The Chatsfield Collection Books 1-8. Annie West
present for such a clearly personal conversation between Gene and his son, Liyah looked around the room. Beside a large, comfortable chair was a side table that held a glass of what looked like whiskey and a newspaper. The headline screamed across the room. Lucca Chatsfield Does It Again!
What might have once been the amusing antics of a world-renowned playboy—a stranger to her—it now sickened her to know that these scandalous exploits were from her own flesh and blood. She had unfollowed @LuccaChatsfield, wanting no more distractions or information about her family.
“Just keep it off the internet, and for all our sakes, stay the hell away from Twitter,” Gene growled into the phone before cutting the call dead and turning his attention back to Liyah.
If anything, his frown turned more severe, clearly ready to tackle what he saw as another problem. “While I’m aware I must have a certain reputation among the chambermaids, my days of dallying in that direction are years in the past.”
Liyah couldn’t hide the revulsion even the thought of what he was implying caused. “That is not why I’m here.”
Inexplicably, he smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. My fiancée is a possessive woman.”
And he was a former lothario with a past he no doubt wanted to keep exactly where it was. Buried.
“You know, this was a bad idea. I’m sorry I bothered you.” She couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again, but she was leaning toward the idea that maybe...really, it wouldn’t.
No matter what Hena had wanted.
“Nonsense. You’ve interrupted my afternoon for a reason. Come in.” He stepped back and indicated with an imperious wave of his hand that she should enter.
“Are you sure you’re not the emir around here?” she muttered under her breath as she did as he bid.
Apparently, he heard her, because he laughed, the sound startled. “You are no shrinking violet, I’ll give you that, Amari.”
“My name is Aaliyah, though I usually go by Liyah.” It sounded more American, even if the spelling was pure Middle Eastern.
“We are not on a first-name basis,” he replied with a return to his superior, if wary, demeanor of earlier.
She nodded acknowledgment even if she couldn’t give verbal agreement. He was her father; they should be on a first-name basis.
He led her into a posh living room with cream furniture, the walls the same saffron as a great deal of the hotel. Recessed lighting glowed down from the arched ceiling and a fire burned in the ornate white marble fireplace.
“Please, sit down.” He indicated one of the armchairs near the fire before taking the one opposite.
She settled into the chair, her hands fisting against her skirt-covered thighs nervously. “I’m not sure how to start.”
“The beginning is usually the best place.”
She nodded and then had a thought. Taking the locket from around her throat she handed it to him.
“This is a lovely, antique piece of jewelry. Are you hoping to sell it?” he asked, sounding confused rather than offended by that prospect.
“No. Please open it and look at the pictures inside.” One was of Liyah on her sixteenth birthday and the other was of Hena Amari at the same age.
She wouldn’t have looked appreciably different at eighteen, the age she was when she had her short affair with Gene Chatsfield.
He looked at the pictures, his puzzled brow not smoothing. “You were a lovely girl and your sister, as well, but I’m not sure what else I’m looking at.”
“The other woman isn’t my sister. She was my mother.”
He looked up then. “She’s dead?”
Liyah nodded, holding back emotion that was still too raw.
“I am very sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you. She didn’t tell me about you until just before she died.”
He frowned, his expression growing less confused and more cautious. “Perhaps you should tell me who she is and why she would presumably have told you about me.”
“You don’t recognize her?” Even after having time to really look at the picture?
It was small, but the likeness was a good one.
“No.”
“That’s...” She wanted to say obscene, but stopped herself. “Disappointing.”
“I imagine, if you are here for the reason I believe you are.”
“You know why I’m here?” she asked, a tiny bud of relief trying to unfurl inside her.
“It’s not the first time this has happened.”
“What exactly?”
“You’re about to claim I am your father, are you not?”
“That happens to you a lot?” she demanded, both shocked and appalled. “How many innocent chambermaids did you seduce?”
“That is none of your business.”
No, really, it wasn’t.
Eyes narrowed, Liyah nevertheless nodded. “While I find it deplorable you apparently never even bothered to find out my first name from Mom, don’t try pretending you didn’t know of my existence. She told me about the support payments.”
“Your mother’s name?” he demanded in a voice icier than she’d ever managed.
“Hena Amari.” There, that should at least clarify things. Though how he hadn’t already made the connection with her last name, Liyah couldn’t figure out.
“And I supposedly had a fruitful tryst with this Hena Amari. Did she work for one of my hotels, too? She must have, I kept my extramarital activities close to home in those days.”
“She was your chambermaid at the Chatsfield San Francisco.”
“What year?” he demanded.
She told him.
He shook his head. “While I am not proud of my behavior during that time in my life, neither am I going to roll over for blackmail.”
“I’m not trying to blackmail you!”
“You mentioned support payments.”
“That you made until I graduated from university. They weren’t large, but they were consistent.”
“Ah, so now we are getting somewhere.”
“We are?” Liyah was more confused than her father had seemed when she first arrived.
“You’re looking for money.”
“I am not.”
“Then why mention the support payments?”
“Because they’re proof you knew about me,” she said slowly and succinctly, as if speaking to a small child.
Either he was being deliberately obtuse, or something here was not as she believed it to be. The prospect of that truth made Liyah pull the familiar cold dignity around her more tightly.
“I never made any such payments.”
“What? No, that’s not possible.” Liyah shook her head decisively. He was lying. He had to be. “Mom told me you weren’t a bad man, just a man in a bad situation.”
Hena had refused to name Liyah’s father while living, but she’d done her best to give her daughter a positive impression of the absentee parent.
As positive as she could in the face of undeniable facts. The man had been much older and married. Hena had been a complete