Page 18 of The Billionaire's Promise

I called it my ‘loft', but really, I own the whole building. On a short block of mixed-use development in Midtown Atlanta, the building had been an auto shop and a supply warehouse, then vacant before I'd snapped it up and renovated the entire structure to suit exactly what I wanted. The first floor was my studio and garage, the second floor my living space, and the roof was a custom-designed garden. My gym equipment was split between the studio and the rooftop. It was modern and open, with huge windows on the second level and garage bays on the first that let in fresh air when my work got too hot.

The building had one other thing I required. Privacy. Sinclair Security had designed my system, and it included both a sophisticated alarm and video surveillance. I was a Winters. That meant I had to deal with a certain amount of media attention. It didn't help that I hadn't lived a quiet lifestyle for most of my twenties.

So it wasn't entirely a surprise to turn the corner onto my block and find a strange woman lurking outside my front door. I drove past the building and slowed to turn into the alley that led back to my private garage. Magnolia hit the button on the remote that opened the gate. Both of us noticed the stranger mark our entrance.

"I don't see a camera," Magnolia commented. Neither had I, but the woman had been carrying something.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "If she's a pap, she missed her shot. And if she wants something else, she'll ring the bell, and we can tell her to get lost."

Magnolia's brow furrowed, but she didn't say anything. She didn't like media scrutiny any more than I did, but she was used to it by now. Everyone knew she worked with me, and they didn't bother her more than the usual. I pulled my Range Rover into the garage and parked.

"I'll grab the groceries," I said.

"I can help," Magnolia offered. I shook my head, not hiding my grin.

"I've got it, Sugar." Magnolia graced me with an absolutely brilliant scowl. I wasn't much into pet names. I never bothered with them for the women I was sleeping with. Everybody called CharlotteCharlie, so that didn't count. When I did call Magnolia something other than her name, it was usuallyBabe. She thought that was a generic term I used with every woman. She hadn't realized that she was the only female I've ever considered worth a pet name, even something as common asBabe. But when I wanted to get a rise out of her, I always called herSugar—a reference to the Grateful Dead song she so despised.

I didn't use it very often. She would have beaten me senseless if I had, but every once in a while, I couldn't resist. Thanks to my teasing, she ignored me as we left the garage and crossed my studio to the freight elevator. The chimes from the front bell were already ringing when we exited the elevator on the second floor. Maybe we should've checked the door while we were down there, but I'd been hoping it wouldn't be necessary. No such luck.

Magnolia went to the keypad beside the elevator while I headed for the kitchen to put down the groceries. She tapped the button to activate the camera at the door. The screen flashed on to show a young woman with long, dark hair and a washed-out complexion, her expression annoyed. Something about her was vaguely familiar.

Pressing the speaker button, Magnolia said, "Can I help you?" in her best British headmistress voice. She refused to admit she had a faint British accent from her years spent living in England, but when she used that starchy tone, it came out. It was intimidating as hell, even when she used it on me.

The woman at the door said, "I'm looking for Vance Winters. I'm Stephanie Albert, Amy's sister. I need to talk to Vance."

Magnolia looked at me. "Fuck," I swore under my breath. "Tell her I'll be right down."

Magnolia came with me, refusing to let me handle Amy's sister on my own, out of curiosity or protectiveness. Probably both. I hadn't seen Amy in a while. Close to a year. We'd tried getting back together after we both went to rehab, but sobriety revealed that we had absolutely nothing in common. She'd been doing okay last time I'd seen her. Still, a sense of foreboding filled me as I unlocked my front door and opened it.

Stephanie Albert looked like a faded version of Amy. The same petite fairy-like frame, dark hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. But where Amy's hair was inky black, her eyes sapphire blue, Stephanie's hair was dark brown, her eyes a watery shade and less attractive than her sister's. We'd only met once, and I barely remembered it. Mostly since I'd been drunk at the time.

"Stephanie, it's good to see you," I lied. "What can I do for you?"

Stephanie leaned down to pick something up off the ground. "I need to talk to you," she said. "I have your daughter, and you need to take her."

I blinked and shook my head as if I could somehow clear my vision and ears at the same time. As if I could erase the sight of Stephanie Albert holding a baby carrier. What the fuck? My daughter? Since when did I have a daughter?

She was probably expecting me to say something. I had no words.

I had zero words.

All I could do was stare at the sleeping infant in the baby carrier. She was tiny, with a chunky scrunched up little face and a trail of drool coming from her rosebud lips. For the first time in months, I desperately wanted to drink. Beside me, a throat cleared. In her best crisply British tone, the accent more than faint, Magnolia said, "Why don't you come in, Stephanie? It seems we need to have a conversation."

Mute, I held the door open to admit my unwanted guests, following behind as Magnolia led Stephanie back to the elevator. We rode up in silence. The second the elevator doors opened, I stalked out, heading for the kitchen. I could not have a drink. I was not going to have a drink. I'd been sober for well over a year, and I wasn't going to fuck it up now.

Ignoring the three females following me, I poured a glass of cold water and drank the entire thing. It wasn't whiskey, but somehow, it seemed to clear my head.

Magnolia led Stephanie to the kitchen, where she set the baby carrier on the island. Crossing the room to stand behind me, Magnolia looped her arm through mine and turned her attention back to Amy's sister.

"I'm assuming you're implying this is Amy's child?" Magnolia asked in her starchy best. Stephanie's back went ramrod straight, and her eyes narrowed.

"Of course it is. She's not mine. I never slept with that man-whore.”

Her words hit, then skidded off me. I've been called worse. And I didn't care what Amy's sister thought of me. Magnolia ignored the insult.

"If this is Amy and Vance's child, then where is Amy? It seems more sensible for Vance to deal with—"

"Amy's dead," Stephanie said in a flat, empty voice.