Hollywood Heir (Westerly Billionaire #4)(9)

That fundamental belief clashed with Eric’s gratitude toward Rachelle. She advocated for family and for everyone being stronger together. Even if Eric wanted one, though, he couldn’t imagine a healthy version of his family—nothing as uncomplicated as he had with Reggie, Alice, and the kids.

Thank God Reggie was keeping his grandmother occupied. Delinda would never understand what Eric was doing in the theater district any more than she understood him lately. To her, he was a success. Money and power were how she measured a person’s worth.

I’ve earned more on my own than I would have inherited from her—how could I possibly not be happy?

Fuck.

As Eric walked by a group of young women, one of them looked up at him, then stepped away from the others. She was tall, blonde, and looked college age. Eric looked away, hoping she’d get the message.

“Excuse me,” she said.

He didn’t respond.

She continued, “Are you—”

No, don’t recognize me.

“—from around here? We’re looking for Heathbright. Our GPS said it was right here, but I don’t see it.”

Relief flooded him. He pointed to a side street, where the entrance to a small but highly acclaimed theater was located.

“Thank you,” she called out as she sprinted back to her group.

He nodded. He’d considered coloring his hair or donning a weight suit to change his physique, but sometimes simple was more effective. Superman could become Clark Kent with only a pair of glasses because people believed what they saw, regardless of how glaringly obvious the truth was.

I can do this. I can be Wayne Easton.

A short time later, Eric approached his building. A single mother from the first-floor apartment began yelling out her window in a foreign language to her teenage son, who was standing with his friends on the corner. Eric doubted it would do much to deter the young men from whatever mischief they were plotting. As he watched, the group turned their attention to the elderly woman from the third floor who was walking down the sidewalk pulling a metal cart of groceries. Eric tensed. Surely they wouldn’t—

The boys walked toward her, and Eric began to as well. He stopped, though, when he saw the elderly woman smile at the boys. The boys walked with her to the steps of the building, then one removed her grocery bags from her cart and handed them out to the other boys before folding the cart and offering to help the woman up the stairs. She spoke in a different language and tried to pay them each with coins, but they refused to take her money. The woman from the first-floor window said something to the boys that sounded like praise.

Eric made his own way into the building, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d witnessed. He would gladly have pulled up a chair and watched that scene a hundred times over.

He once considered people watching essential to advancing his craft. He studied the nuances of their expressions, savored the uniqueness of each. Somewhere along the way, his views had become jaded and he’d stopped looking, stopped caring. That moment revived something in him.

He wondered what Sage would have noticed about his neighbors. Would she have formulated a theory on the circumstances that had brought his neighbors to that building? The whereabouts of their families? Their sons? Their husbands? Would she have marveled, as he had, that a difference in language had not stopped them from caring about each other?

They didn’t have fancy houses.

They walked where they needed to go.

He’d wanted to believe there was good in people. So many people he knew cared more about what they owned than those who worked for them. They saw differences when they should see commonalities. He’d begun to believe everyone was like that—but his fellow tenants weren’t.

The building had more wrong than right with it, but the people in it took care of each other. They were what he’d been looking for—proof that there was more to life than what he’d experienced. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel trapped. He didn’t dread the hours that stretched between him and sleep. He exercised in his apartment, went for another long walk, then did what he’d found impossible to do in his past life—he slept until morning.





Chapter Three

Even though she wanted to, Sage didn’t return to the coffee shop the next morning or the morning after that. She wanted to give herself time to sort through her obsession with a man who clearly did not feel the same way toward her. She investigated a potential new client to distract herself, but that prospect didn’t hold her attention for long. After stepping out of the Tube station near her apartment, she decided to update Bella. “Good news about Mrs. Hartman. She just likes dogs.”

Bella laughed. “My neighbor? I didn’t have a chance to give her your card yet, and I never even told you her name. Maybe you are psychic.”

“Or maybe I stood in your yard and listened for barking.”

“You’re a nut, but I love you. So, you knocked on my neighbor’s door, gave her an informal evaluation, and deemed her sane?”

“Oh, she’s batshit crazy, but not unhappy. She had chairs made specifically so each of the dogs could sit at the table. Clothing for every occasion. They’re adorable. She said she was lonely after her husband died and needed something to smile about. Her grandchildren come around more now. There are photos of her family all laughing and playing with the dogs. If she’s broken, I don’t want to fix her.”