If You Need Me: The Ashford Legacy, Book 1 Page 9

  A young couple was walking toward them with their arms intertwined and their hands in the other’s back pocket. They didn’t seem to have a care in the world. “See?” Kyle whispered in her ear. “We don’t look any different than them.”

  Rayna smiled as the couple passed. Every face she saw told her a story. The wrinkly, sun-weathered face of an old homeless man. A mother kneeling down on the sidewalk to wipe sunscreen across a little girl’s pink cheeks. A set of rowdy teens zipping past on their skateboards like they’d happily run her off the sidewalk. Kyle’s arm tightened over her ribs, and she relaxed her head back into his palm just a fraction of an inch.

  On the next street, she spied the mother lode of flowers, and her mind went back to the Gerbera daisy sitting in the coffee cup on her table and how Kyle had rewarded her for finding it. Buckets filled with colorful, fragrant blooms lined the walls outside of the florist’s shop. If she could ever walk here on her own, she vowed her little apartment would never again go without a vase of fresh-cut flowers.

  “You’re doing great,” Kyle told her, and she brought her hand over her stomach to cover his and squeezed. This man meant everything to her. No other man had ever cared about her as much as Kyle Ford.

  Her heart rate kicked up when they began to round the last building on the street leading to the boardwalk. Her body was wired, yet exhausted, so saturated with stress hormones it was like she’d traveled thirty miles through the jungle instead of less than a mile down the quaint city streets. And when they stepped past the corner of the offices and the ocean view rose up before her, she stopped, causing Kyle to bump into her from behind.

  “There’s your water, Ray,” Kyle whispered in her ear. “You made it.”

  “I made it,” she choked out, and with the tears obscuring her vision and Kyle’s hand on her nape, she stumbled forward like a corpse back from the dead as she headed for the beach.

  When her feet hit the shore, she forgot about Kyle’s hand for the moment and dropped to her knees, splaying her fingers in the sand like it was soil from the motherland.

  Kyle watched her, his smile larger even than hers, and after a while he reached his hand down to her. “Come on. We’re not done yet.”

  When she paused and stared up at him, he laughed and scooped her up in his arms, running toward the water with her cradled to his chest.

  “Kyle!” she squealed when he plunged them both into the frigid surf.

  She was an utter mess, crying, laughing, her hair dripping from the ends, but he never let go. His skin was warm against hers when she wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him as the waves broke against their tangled forms. The sun glinting off the water shone through her closed eyelids, and she savored the moment. The sea surrounded her, stretching to the ends of the horizon, but what made it truly perfect was being in Kyle’s arms.

  They cheated and called a taxi for the ride back. Taking a car wasn’t much better for Rayna than going on foot, but Kyle held her hand until they walked back through her front door. Their clothes were damp and sandy, but she didn’t care.

  It broke her heart that she’d lived in this apartment for three years and before today had never stepped foot into the Pacific Ocean. But with today’s victory came a sort of high and an onslaught of crazy thoughts. What if she bought a helmet and neck protection for when Kyle wasn’t around? What if one day she could suit up and make it to the beach on her own?

  Kyle ran his hands down her arms. “Hey, I’m gonna jump in the shower real quick. Do you want to join me?”

  She felt as light as air. “I think I want to leave the salt on my skin for a while longer, you know?”

  He kissed her tenderly but then narrowed his gaze. “Fine, but if it’s still on there later—I’m taking it upon myself to lick it off.”

  She chuckled and squeezed his firm ass when he turned. “Then I’m definitely leaving it on.”

  The water started, and Rayna had just put Bratty’s diaper on to let her run around the apartment, when her phone rang. She went into the kitchen to see who it was, then quickly picked up when she saw it was her agent. Crap, she hoped Celia didn’t ask how the deadline was going. Rayna was a full two days behind, and she hated being behind.

  “Working this late on a Friday?” Rayna said in greeting. She and Kyle had a few hours of daylight left, but Celia was on the East Coast.

  “I wish I wasn’t. How are you, Rayna?”

  Rayna narrowed one eye and pursed her lips. Strange. Celia’s voice sounded like her favorite cat had died. “I’m doing awesome. Amazing, even. But how are you, Celia?”

  There was a very long pause. “Well, that’s why I called. A better question is how are we, and I’m afraid the answer is that we have a problem.”

  “We do? Like…you and me?” Rayna clarified, her beach high taking a sudden plunge.

  “Oh heavens no! Not you and me—we’re golden. It’s…well, honey…I just got word of changes that are taking place at Orien. Big changes. It’s not official yet, but I have a friend who called to let me know.”

  “What changes?” Were they screwing with her advances again? As it was, Orien’s advances were hardly enough to allow her to keep writing full time and not go back to an hourly work-from-home job. Her “partnership” in the cattle business might pay dividends eventually, but not soon enough to cover her monthly expenses.

  “You might want to sit down, Rayna.”

  “I’m fine. Just tell me.”

  “Orien is going under. There are rumors of embezzlement and some shady deals that went down, and apparently it’s in such bad shape at this point that the new parent company is going to dissolve it completely.”

  Rayna decided to sit her sandy ass on the sofa as she gave her mind a minute to catch up. Orien…going under? “What does that mean for me? What about my next book? We already signed the contract.”

  “At this point, it looks like authors with signed contracts will get their promised advances, but it’s doubtful the books will be published anytime soon…if ever. Don’t worry though; they’ll have a big lawsuit on their hands if they go that route. Everyone will want their rights back.”

  Rayna buried her face in her hands. “Oh fuck. Them tying up these contracts in court and never releasing my novel would be worse than if they’d never bought the book to begin with.” She thought of that manuscript sitting on her computer, months of work and it was days away from being finished—and then she let out a bark of laughter. “Well, I guess I don’t need to stress too much about this deadline, huh?”

  “I’m so sorry, hon. For both of us.”

  Oh shit. That was right. If Rayna lost her publisher and her livelihood, then Celia also lost a piece of hers. “I’m sorry, too. Is there anyone I can call—any way we can protest this?”

  “No. The parent company, Ashford Enterprises, doesn’t want to get into publishing. Orien was just part of a larger portfolio they acquired.”

  She blinked and stared for a moment at the phone. “Who?”

  “Ashford. And I doubt a multibillion-dollar company is going to be too concerned with what a few writers and their agents have to say.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Okay. And don’t worry, Rayna. Even if this book’s contract is tied up, we’ll find another home for your future work. Piece of cake, all right?”

  The old optimism was back in Celia’s voice, but Rayna couldn’t hear past the sound of the water in the shower cutting off. “Thanks. I’ll call you tomorrow,” she said.

  When they hung up, Rayna rose on unsteady legs and ambled over to her laptop. She hadn’t felt such a nightmarish sensation since being dragged into the boys’ bathroom in high school.

  She typed three words into the search engine: Ashford Kyle Ford. She was so confused, she wasn’t sure what to expect. Was he the one closing her publisher down? Was he some sicko who got his kicks from…from what? Nothing made sense. But she knew one thing—there was no way it was a coincidence that Kyle worked for A
shford, the very company that was selling her out.

  She hoped for a job title and maybe a job description, but the first page of links simply read “Kyle Ashford”. To the right of the main search page there was a slew of pictures of Kyle…mostly professional photos. She read the first several links—Forbes…the Ashford Foundation…Wikipedia. Her brain was in danger of exploding. What the fuck did this mean? Why was Kyle Ford’s picture reading Kyle Ashford?

  She clicked on the link for Wikipedia and a detailed biography of Kyle Ashford popped up. Front and center was a picture of the man currently in her master bathroom. Bile surged up her throat, and Rayna’s stomach heaved.

  When she heard the sound of footsteps down the hall she almost ran for the front door. Deciding she didn’t have time to escape, she sat white-knuckled at her computer when Kyle came around the corner in nothing but a pair of jeans. He was grinning wide, holding Bratty to his chest.

  “Look who I found rummaging through the bathroom trash ca—” he began, but then he stopped short. “Rayna? What’s the matter? What happened, sweetheart?”

  She couldn’t speak. All she could do was turn the computer around for him to see.

  He stepped closer and his eyes went wide with something like fear. “I…I was going to tell you. I wanted to do it in person. And then I didn’t know when would be the right time. I was going to tell you tonight.”

  She rose to her feet, confusion and heartbreak turning to fury. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m Kyle Ashford. Son of Kenton and—”

  But she couldn’t listen to another word. She’d never felt like she wanted to physically hurt someone before, but she did now. How could he? How could he make love to her and hint at a future together when he’d been laughing at her the entire time? Kenton Ashford was one of the ten richest people in North America. And Kyle Ashford was his son.

  “Give me my chicken!” she shrieked. “Give her to me!”

  He held Bratty out and Rayna almost ripped her from his arms. Bratty flapped wildly and made a crash landing on the armchair before jumping down and skittering away to hide.

  Kyle’s skin was pale with bright pink splotches low on his cheeks. He barely blinked, just stared back at her. “Ray, just calm down, please. We can talk about this. I can explain.”

  “Can you explain that you’re putting my publisher out of business? Can you explain how you found me three months ago and pretended to be a fan? What are you? Some fucking nutjob sicko? What do you get out of this, Kyle, besides a piece of ass—which you could easily buy elsewhere!”

  “I’m not going to let Orien Publishing go under. Don’t even worry about it, okay? It’s not gonna happen. And I’ve been reading your work for the past four years, Rayna. I have a signed first edition of every book you’ve ever written. You think I chose you like…like easy prey or something when I learned my company had acquired Orien?”

  “That’s what it looks like from where I’m standing.”

  Kyle took a step back, his arms coming up in front of him with his fingers splayed. “Just listen to me, okay? I have money, yes. It doesn’t change who I am. I know I should have told you about Orien, and I was going to, but I wanted good news. And there will be. Other than that, everything we shared is real. I’m in love with you. I know money issues can be stressful, and I want us to work through that. I want to spend my life with you.”

  “Are you finished?” she asked him.

  “Uh…yeah. Unless you have any questions or—”

  Her upper lip curled in a sneer. “Then get the fuck out of my house. You are no longer welcome here.”

  Kyle blinked, shook his head, and blinked again. Barefoot, in jeans and no shirt, he turned and staggered to the front door, reaching to take his wallet and cell from the kitchen counter on his way. He left the front door open behind him and didn’t look back as he walked out of Rayna’s life.

  Chapter Ten

  The first two weeks without Kyle were some of the hardest weeks Rayna had ever endured. She got especially tense in the early mornings and late evenings, part of her hating him and part of her waiting for an e-mail or the sound of an incoming video call.

  Of course, she’d done about a million Internet searches on Kyle Ashford since that day, and every one confirmed that he was as rich and powerful as she’d feared. The occasional article had even referred to him as “one of America’s most eligible bachelors”. He’d dated supermodels. Heiresses. Plenty of them. But he was thought to be the self-centered, commitment-phobic type of guy who never stayed around long.

  The stories of him were nothing like the Kyle she’d gotten to know over three months of the most intense friendship—most intense courtship—she’d ever experienced.

  Rayna stretched out in the sand, letting the sun warm her skin. God, she missed him. But she missed her Kyle. Not the guy the rest of the world saw.

  She lifted the edge of her bikini for a quick peek at her skin. Wow. She almost had tan lines now. Well, okay, more pink than tan…but it was color, nonetheless.

  “Hey, nice helmet,” a handsome young surfer teased as he walked by. “And cool bike.”

  “Thanks,” she answered, letting a little smile creep onto her lips.

  Beach people could be weird. So much so that they didn’t mind much that once Rayna ditched her new beach cruiser in the sand, she “forgot” to take off her helmet. She was a long way from cured, maybe, but she didn’t care. The ocean was in front of her and she was here, one small part of something infinite. The only thing that cast a pall on the moment was the constant shallow ache in her chest that had been present since the day she’d shoved Kyle Ashford out the door.

  Rayna rode home later and pushed her bike down the hall to her apartment. A large white envelope was propped against her front door. She picked it up and went inside, stowing her bike and helmet along the entry wall. A plump Bratty darted into the room, skidding to a stop. Rayna scratched the hen on the top of her fluffy head and then went to sit at the kitchen table to tear open the package.

  There were several stacks of documents, and she wasn’t sure what they were, exactly, but a smaller envelope fell from the pile. She opened it and read the masculine scrawl.

  Dear Rayna,

  Enclosed you will find information on Orien Publishing’s reorganization. I have informed the new CEO that he should anticipate a call from you, as you may have questions. Rest assured that not only can you expect your old contracts to be honored, but the company is now in a better place to help promote and support their lifeblood—talented authors like you.

  I hope I haven’t overstepped on this, but you will also find detailed information on the young man who attacked you in high school. I thought you might want to know that Brody James Martin is currently on year seven of a thirty-five-year sentence for armed robbery and battery with serious bodily injury.

  Lastly, I wanted to express my sincere regret for any difficulties I’ve caused you. Those three months I spent with you were the happiest of my life, Ray. I wish I could go back and do things differently. I wish I still held you in my arms. I look back on our time together with a grateful heart…but it just wasn’t long enough. I don’t think anything short of forever could be. Even so, if this is your choice, I will always believe that knowing you was worth the pain of losing you.

  Ever yours,

  Kyle

  With tears freely flowing, Rayna brought the letter to her cheek, wanting to touch the same surface Kyle had touched. He’d withheld crucial information and had caused her to question her judgment and his intentions. Loving him as much as she did, losing him had been a devastating blow. But now, glancing again at his letter, she had to wonder if he still loved her…if there was some way, as impossible as it seemed, that they could be together.

  She rose from the table and called her hen. When Bratty came running to her, Rayna knelt down, her expression serious. “Hey, baby…what would you think about staying with Jenn and James, just for a few days? I…uh…
I think I need to make a trip to New York.”

  The hen stared up at her with googly eyes and then pecked a fleck of dried seaweed from the hem of Rayna’s sundress. Hell yeah!

  Sara pushed through the door to Kyle’s office and walked across the large open space, past the couches, cushy chairs and expensive art, until she stood directly in front of his desk. He cocked a brow. It wasn’t normal for her to barge in like a combat troop on a mission. “What’s up?”

  Sara’s hands linked in front of her, her tailored gray suit making her appear more severe than Kyle knew her to be. “There’s a woman here to see you. When she asked for you at Reception and they told me her name, I thought it might be best to retrieve her first, and then ask you what to do with her.”

  Kyle closed the program he was working on and set down his tablet. He had to force himself to exhale and not simply hold his breath. “And her name?”

  Sara bit her lip. “Rayna Sommers.”

  Kyle’s breath rushed out and he stood suddenly, then wished he hadn’t when he stumbled back a step. “Where is she now?”

  Sara’s lip biting was clearly to cover a shit-eating grin. “Outside your door. Should I let her in? She looks like she may need to sit down. And a towel. She could probably use a towel.”

  Kyle swallowed and moved his chin up and down in a slow nod.

  “Okay,” she said easily on her way to the door. “And I’ll hold your calls.”

  A moment later, Rayna stepped into his office, and Sara shut the door behind her. Kyle couldn’t believe his eyes. She was here. In New York. How was she here? Why was she here?

  He slowly rounded his desk and started walking in her direction. She was dressed in her favorite full-length coat with the collar up around her neck and the strap of a bag slung over her shoulder. As he got closer, he took in her face—her newly sun-kissed cheeks that did little to hide the faint greenish tint to her skin. Her pretty brown hair was stuck to the sides of her face with sweat. He stopped an arm’s length from her and noticed she was trembling hard enough to make the collar of her coat quiver.