Page 1 of Kiwi

1

Kiwi

ELEVEN YEARS AGO

The warmth from the rays of the sun as morning light creeps across my plush king-sized bed wakes me from sleep, which is soon followed by a knock on my bedroom door.

As I stretch my arms above my head, Catalina, my father's housekeeper, enters the room. "Mornin'." I scrub my hand down my face, feeling the lingering effects of partying from the night before.

"Your father wishes to speak with you before he leaves this morning," she informs me, her voice neutral, and her Ukrainian accent thick.

What I've gathered from the year I've been in the States, living with Donovan, my birth father, is that Catalina has worked for him for many years. She doesn't speak much. Keeping to herself, she looks around the room for anything that may need tidying up. I'm not one to leave messes, and I damn sure don't expect someone to clean up after me when I'm more than capable of doing it for myself. With nothing to do and no more to say, Catalina quietly walks out of my room, closing the door behind her.

Tossing the bedsheet aside, I rise, swing my legs over the side of the bed where my feet press against the cold wood floor. Inhaling, I gaze out the massive floor to ceiling window that spans the perimeter of the room—one of the perks of having a penthouse suite. Standing, I retrieve the pair of jeans draped across the chair arm beside the bed, stride over to the glass, and open the sliding door leading to the balcony, and step out into the warm Las Vegas air.

A year of living here, and I still can't get used to the heat. Growing up in Raglan, New Zealand, our average highs hover anywhere between forty-nine and seventy-two degrees. I close my eyes and soak in the sun. It's been months since I've seen home. Raglan is a coastal town. I love everything about it: the people and the community. I was born in Auckland, where my mother lived all her life until she met and married Benjamin Cooper, my stepdad. I wasn't quite two when he came into the picture, and never once treated me as anything but like his own flesh and blood. Not long after he and my mom got married, the three of us moved to Raglan.

I start thinking about the rest of my family. After marrying Benjamin, mum couldn't wait to have more kids. Now, nineteen years later, I have three sisters, Frankie, Molly, and Poppy. All three of them look just like my mum with their dark blonde hair and blue eyes.

Making my way inside, I head for the en suite bathroom and turn the water on in the sink. Leaning over and cupping my hands, I splash cold water on my face. Green eyes connect with my reflection in the mirror. I stare at someone who looks nothing like my mum, but the replica of Donovan Black.

As long as I can remember, I was always curious about my birth father. Who was he? What did he look like?

Mum never gave too many details about him. Only his name and where he lived at that time in her life. To be truthful, she didn't know enough about the man herself. What the two of them had wasn't a relationship, but a one-night stand. She had gone on a trip with girlfriends to the States, celebrating her best friend's bachelorette party.

And, as they say, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Only mum left with a consolation prize.

Shortly after my eighteenth birthday, I sat mum down and told her my thoughts and plans on connecting with my birth father. She wasn't sold on the idea of my traveling alone, and she worried he might reject me. The rejection was something I was prepared for but had to face it and find out for myself. I wanted to get answers to all the questions I had swirling around in my head. In the end, it was my stepdad who convinced her I would be fine. The following day Ben sat me down, and handed me an airline ticket, then said, "You're my son. Nothing will ever change that. Your mum and I support everything you do. That's an open-ended ticket. Take as much time as you need." Then he handed me a credit card. "You need more, let me know."

Donovan may be my birth father, but Ben will always be my dad, and never replaceable.

Striding to my closet, I yank a shirt from the hanger and pull it down over my head. It's been almost a solid year since I got on that plane, leaving New Zealand. It took a few days to track Donovan down, but one thing I'm good at is being resourceful and persuasive. Call it what you will, a bullshitter, a smooth talker—people like me. I'm an easy-going guy if you don't piss me off.

A few minutes later, I'm walking through the kitchen, where I find Donovan sitting at the table, staring at the newspaper in his hand. He folds it, then lays it down. Looking at the diamond-encrusted Rolex on his wrist, he says, "I'm hosting a party for a huge client down at the club tonight. Think you can rustle up some eye candy?" His eyes lift to look at me, and I can't help but flashback to the day we first met.

I walk right up to him in his club, where suited men and scantily dressed women surround him. "Who the hell are you?"

"Tai Cooper. Your Son." His poker face never wavered.

"Prove it."

"Shit," one of the suited men laughs, looking between the two of us. "What proof do you need? He could be your twin."

I stare at my birth father, which feels like looking into a mirror: same tanned skinned, dark hair, and green eyes. The only difference being he's older. I could even tell he keeps himself in shape, though his physique is a little more muscular and broader than mine.

"What do you want from me—money?" He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a money clip, then tosses a hundred-dollar bill at my feet. "I'm feeling charitable today. Go buy yourself a burger and some cheap pussy."

Picking the money up off the floor, I tear it up, then throw it at his face. "How about I shove this money right up your arse." Two broad men step into my peripheral vision as I take a step forward.

Donovan raises his hand. "We're good here." He eyes me. "Sit," he orders, but I stand my ground. "The rest of you get your asses out of here," he barks.

It's not until the group he is sitting with disperses that I finally sit down across from him.

We talked for a couple of hours and, as I figured, he wanted a paternity test. Once I convinced him I wasn't looking for money, he eased up a bit, but never let his guard down. Neither did I. Before I knew it, weeks turned into months. Eventually, he offered me a job—a promotional position. I spread the word about his clubs and hustle up business. My mum wasn't entirely sold on the idea. She wanted me to go to college. Not that I was against it, but I was having fun. Donovan was kind of taking me under his wing, showing me another side of what life had to offer. The lights of the Las Vegas Strip are bright as hell. I was drawn to the lifestyle he was offering. Like an addict, I wanted more.

"Tai," Donovan barks, snapping me back from my memories. "I need girls for the mixer. They flock to you like flies on shit." Giving me a little extra incentive, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the key to his custom Lamborghini. "Here," he tosses the keys in the air, and I catch them. "Use my car to get around town. The party is exclusive. VIP only, so be sure to hand them the black business cards. They won't get in without one." Standing, he lifts his suit jacket from the back of the chair and slips it on. "I want you there tonight. There are a few clients I'd like you to meet."

I stare blankly at him because I usually don't attend his VIP parties. He glances my way before making his way to the foyer but says nothing more about the matter. Shrugging, I turn toward the counter, grab some bread out of the breadbox, and pop a couple of slices in the toaster. Once done, I smear some butter and jam on them. As I'm eating, I realize the date and the fact that my oldest sister has a birthday soon. I smile and pull out my phone. Five minutes later, I have scheduled a flight home due to leave in two days.