work at eight in the morning. It had been a week since Lucien had given his goofy instructions and since they seemed to be enjoying a truce, she decided he wouldn’t object to a bit of humor. She’d stopped at one of the junk shops near her apartment and bought Lucien the biggest mug she could find. It said, “I ♥ Coffee.”
She dropped her bag at her desk and headed to the kitchen. She set the coffee machine and then stood with mug in hand, tapping her foot, waiting for the coffee to finish. Not only did Lucien not like coffee, but the idea of it fixed with sugar and cream turned his stomach, so naturally she added four heaping tablespoons of sugar to the mug and filled it with enough cream to make it look like vanilla ice cream.
Trying very hard to keep the smile from her face, she knocked when she reached his office.
“Come in.”
“Your coffee,” she said in way of greeting.
He looked up, his eyes on her for a minute before they moved to the mug in her hand. He was trying, and she gave him points for a valid effort, but the grin cracked over his face nonetheless. He leaned back in his chair just as Darcy placed the mug in the middle of his desk.
“Thank you.”
Her eyes met his and for just a second she saw her Lucien—the beautiful, serious boy with eyes that saw far more than they should. As if lured by a favorite tune, just looking into his unguarded expression swept her back to a time when she’d still believed in happily-ever-afters. But of course they weren’t real, as she’d learned all too well. She started from his office.
“Darcy.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, before she glanced at him over her shoulder.
“Yes?”
“I was reading through your resume—very impressive.”
Pride rushed through her at his words since he was the only one whose opinion had ever mattered to her. Her voice wasn’t quite steady in reply. “Thanks.”