The Wish Page 4

  The old man winced, rummaging in his desk with one hand while clutching his chest with the other. Alex instinctively jumped into action, hurrying to his uncle’s side and finding a prescription bottle hidden under a stack of papers. Alfred’s eyes squeezed shut in pain while Alex fumbled open the cap and shook the pills into his open palm.

  “How many?” he demanded.

  Alfred plucked a single pill and placed it under his tongue, slowly sinking back into his chair.

  That the great Alfred Anderson could be ill was unimaginable, and Alex stood paralyzed, watching helplessly. He breathed a sigh of relief when the color seeped back into Alfred’s ashen face.

  “Terribly sorry, Alex. Unfortunate side effect of getting so damned old, I’m afraid.” When Alfred met Alex’s eyes, the frailties of his body were noticeably absent from his intense gaze, his mind still as sharp as ever. “Thank you for coming. I’ve missed you,” he murmured quietly.

  “It’s good to be here.” Returning the pill bottle to the desk drawer, Alex awkwardly added, “I’m sorry about Byron.”

  “Thank you. Though I miss him terribly, at least now he’s free from pain.”

  Not knowing what else to say, Alex leaned down and wrapped his uncle in an affectionate, if cautious, hug.

  “I’m old, damn it, not fragile,” his uncle growled into his ear, as arms, softening with age, wrapped Alex in a welcoming embrace. After a moment Alfred sat back and studied Alex intently. “You’re looking good, as always.”

  “And you’re looking….” Alex couldn’t find the proper words to use in this circumstance.

  His uncle gave a soft bark of derisive laughter. “Admit it. I look like what I am—a relic with very little time left.”

  “You’ll outlive us all and well you know it,” Alex replied, fervent in his denials. His uncle would live forever. He had to, if for no other reason than Alex wanted him to.

  Alfred sighed and ran his wrinkled, aged-spotted fingers through his still full and wavy hair. The family’s trademark golden locks had faded to silver. “I’m glad you came. We need to talk. May I offer you a drink?”

  How like the man to skip the social niceties when they were alone and cut straight to the chase. Assessing his host’s physical condition, Alex feared what he was about to hear. “I don’t suppose you have any vermouth handy, do you?”

  Alfred chuckled. “You know where the bar is. Would you be so kind as to refill my water glass while you’re there?”

  “Of course.” Alex took the empty glass and refilled it before mixing himself a martini, his uncle’s words convincing him he’d need a little liquid courage.

  When he neared the desk, he couldn’t help noticing the lone portrait displayed there—clearly the man from the hallway. What was the photo doing where a picture of Alfred and Byron normally stood? Scanning the meticulously decorated office, he finally located the familiar image—on the mantel next to a picture of himself. Barely suppressed anger bubbled to the surface. There must be a logical explanation, although from what he’d witnessed in the hallway, he believed he knew what was going on and didn’t like the implications one bit. Still, due to his uncle’s illness, he needed to handle the situation delicately.

  “Alex?” His uncle called his attention back where it belonged. “Please have a seat. As I said before, we need to talk.”

  Alex noticed how tired the man sounded, and little wonder, with the stress he’d dealt with over the last few days. Taking a fortifying sip of his drink, Alex deposited the water glass on the desk and sank into the leather chair across from Alfred. “What is it?”

  “I’ll come right out and say this because you have the right to know: I have a heart condition, and it’s serious.”

  “What do the doctors say?” Fear gripped Alex like an iron fist. At seventy-six, the man was hardly young, though healthy for his age.

  “They found out a few weeks ago and wanted to do surgery immediately, though with Byron….” Nothing more needed to be said. Alex knew how much Alfred had doted on his partner, and he would have put his lover’s needs before his own, even risking his own health.

  “What about now?” Alex asked.

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’ve tried never to be a burden or ask anything of you; however, the time has finally come when I need your help.”

  Alex responded without thought. “I’ll do anything you need me to.”

  The corners of Alfred’s mouth lifted slightly in a weak smile. “Three weeks from today, they’ll perform a procedure to open a blockage in my heart and insert a stent. I’ll be in the hospital no longer than three days and able to resume my work in a week. Until then, I need to teach you to run this estate, as a precaution. An estate that will be yours soon, I’m afraid.”

  “Uncle, don’t talk like that!” Alex pleaded, tendrils of panic curling into his belly. “You’re going to be fine. Of course I’ll learn what I need to know, but only so you won’t be burdened while you recover.”

  “There’s more.” Alfred’s sigh sounded ominous.

  “Oh?”

  “Even if I do recover, Alex, it’s time to pass the torch.” Alfred paused to take a sip of water, staring at the glass in his hand. “I’d like you to consider moving in and managing the day-to-day operations of the Anderson empire and the businesses I’m invested in. I find I’m quite ready to retire.”

  Oh. Alex certainly hadn’t expected that. He loved his life, going where he wanted and doing what he pleased with only himself to answer to. Nevertheless, Alfred had been generous and never once asked for anything in return. But Alex couldn’t even manage his own checkbook—that was why Andersons kept accountants on the payroll—let alone manage his uncle’s affairs. He paused a moment to consider, finally deciding he could possibly survive a few changes to his normal routine. He’d miss his freedom, but surely he wouldn’t have to give up his nightlife completely if he moved in. On second thought, though, he could hardly bring casual fucks to his uncle’s house. Maybe he could split his time between his condo in Houston and possibly find another here in LA. “I don’t see how I could possibly say no,” he replied, surprising himself with his sincerity. He’d work out the details later.

  The relief on his uncle’s face was well worth any sacrifices he’d have to make. “Good, that’s settled, and I cannot tell you how glad I am that you’re going to do this for me. I had no idea what I’d do if you’d said no.”

  The innocent comment, that the man who’d always been so giving even considered such a possibility, stung like a slap in the face. Sure, Alex loved his carefree life. Did enjoying his independence make him so selfish that his uncle thought him capable of turning his back on a loved one in need? He’d opened his mouth to respond when a soft knock interrupted them.

  “Come in,” called Alfred.

  “Excuse me, sir; it’s time for your medicine.” Bernard’s eyes widened when he noticed Alex. “I didn’t know you’d arrived. Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his lips turning up in a genuine smile.

  Alex rose from the chair to be enveloped in a hug, and he awkwardly patted the butler’s bony back. Except with his uncle, Byron, and numerous flings, physical displays of affection made him uncomfortable. “Andersons do not engage in public displays,” he’d been told often enough while growing up, like “Anderson” equaled a noble title.

  Finally, Bernard relinquished his hold, smoothly returning to the role of restrained butler. “I take it you’ve settled in and will let me know if you have need of anything?”

  Alex beamed fondly at his uncle’s right-hand man. “You know I will.”

  “Very good, sir. Now if you’ll excuse us, your uncle needs his medicine and a nap.” A sharp glower from the steely-eyed butler ended Alfred’s weak protests.

  “I’m sorry, Alex. We’ll talk more, later. I have to do what he says… or else.”

  Alex didn’t stop to question what “or else” entailed, bidding them a good afternoon. He decided to forego his room
in favor of visiting the kitchen to see if Martha, his uncle’s housekeeper, had any of those wonderful oatmeal cookies he loved. He strolled down the hall, realizing his uncle’s health concerns and Bernard’s untimely arrival had made him completely forget about the stranger. Maybe later.

  “Martha?” Alex called as he opened the kitchen door, expecting to find the gray-haired matron fussing about the brightly lit room. He stopped in the doorway, speechless at the sight greeting him. Instead of a plump, elderly housekeeper, he found the dark-haired man who’d puzzled him earlier, standing on a ladder, replacing the light bulbs in an overhead fixture. That explained a lot, in his opinion. It seemed his uncle wasn’t above amusing himself with the handyman. Ordinarily, Alex applauded such—flaunting convention fit right in with his own methods of operation. In this case, however, the lack of propriety cheapened the memory of the partner who’d shared thirty years of his uncle’s life, a partner who hadn’t even been given a proper burial yet. Besides, wasn’t changing light bulbs part of Isaac’s job?

  The stranger froze, gazing down warily, and Alex realized he’d been right in his earlier assessment. Although the man could very well be a money-grubbing gold-digger intent on taking a feeble old man for every available cent, the slightly built brunet made for attractive scenery, in a bookish, intellectual kind of way. A fall of dark-brown hair brushed his forehead, straight and thick. Auburn highlights shimmered under the light of the newly changed bulbs. Well-defined cheekbones and angular features lent him an exotic air, and judging his height against the six-foot ladder, he only reached about five and a half feet tall.

  Sinewy muscles rippled under his snug T-shirt, compact and appearing more the product of work than a gym, and low-riding jeans hugged his slim hips, displaying a good view of flat belly when he raised his arms over his head. His lower lip, slightly fuller than the top, gave him a pouting expression, and even the librarian-type glasses perched on his nose did nothing to lessen his appeal. In short, he was exactly the kind of man Alex liked. He even had light-brown eyes!

  Forcing himself to recall who the guy was and what he was doing there, Alex scowled. Attractive or not, it was time to put the upstart in his place. “I know what you’re trying to do and I won’t allow it,” he announced, folding his arms across his chest.

  The man laughed, his voice much deeper than Alex would have imagined coming from someone so small. “I’m changing a light bulb. Do you have something against me being able to see while I make dinner?”

  A cook? The guy was a cook? Well, it made sense. Due to his uncle’s illness, hiring a chef would be logical. However, that didn’t give the man the right to take advantage of the situation. And where was Martha? Surely the woman who’d been employed at the house for ages hadn’t been tossed aside for the sake of a boy toy.

  “No, I have no objection to you cooking,” Alex answered coolly. “What I object to is your crossing the lines with my uncle. You wouldn’t be the first to see dollar signs when they looked at him, and likely not the last. None succeeded in parting him from his cash, and let me tell you, he’s been conned by the best.”

  Furious amber eyes burned into Alex’s as the man climbed down from the ladder. “I see. Well, rest assured there’s only one person in this room after Alfred’s money, and it sure as hell isn’t me!”

  Alfred? The cook addressed his superior by first name? He’d also kissed Alfred in the hallway. Martha was the only servant in the house allowed to kiss her employer. Furthermore, what was that crack about money? The Anderson legacy belonged to Alex by right, or soon would. Who the hell did this man think he was? “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? My uncle just lost his partner and he’s vulnerable. Whatever game you’re playing with him, I want it stopped.”

  A ferocious glare answered him.

  “If it’s money you’re after, name your price. I’ll pay, you go away. Deal?”

  Alex had to hand it to him. The guy played his role well, burning with righteous indignation so realistic Alex nearly believed it himself.

  “You’re the asshole nephew, Alex,” the man growled through clenched teeth.

  “Yes, and you’re the gold-digger who thinks he can flaunt his tight ass in front of a grieving old man and get himself a tidy bit of cash. Now that we’re properly introduced, why don’t you run along and find yourself another sugar daddy.” Alex couldn’t control the anger seeping into his words.

  A reddened face and sharp gasp were Alex’s only warnings before the stranger loosed his wrath. “Look, Alex, while you’ve been out thinking only of yourself, screwing anything that’d drop its pants, I’ve been here when your uncle needed me!” He smacked his hand onto the countertop. “When his lover lay dying, I was here. The night Byron died, Alfred called for hours and only got your stupid voice mail. Me, he got on the first ring! Now I’m minding my own business, trying to cook one of his favorite meals, one of the few pleasures Alfred has left, and you stroll in here flinging accusations!”

  The agitated hornet of a man marched across the room and yanked a phone book from a shelf beneath a wall-mounted phone. “Why don’t you take your overinflated ego out to a club somewhere and start fucking your way through greater Los Angeles, while me and my ‘tight ass’ get dinner on the table?” He flipped opened the directory to “Restaurants and Clubs” and flung the book at Alex, pages flapping. “There’s plenty of skanks at the local nightclubs. Only don’t bring them here. That would be disrespectful.”

  He hoisted the ladder to his shoulder and then stormed out the back door, muttering under his breath.

  Alex stood clutching the open phone book, speechless, something that didn’t happen often. Well, he certainly understood what his uncle saw in the feisty handyman/cook. Regardless of a deceptively unassuming appearance, the man exhibited the same spirit and fire of Alfred’s late lover. Feisty or not, Alex wasn’t going to give up with so much at stake. The usurper wasn’t going to take advantage of the situation, and Alex would see to it if it was the last thing he did.

  OH DEAR. First impressions certainly hadn’t gone well, yet Byron remained convinced that his and Alfred’s nephews belonged together, each being similar to their uncles in temperament and personality. Their first meeting, while explosive, hadn’t been explosive in the way he’d hoped. He loved his nephew, but the boy did have a temper, especially when under attack, though Byron could hardly fault the apple for falling close to the tree. The Sinclair temper did little to dispel the myth of fiery redheads, and his and Douglas’s arguments had been legendary. If his plan failed, he had only himself to blame, since he’d planted the seeds of jealousy to begin with.

  Regardless of the failure of the initial meeting, he stood by the belief that placing forbidden fruit before Alex’s nose was the only way to truly capture the boy’s attention. If Byron had learned one thing about the man over the years, it was Alex’s penchant for winning at all costs, and believing he couldn’t have something made the prize much more enticing, eventually pushing him toward the edge. Yes, Byron suffered a twinge of guilt for involving Alfred, but was sure he’d be forgiven. After all, Alfred often quoted, “Sometimes the end justifies the means.”

  The one shining moment in the whole encounter had been the growing bulge in Alex’s slacks as he’d verbally sparred with Paul. The spark had lit; Byron simply needed to fan the flames until they blazed. The end justifies the means, indeed.

  5

  MURMURED conversation greeted Alex, and he hesitated before the closed dining room door. Despite his best intentions, he couldn’t help eavesdropping, especially when one of the voices was deep and rich, totally unlike Alfred’s. The words made his blood boil.

  “Alfred, you know I love you with all my heart. Still, I don’t think this is right. I know he’s your nephew, but I don’t trust him. He’s never here and hasn’t done anything for anyone in this family outside himself.”

  “In this family?” How dare the meddler consider himself a relative? Adding insult to injury, even now the tw
o-bit con man tried to turn the tables before Alex had a chance to expose the manipulative bastard for what he was.

  “Now, Paul…,” his uncle said in tones once used to placate Alex’s stern grandparents.

  Paul? Why did the name sound familiar? Frantically searching his mind for some reference to a servant or business associate named Paul, Alex strained to catch the words while his uncle continued, “While it’s true he’s not been here, I’ve never asked him to be. I’m sure if I’d told him….”

  “Told me what?” Alex demanded, bursting into the dining room.

  Paul regarded him from a position kneeling on the floor by Alfred’s chair, the tilt of his chin haughty and unapologetic. “His napkin fell, I was picking it up,” he offered as explanation for his compromising position. With fluid, graceful motions, he rose and obtained a new napkin from the adjacent buffet before seating himself to the old man’s left, eyes clearly challenging Alex to question him.

  “Uh-huh,” Alex replied. An eyebrow rose in mocking disbelief. How dare this mere servant presume to sit at the same table with the family? His grandparents were probably rolling in their graves!

  The butler chose that moment to enter the room. “Excuse me, sir, might I have a word?

  As Bernard conversed in hushed tones with Alfred, Paul muttered under his breath, “Honi soit qui mal y pense.”

  Shame be to him who thinks evil of it? Well, now, what a shocker. Apparently, boy toy learned a little French somewhere down the line—or read a book or two.

  When Bernard left, Alfred, oblivious to the byplay, indicated the chair to his right, directly across from Alex’s nemesis. “Sit down, Alex. You’re in for a real treat tonight.” He gave an indulgent smile. “Paul prepared beef brisket with all the trimmings—my favorite!” With a crafty gaze, he added, “I believe it’s one of your favorites as well, isn’t it?”