A Gentleman in the Street (20 page)

“Oh. Right.” Jacob narrowed his eyes. “I remember Mei talking about that. A reality show of some sort?”

How diplomatic. Akira was certain Mei would never have merely talked about her ex-husband’s show. She would have passive-aggressively sniped about it. Deservedly.

Akira had been the one to break the news to her mother that her father was going to star on a show with his new wife. Yes, the one he made that sex tape with.

Mei carefully maintained her image as a quiet, soft-spoken woman, except around her daughter. Akira’s ears had rung for weeks. As much as she’d usually enjoyed provoking her mother, Akira had empathized on this occasion. It was unfair, the world they lived in, when a man could be amply rewarded for every wrong thing he did. Mistreat your wife? Women will still flock to you. Run your family business poorly? Make billions selling the assets. “Leak” a sex tape? Here. Have a reality show.

“Yeah. Follows the exploits of his crazy new family.” She adopted Chloe’s valley-girl accent. “Chloe, the aging starlet desperately clinging to her youth. Brandy, the eldest daughter, who finds love in all the wrong places. Brandon and Brendon, the elitist douche poor little rich boys. The vicious twins, Bronwyn and Brad. And of course, Mr. Mori, the aging hotelier money bank who’s a handy punch line for every joke.”

Jacob eyed her with appalled fascination. “That sounds awful.”

“You’re probably the only person in America who doesn’t know about the Benton-Mori train-wreck happy hour.”

“I don’t watch a lot of TV,” Jacob responded, almost apologetically. “And I don’t really understand the concept of reality television. Did you know Kati watches this show which is basically just a bunch of women trying on wedding dresses?” He shook his head, bewilderment stamped on his face. “Why would anyone care what dress a stranger wears to her wedding?”

Oh gosh. So darned cute. Amusement edged out her annoyance. “My father’s show isn’t nearly so wholesome.”

He grimaced. “It does sound like a train wreck.”

“The bane of my existence,” she heard herself say. Never had she discussed her father’s show so frankly, aware her true feelings would only bring the bastard more publicity. But Jacob was safe. Despite their tumultuous past, she could trust him. In this, at least.

“Why is the producer calling you?”

She ran her hand over her hair. She had left it down the past couple of days, having noticed how Jacob seemed to stare at her a bit longer when she did.
Who are you, woman?
“Because I won’t talk to my father. I obviously won’t talk to the producer either. My assistant fields his calls and deletes his messages during business hours, so I guess he’s resorted to trying to catch me at night.”

“Are you…involved with the show?”

She snorted a laugh, genuinely amused. “God, no. They’d just like me to be.”

His hands continued to idly fidget with the box while he studied her. He saw too much, she was certain. Far more than she intended for him or anyone to see. “I guess your relationship with your dad is as bad as the one you had with your mom.”

She took a deep breath. Sure, why not talk about her parents some more? “Worse.”

“I only heard snippets about him from Mei. You were a baby when they divorced, right?”

“A year old.”

“He got custody?”

She sat back in her chair, resigned to this. For some reason, she wanted to tell him whatever he wanted to know.

Because otherwise this might end.

Again, she brushed the frighteningly needy thought aside. “Technically, it was joint, but my mother didn’t want much to do with me. When I wasn’t at boarding school, I was with my dad.” Her smile was bitter. “Not because he particularly desired me, but his father controlled his purse. And Grandfather Mori believed in appearances.”

His brow furrowed. “You didn’t live with your mother at all?”

“If I had to come home from school and my father was sick of me, he would send me to her. She couldn’t do much about that. It would look bad if she straight up put me on the street.”

“Is that when you would spend time with your grandmother?” Jacob lifted the box, as if invoking the woman.

Her gaze drifted to the frame on her desk, the wrinkles on the older woman’s face not masking her beauty. Akira had stolen the photo from her mother’s house in a fit of righteous anger during a party. She had so few images of her grandmother. “Yes,” she replied softly. “She lived nearby. Until I was fifteen or so, if I came to see my mother, I could go see her.”

“What happened when you were fifteen?”

“I started flunking out of school. Smoking weed. Doing bad things with boys.” Her words were mocking. “Mei was aware I loved her mom. So I was told I couldn’t see her unless I shaped up.”

“You didn’t. Shape up, that is.”

“I couldn’t,” she said, the words torn from her. “I couldn’t do anything right to please her. I couldn’t change.”

Something dark moved across his face. “I would have intervened with Kati if she were smoking weed or cutting class at fifteen. But Mei shouldn’t have kept you from someone you love. That’s cruel and excessive punishment.”

She leaned into his criticism of her mother as if she could absorb it. “My grandma—Hana—she didn’t like it. She tried to sneakily visit me at school, send me presents and cards.” Akira’s smile was tinged with triumph. “The day I turned eighteen, I came here and used the trust fund my paternal grandfather left me to fly her to Paris. We spent a whole month there.” Her smile faded. “She died a year later.”

Her chest filled with pressure, and she realized, with a vague sense of horror, her eyes were stinging. What was it about this man that brought out emotions she thought were safely locked away?

Don’t look at him.

Her body wasn’t hers to control around him. She found his gaze resting on her, those green eyes holding so much compassion she wanted to scream. Panic unfurled inside her, bringing with it deep fear. She shuffled the papers spread out on her desk. “It’s, uh…late…”

“Akira. It’s okay,” he said gently. “You can miss her.”

No. No, she couldn’t, because that would be a weakness. Weakness was a tool, used to manipulate and control.

“I have to go. I have to.”

She expected him to push. But Jacob rarely did anything she expected. He immediately got to his feet and grabbed his jacket. “I’ll walk you to your car.” His tone brooked no argument.

Not like she would have argued. The street was generally safe, with a coffee shop open late up the street. It was surprisingly comforting, however, to be walked the short distance to the small parking lot on the side of the building, her giant escort watching and waiting to make sure she drove away without incident
.

Don’t get used to it. This is starting to get a little too cozy, and you know what you need to do.

Too bad what she needed to do and what she wanted to do were such polar opposite things.

She stood and gathered her belongings, accepting the box from him on the way out. That was another thing—he didn’t mock her for lugging the thing to and fro from home, hadn’t even raised an eyebrow over her weird quirk, making it into her security blanket.

She had lost it for so many years. She didn’t want it out of her sight. The only person she could even contemplate handling it was Jacob.

That said something. Something she didn’t want to examine too closely.

Conflicted, she walked past him silently, and they made their way downstairs to the side entrance. Jacob’s long strides brought him there a second before her, and he opened it, nodding at her.

She took three steps out of the door. And came to a screeching halt, multiple flashes of light going off in her eyes.

“Akira, is it true about Chloe Benton’s pregnancy rumors—”

“Ms. Mori, are you excited for your new brother—?”

“Akira, is a reunion in the works—?”

Blinded and disoriented, Akira turned in a half-circle, before a strong hand latched on to her arm and yanked her backward. The door shut, and she was back inside the blessed quiet and peace of the warm hallway of her building.

“What,” Jacob said slowly, staring at the door, “the fuck was that?”

She had to take a second to calm her heartbeat before she could speak. “That’s what my dear father has saddled me with.”

She yanked out her phone and pulled up the browser, muttering, “No wonder his producer was calling me.”

“I don’t understand.”

She only had to load TMZ’s homepage to confirm her suspicions. She hissed out a curse. “My dearest stepmother’s doctor’s office leaked the news about her pregnancy.”

“What? Doctor-patient confidentiality—”

“Aw. That’s cute of you.” Her lips twisted. “Ten bucks says daddy dearest had it leaked, so it would boost ratings for the season premiere.”

A pause. “Wait. Your father’s having a child? And you’re finding out like this?”

Her smile was humorless. “Oh, don’t worry. He already informed me of the blessed event during a charming call last week where he demanded I be on the show so the world could catch my reaction.”

“Wow.” Jacob thrust his hands in his pockets. “He sounds like a dick.”

The assessment made her laugh—she wasn’t sure why Jacob calling anyone a dick was hilarious, but it was. “He is.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“About what?”

“The baby.”

She glanced up. “I don’t care about it. Doesn’t affect me.”

If she expected him to be horrified or disgusted by her blunt, non-maternal, non-sisterly assessment of the fetus that was the combination of two people she despised, he didn’t let it show. There was no chastisement or assurance she would come to love the thing. He gave a thoughtful nod. “Okay.”

Though he didn’t ask for explanation, she gave it. “I mean, if it wants to talk to me or something when it’s of age, I won’t toss it out. And I feel for any kid raised in that kind of dysfunctional atmosphere, but honestly, what can I do?”

“Not much, I suppose.”

“If it’s anything like Chloe’s kids, it’ll grow up to be a rich, entitled jerk.”

“You didn’t grow up to be a rich, entitled jerk.”

She met his gaze. “Ninety-nine point nine percent of people who know me would say that’s exactly what I am.”

“What about the other point one percent?”

“They consist of my dead grandmother and people who are dumb enough to be my friends.” She arched an eyebrow. “Not a very large sample size, I think you can agree.”

“And me.”

The two words brought her to a halt. She stopped. Swallowed, her throat scratchy. “And you, I guess.”

“So…what now?”

“What do you mean?” She tucked her phone in her purse and squared her shoulders. “I need to get to my car.”

“Whoa.” Jacob blocked her when she made to walk out the exit. “We can’t go out there.”

She thought about that. “You’re absolutely right, or you’re going to be photographed. Won’t take long for people to figure out your identity and then the gossip will start.” She gave a quick nod. “You stay here. I’ll go out there, try to dispel the crowds, and then when it’s clear, I’ll motion you out.”

“Uh.” He grabbed her arm, halting her again. “You’re not going out there either, Akira.”

She looked at his hand on her arm, and then back up at him. Annoyance warred with tenderness, but the annoyance won. “There’s only one scenario where I take orders from a man, darling. And since we’re not naked, that’s not happening right now.”

If she expected him to blush or stammer, she would have been disappointed. A sizzle of heat flashed across his face, but then his stubborn scowl returned. “There are too many people out there. Can you get the guard…?”

She shook her head before he even finished talking. “I’m not forcing Steve to deal with this. As long as he keeps them out of the building, he’s done his job.”

“Then you’re not going out there. I’ve seen these paparazzo turn ugly.”

“What do you want me to do? Stay here all night? Because I assure you, they have the front and the delivery entrance covered as well.”

His eyes narrowed. “What about the other side of the building?”

The other side, which faced a tiny, narrow alley, a patch of land separating this building from the one next to it. “There’s no door there. Just a fire escape.” At his questioning look, she shook her head. “We are not taking the fire escape.”

“Did you not hear me say we’re not doing this?”

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her, as he held his hand out. Her pencil skirt wasn’t designed for crawling out second-story windows. The fire escape was rickety metal under her feet. She swallowed, looking down from the platform. “There’s no stairs leading down from here. It’s a drop.”

“Yeah, that’s how they are on some of these older buildings. Keeps burglars from accessing the windows. It’s only ten feet.”

Only ten feet. She supposed that wasn’t a problem for him because he was roughly nine feet tall. The man was insane.

“I’ll jump down, catch you. Then we’ll sneak out of the alley. My car is parked about a block away. The reporters are so busy crowding around the door, they probably won’t even notice us coming out of the alley.”

He glanced over his shoulder, his face flushed. Had she ever seen that particular light in his eyes? Maybe when he had snuck into that storage closet with her, but then it had been overshadowed by shame.

No shame here. He looked young. Full of life and adventure.

It looked good on him. “You’re enjoying this,” she ventured. “Aren’t you?”

He hesitated, but the smile he gave her was tinged with guilty pleasure. “I write about spies for a living. What do you think?” He hauled himself over the railing and got down on his hands and knees to slip off the edge of the platform. He dangled in midair for a moment, holding on to the landing with one hand. Her breath caught when he let go, but then it was over.

He only stumbled a couple of steps when his feet hit the ground, and he rose from his crouch. He lifted his arms. “Come on. Now you.”

Jesus Christ. Talk about a trust fall. “Wait.” She reached down and removed her shoes. “Take these first.”

“Your shoes?”

“I don’t want them to fall off my feet when I jump. They might get scratched. They’re my favorite.”