Hollywood Heir (Westerly Billionaire #4)(26)

“I know, right?”

“Wayne Easton. Eric Westerly. Delinda Westerly. Weird. It feels like a puzzle I should be able to figure out. Hey, I didn’t tell you yet, but I had my friend run a quick background check on Wayne after we spoke earlier. He couldn’t find anyone by that name who fit his description. Are you sure that’s his name?”

“I didn’t check an ID, but that’s what he said.”

“Maybe none of this is related, but my gut tells me I’m missing something obvious.”

“Your gut? Is that like my radar? Or are you drunk?”

“I don’t get drunk.” Bella wagged a finger at Sage and said, “I’ll be right back. Save some wine for me. The answers might be in the bottom of that bottle.”

Wanting to continue the conversation, Sage wobbled after her friend to her room and spoke to her from the doorway while she changed. “The last time I saw him, Wayne did say something odd. He told me not to trust him.”

While buttoning up a clean nightshirt, Bella froze. “Don’t see him again, Sage. I know you think I’m paranoid, but people don’t say that shit unless there’s a reason to. He’s hiding something, and that’s never good.”

Sage crossed her arms in front of her. “You and I look at puzzles differently, Bella. I don’t fear what I don’t know.”

Bella finished getting dressed, then went to join Sage at the door. “And that’s exactly why I worry.”





Chapter Seven

The next morning Eric woke in his ornate, king-size canopy bed. It, along with the other gilded antiques in the room, had been Reggie’s idea of a joke. Eric hadn’t cared enough to meet with the decorators, and Reggie had warned him that if he didn’t, he would.

The room didn’t embarrass Eric, but neither was he proud of it. He cared as little about it as he did the massive estate it was part of. They were just things. He’d originally bought the place because it had been in a sad state of disrepair and he’d considered it a shame to let such a building be lost to future generations. Restoring it hadn’t brought him the joy he thought it would. He didn’t care about things.

Eric pulled himself out of bed and trudged to the bathroom that was the size of his apartment. It had been renovated, along with the rest of that wing, in Reggie’s tongue-in-cheek, tacky style. Eric suspected that Reggie pushed the envelope at times because he was seeking a reaction. He didn’t get one. Eric honestly didn’t care.

In reality, his secret lair was the only material possession Eric could remember getting excited about. Creating it had probably cost less than his last car, but it was perfect—simply perfect. The placement of it on his land would allow him to come and go away from the eyes of the house staff. Even though they’d signed NDAs, that didn’t mean he could trust them to not let a photo slip out to the press. No, this was best kept to himself.

The more he thought about it, the more his mood improved. He could literally be Eric in the morning, Wayne during the day, and Eric again if there was a need. Reggie had given him something he’d yearned for but hadn’t figured out how to achieve—his freedom.

That realization brought a smile to his face while he showered and dressed. The day didn’t loom before him as it normally did. Instead, it felt full of potential. He paused by a table in his room. The night before, he had placed his smartphone and flip phone side by side. He picked both up, weighing them in his hands, and decided to keep both with him that day. He didn’t have to choose.

He walked out of his suite down to the main part of his home with a bounce in his step. He greeted his staff as he came across them. None seemed sure how to respond. He thought of all the times he’d walked by them, more irritated by their presence than grateful for their help. He’d previously viewed them merely as necessary to maintaining the estate, but now he saw them as people. Did they enjoy working for him? Did they have families? Where did they live?

He felt a wave of shame that he didn’t know anything about them.

His smartphone rang. On any other day, he would have let it ring through to his messages, but he felt better than he had in a long, long time. “Hello.”

“Eric, oh my God, I can’t believe you picked up,” his sister Rachelle said in rushed relief. “Where are you?”

“At my house.” He continued to the kitchen and popped his head in. There was a clatter of pans being dropped and a sudden silence. “Hang on, Rachelle. Morning, everyone.” He spoke to the openmouthed kitchen staff. “Would you mind whipping me up some eggs and toast? I’ll take it on the back patio. And coffee. I’d love a coffee.”

“Of course, sir,” one woman said.

Eric had begun to close the door but stopped. “What’s your name?”

The woman’s face reddened, and she suddenly looked nervous. “Mrs. Carn.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Carn,” Eric said.

“Y-you’re welcome,” she answered.

Pleased with the exchange, Eric headed toward the patio. “Sorry, Rachelle. That was important. I’m starving.”

“You sound happy this morning.”

He paused before answering. Yes. “I am. I’ve made some changes in my life, and they’re beginning to jell.”

“That’s fabulous. Anything you can talk about?”