A Very Daddy Christmas (Lucky Lady Reverse Harems)

Chapter 28

28

Waylan

“ I t’s not like her to ignore our calls and texts like this,” Sebastian says.

He grips the wheel tight, his knuckles turning white as he drives across town. We haven’t been able to reach Cora for a few hours, and we had to get a last-minute babysitter through a local agency for Dario while we try to figure out what’s going on.

“Eva isn’t picking up either,” Riggs mutters. “I’m going to text her instead and see if she’ll respond that way.”

His furrowed brow tells me we’re all on the same page. Anxious and restless and increasingly certain that something must’ve happened for Cora to go radio silent.

“Should we call the sheriff?” I ask from the backseat, my fingers already swiping through my contacts for Foreman’s personal number.

“Foreman is fucking useless,” Sebastian says through gritted teeth. “I’d rather figure out what’s going on before we get the cops involved.”

Yet as the SUV pulls up outside the Levine Bakery, it quickly becomes evident that we may, in fact, need all the law enforcement assistance we can get. The windows are smashed out, the walls defaced with graffiti slurs. My throat tightens as I read the malicious words and realize Cora must’ve read them, too.

It would explain the radio silence. These same words bode terrible repercussions for us as well. Surely, our lawyers can dismiss everything as filthy rumors, but we’ll still need to reach out to the Justice Department and see if we can get a sympathetic judge appointed to Dario’s custody case. I can’t risk losing the kid, not after everything he’s already suffered.

“Fucking hell,” Sebastian groans, taking in the damage. “They took it too far this time.”

“It’s spite. St. James and Hamilton are clearly two of the most spiteful sons of bitches we’ve ever come across.”

Riggs points a finger to the front door. “There’s Eva.”

She’s watching two handymen as they climb up on ladders inside the bakery to lift a huge plywood board against one of the broken windows.

“Eva!” I call out as the three of us exit the SUV. “What happened?”

“Take a wild guess,” she scoffs. The glare she gives me stops me in my tracks, mere feet away from her, as I try to understand if the harsh tone is deliberately directed at us or just a side effect of understandable anger.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Do I look like I’m fucking okay to you?”

“Whoa, Eva, hold on, we’re trying to help,” Sebastian cordially chimes in, but her expression wipes the smile from his face. “Seriously, what’s going on here?”

Eva takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a moment. Based solely on my impression, I’d say she’s got half a mind to throw one of those plywood boards right at us. She’s angry. Seething, even. It worries me.

“Eva, please, talk to us,” I say. “We can’t get a hold of Cora and now seeing this…” I add, pointing at the window. “Please.”

“You don’t know?” she says, wide-eyed as she looks at me.

“Know what?”

“Orson St. James made his final play for the building, and he won.”

“I don’t understand,” I say. “The escrow went through. Our lawyers are planning to meet after the new year to draw up the final paperwork.”

“You didn’t know about the morality clause in that wretched tenancy agreement, then. Neither did we,” she replies.

“Morality clause?” Sebastian asks.

Eva takes out a handful of photographs from the inside pocket of her green tweed winter coat and hands them over. As soon as I see them, my blood runs cold.

“Fuck,” I hear myself mumble.

“Oh, there was plenty of that, I’m told,” Eva scoffs. “I feel that what you do in the privacy of your own bedroom is your business and yours alone. Your sexual preferences may differ from mine, and I don’t appreciate you dragging Cora into this. However, she’s an adult, responsible for her choices and the consequences they may bring.”

“Eva, hold on—” Sebastian tries to explain, but she cuts him off.

“I’m done holding on! I’m done trying to understand!” she snarls. “There is a morality clause in the tenancy agreement that gives Orson St. James the opportunity to render the automated sale of the building null and void because of these images. Because they’re proof of the tenant’s lifestyle, the kind of lifestyle that goes against the landlord’s core moral beliefs. I don’t know what Mr. Selznick was thinking when he put that clause in, I really don’t. But the clause is there, and it’s ironclad. We lost the building and our bakery’s good reputation along with it.”

“Who gave you these photos?” Riggs asks, his voice low. I can almost hear the wheels in his head turning, the fury bubbling its way up to the surface. I’m right there with him. “St. James?”

“Yes,” Eva says. “We have until January seventh to leave the building.”

“The clause can be appealed,” Sebastian says.

“And let me guess, you’ll supply the counsel through your attorneys.”

“They’re the best in the state.”

“For fuck’s sake, Sebastian, can’t you see? For every good deed of yours, Orson comes back with a vengeance,” Eva says, genuinely exasperated. “He was able to undo months’ worth of work with that damned clause and a few photos. What else is he going to dig up on Cora, if he really puts his head to it? What else is my sister hiding from me?”

“Eva, we were trying to protect you and everyone else—” I try to reason with her, but she doesn’t cut me any slack, either.

“Right, by taking it to a luxury mountain resort.”

“There were privacy and discretion terms to our stay there,” Sebastian replies. “I’ll have our lawyers take this to court. It shouldn’t have happened.”

I’m quite sure Eva isn’t aware of the attempt made on our lives during our weekend at Rutger Resort, and after a quick exchange of glances with Sebastian and Riggs, we silently agree to keep that to ourselves in light of these new revelations.

“But it happened all the same,” Eva says. “And it gave Orson the ammunition he needed to destroy everything. Even if we appeal the morality clause, there is no guarantee we’ll win, and frankly, I am exhausted. I’m tired of constantly living on the edge of a razor blade, not knowing if I’ll be able to keep my family business and continue my father’s legacy. I’m exhausted from trying to keep my kids from seeing this kind of hatred. I’m tired of all the secrets, and even now I’m sure Cora hasn’t told me everything. It’s bad enough she didn’t tell me about the baby—” She stops herself in a heartbeat, instantly covering her mouth with both hands as she gawks at the three of us.

My heart sinks. It doesn’t take a genius to figure this one out.

“Cora’s pregnant?” I ask, just to make sure I’m not losing my mind.

Eva nods. “She was supposed to tell you.”

“Well, clearly she hasn’t,” Riggs groans with frustration and takes a step back. “Where is she?”

“I thought she ran back to you three,” Eva sighs, confusion in her tired gaze. “I tried calling her but—”

“Straight to voicemail, I know,” Sebastian says. “When did you see her last?”

“A few hours ago, before I left to get the plywood and these handy gentlemen to help with the windows.” Eva takes another deep breath and tries calling her sister again. “Voicemail.” She looks at all three of us with fear in her eyes.

“She was supposed to take care of Dario until later tonight,” I say. “When she didn’t show up at the house, we tried calling, texting… nothing.”

Eva looks distressed. “This can’t be good. She’s pregnant. The morning sickness gets to her sometimes. With the earlier shock, the photos, Orson… oh, God, I didn’t go easy on her, either.”

“We need to find her,” I say with a swelling sense of urgency. “It’s unlike her, regardless of today’s events. She wouldn’t just disappear like this.”

Silence falls heavily between the four of us.

“You’re right,” Eva says. “Please, help me find my sister.”