Playing For Keeps (The Alpha Brotherhood #3)(41)
Author: Catherine Mann

Why couldn’t he understand she wasn’t pushing him away, just looking for a compromise? “That’s not true. You aren’t even trying to see my side of this. And damn it, Malcolm, I am different now. I refuse to let you tear my heart out again.”

Her chin high, her pride all she had left, she spun away and almost slammed into his mother in the doorway. Could this humiliating, heartrending moment get any worse? To hell with pride. She needed to get out of here.

Celia angled past with a mumbled “Excuse me,” then ran. Her sandals slapped against the sleek wooden floors as she raced into the restored manor house. She ran up the curved staircase and into the bedroom full of antiques, florals and stripes. She slammed the door closed and sagged back against the panel only to realize…

She wasn’t alone in the room.

A broad-backed male spun away from her suitcase, her tote bag in one hand, a piece of paper in the other.

“Adam Logan?” She walked toward Malcolm’s manager. “What are you doing in my room?”

Her eyes went to the paper in his hand, a typed note with big block letters she’d seen on threatening notes over the past couple of weeks. Block letters that even from here she could read.

WATCH YOUR BACK, BITCH.

* * *

Malcolm scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to pull himself together before he spoke to his mother. God only knew how much of that train wreck of an argument she’d overheard. “Mom? What are you doing back here? Did you need something?”

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you and Celia, but maybe this isn’t the best time.” His mother hovered uncertainly in the doorway.

“No, Mom, it’s fine. Celia and I both could use some time to cool off.” Although eighteen years of cooling off hadn’t helped them. “Come sit down. Have a scone.”

“If you’re sure.” She cleared the door, her yellow leather boots clicking across the tile lanai.

He moved Celia’s plate aside as his mother sat. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve been letting you support me for long enough,” she said in a rush, as if she’d been holding the words inside.

What the hell? Who tipped the world upside down while he wasn’t looking? “Mom, that’s ridiculous. I owe you. I want to give you these things—anything you need.”

“You’re my son.” She patted his arm. “It was my job to take care of you. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Damn it, Mother, the money doesn’t even make a dent in my portfolio. I don’t miss it.” He could have retired from the concert scene years ago.

“That’s beside the point,” she said primly, folding her hands in her lap.

“To you maybe. But not to me. I can’t watch you work that hard ever again.” Years of guilt piled on top of him, so much he didn’t know how he would ever dig out. “I just can’t.”

“Well, I’m not looking to embrace abject poverty.” She laughed lightly. “I’ve gotten used to the softer side of life. But maybe a little too used to it.”

“What do you mean?” He tried to sort through her words, really tried, because apparently he’d been missing the mark with both of the women in his life.

She took a deep breath, as if bracing herself, then said, “Do you think that monstrously large bank account of yours could handle sending your old mother to school? I’d like to become a professional caterer, one who specializes in entertaining on a budget. When I said I’ve become accustomed to the softer side of life, I meant it. I’d like to bring those treats and delicacies to others who never thought they could afford them.”

He was stunned, to say the least. But the plan she’d spelled out made perfect sense. The pieces fit, and he was happy for her. “Mom, I think that’s a great idea. But I’m still curious. What brought this big turnaround?”

“Seeing you with Celia in the news, hearing all the reports about what she’s been doing with her life. She could have relied on her father’s money, but she carved out a place for herself in the world. That’s admirable, son.”

His mother was right. Celia had. And she was clearly stronger for that, more confident. She’d been telling him she wasn’t the selfish, spoiled girl he’d once known, but had he actually understood? Accepted? He forced himself to focus on his mother’s words. Apparently a man never got too old to learn something from his mom.

“Malcolm, those pictures the press has been running of her with students showed how much she loves her profession. This may sound strange, but I never considered that work could be fulfilling. The jobs I did before, I took pride in them, sure, but they were just a means to put food in your mouth. And there weren’t a lot of choices. I have a choice now, thanks to you—”

A scream split the air.

Celia’s voice.

What the hell?

Malcolm shot from his chair, toppling it as he sprinted for the stairs. Celia’s screams continued, mixed with masculine shouts. His gut clenched with fear. Where were the guards? Why hadn’t security been triggered? What the hell had he been thinking lowering his own guard with her just because he had her an ocean away from the threat?

He raced through the door and barely had time to register what he was seeing. Celia held a huge vase of

flowers high and crashed it down on the head of…

Adam Logan?

His manager?

Logan’s knees buckled, and he fell to the ground.

Malcolm barked, “What the hell’s going on here? Celia, are you okay?”

She backed away, pointing at his manager, now kneeling in a puddle of water, shattered glass and roses on the thick Persian rug. “He was in my room, going through my things. He had a threatening note and a dead rose. He was putting it in my bag.”

Malcolm turned to Logan, a man he’d called his friend, his brother. “Adam? You were the one behind the threats on Celia? Why the hell would you do that?”

Logan sagged back on his heels, his shoulders slumping forward. “I just wanted to get the two of you together again.”

It made no sense. Malcolm looked to Celia, who appeared just as confused. He wanted to drape an arm around her, tuck her close, but she stood quietly on the other side of the room.

“You’d better explain. And fast.” His pulse pounded beneath his eye, anger roiling.

Logan leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with the cutthroat, ambitious light that had helped push Malcolm’s career to the limit. “Your bad-boy image was starting to drag on your numbers. And you have to admit, we got a lot of good press out of the high-school-sweethearts-