Page 19 of From West, With Regret (NYC Billionaires #2)

Over the years, I’ve repaid them for what they’ve done, and ever since my father’s death I’ve ensured my mother hasn’t gone without. He’d left her a sizeable sum, but I’ve never shied away from offering her any additional support to maintain her comfortable lifestyle.

But it seems the little bit of the hatred Heath held for me has spilled over to my mother in the wake of his death.

We haven’t spoken since the day of the funeral. I haven’t had the energy to speak to her, knowing it will only end the way it did the last time.

She grabs the fur stole she has wrapped around her arms and tosses it onto the large marble table in my entryway, meeting me at the end of the hall. Bypassing my morning greeting, she places her hand on her hip, a pointed stare aimed my way. “Is it true?”

“Is what true, Mother?” I don’t care that I’m using the name she dislikes. I’m frustrated. Emotionally and sexually. The last thing I need is my mother barging into my apartment and scolding me like I’m fifteen again.

“Stop playing games, Weston. Tell me the truth.”

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating.” I move past her. “Can we talk about this later? I have to travel to several of my locations today, and I’d rather not spend half my day stuck in traffic.”

“You hired her?”

I come to a screeching halt, my body turning cold and rigid. She hasn’t even said her name, but I know exactly who she means.

It isn’t my mother is talking about London that has the hair standing on the back of my neck. It’s the way she allowed the three words to fall from her mouth as if she’s just caught her husband cheating on her. With disgust. With suspicion. With anger and fury.

I spin around, finding her body just as rigid as her words. With pursed lips, she keeps her hands planted on her hips.

“I’m assuming by that shocked look on your face that it is true,” she chides.

“I have businesses to run,” I say casually. “I do hire people from time to time. I needed an artist to create works for my bars, and London is insanely talented.”

“But she’s different, West.”

I won’t argue with her there. London is different.

Mom takes a few steps forward, her pencil skirt restraining her steps. “If he were still alive, how do you think Heath would feel if he knew you hired his wife to work for you?”

“London is a strong woman, Mother. She’s capable of making her own decisions.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s not the point.”

“Then, what is your point?” I ask, not hiding the edge in my voice.

She marches toward me, keeping one hand on her hip.

With her other, she lifts it and sweeps my hair from my forehead, studying my face.

Her eyes roam over me as if she’s holding back a secret she has yet to share.

The corner of her mouth lifts into a reminiscent smile.

“You know, your father wasn’t sure we were doing the right thing when I told him I wanted to adopt a teenager.

He said teenagers were unpredictable, especially one who had never been in a stable home. ”

My mother has never shared her feelings about why she and my father adopted me. They never offered it up, and I was never brave enough to ask.

She runs her manicured fingers through my hair, meeting my eyes with hers.

“But I fell in love with your eyes when the adoption agency showed us your picture. They were the brightest shade of blue. Like staring at the ocean.” Her reminiscent smile deflates and her gaze falls.

“I wanted my Heath to have a brother, and when we adopted you, we were able to give him that.”

The idea that I was in a sick, twisted way a gift for Heath rather than my parents makes me ill. A crack forms in my heart, realizing the change in Glenna since Heath’s death. I can see the vacancy growing in her eyes.

“But you two never could get along, could you?” She steps back, allowing her hand to fall away.

“It wasn’t for lack of trying on my part.” I grind my teeth as my temple pulsates. “What does any of this have to do with London?”

I study my mother, wondering if she knows London and I were raised in the same foster home. It was only for a few short years, so I doubt she knows, but I don’t know how detailed my records were.

She backs away and spins around, trailing her fingers over the marble entryway table. She runs her hand over her white stole, the strands of fur collapsing under her touch. Glancing over her shoulder, she inhales heavily.

“I spoke with your brother’s lawyers.”

My face pales, and my heart jolts. “Okay…” I narrow my eyes.

My mother waves her hand flippantly. “Are you familiar with Mercedes Rhodes?”

“No. Why would I know who Mercedes Rhodes is?”

“Right.” She purses her lips. “You and Heath hadn’t talked in, what was it? Ten years?”

I huff and my nostrils flare. Suddenly, my mother feels cold and distant. Completely different from the woman admiring my eyes only seconds earlier.

“Who the fuck is Mercedes Rhodes?” I sigh. “Get to the point, Mother.”

A flip is switched, and I see the true reason for her visit.

We’ve reached the point where the finish line is in sight.

The one she’s been dragging me toward since she opened her lipstick-painted lips.

What was once love and admiration for me has completely evaporated.

It’s now replaced with anger and indignation.

“Mercedes Rhodes has been handling all of your brother’s financial accounts, investments, and interests in the wake of his death.

” Her voice is entirely too cheerful to match the words coming out of her mouth.

“I spoke with her because I was curious to know whether London would be staying in the apartment in Boston. According to his will, your brother requested that once she were to speak at his funeral, she was never to return.”

“Return?”

“To Boston.” She shrugs a shoulder. “Days after the funeral, Mercedes told London she wasn’t to return to her home—the one she shared with Heath. He instructed the locks to be changed and all London’s belongings to be shipped away to wherever it was she decided to stay.”

She says it as if she assumes London would have somewhere to stay when being kicked out of her own home. Either that or she doesn’t care.

Most likely the latter.

Though I’m still not fully understanding what Heath’s end goal would be. I know the truth about Heath. London told me the day she stumbled into my bar, and even if I did question the validity of her claims, which I never did, I definitely wouldn’t be questioning them now.

White-hot anger floods my veins. What the fuck kind of husband kicks their wife out after their death and leaves them with absolutely nothing? I thought what London told me about Heath was awful, but this is next level.

“Sounds fucked up if you ask me.” I try to tamp down my anger, but it’s increasingly more difficult the more I think about what Heath has done to London.

Impatience boils over in Glenna’s expression.

Her already pink-dusted cheeks redden even further.

“If your brother wanted her expelled from every aspect of his life in his death, he clearly wanted her as far away from our family as possible. Now, I’m curious to know his reason why, but I knew my son well enough to never question his intentions.

” Her lips are tight. “If he didn’t want London to receive any financial support or otherwise after his death, there must be a reason.

And if he was cutting her off, then we have no reason to keep her around. ”

“Right.” I nod, grinding my jaw so tight it feels like I’ve cracked my teeth.

“Because everything Heath did was for a reason, Mother.” I close the gap, my protective nature for London clawing its way up through my neck and out of my mouth.

“Did you ever think Heath was just a fucking asshole? Did you ever think that he was, quite possibly, a terrible husband who never did anything unless it served him and only him?”

Widening her eyes, she takes a step back. Her arms are now at her sides, hands curled into two tight fists. “I knew it,” her venomous voice draws out.

“Knew what?”

“You would take her side over your family’s.

” Tears line her lashes, but she never lets them spill.

She puffs her chest out, and the scent of her overpriced perfume stings my nose.

“Whatever she said about Heath is a lie. For all we know, she could have been lying to us all along. Maybe Heath found out the truth about her past. Maybe she was faking all this amnesia so she could sneak her way into our family and steal all his money. What if it’s a story she made up in her head?

” She stabs her red-painted, pointy nail to her temple.

What the fuck?

I curl my lip, barring my teeth. I can’t help it.

My vision turns red. My mother seems to forget I was raised in a dozen different foster homes, and I’ve dealt with manipulative, arrogant people like her before.

I’m no stranger to what people can do when they feel they have all the power or think anyone who is an outsider has other intentions.

I’m thankful for the boost Glenna gave me to get where I am today, but no amount of manipulation will get me to take her side over London’s. I won’t put up with it.

“Let’s get one thing straight.” I growl.

“If you think for one second I would ever defend Heath for the way he chose to live his life, you’re sorely mistaken.

He squandered the life he was given. Not all of us had the luxury of being born into a wealthy, stable home, and Heath did nothing but shit all over you and Richard.

He took advantage, manipulated, and used his way to the top.

Then he manipulated London into marrying him, using her and controlling her until he got what he wanted out of her.

So, no, Mother . I will never take his side over hers.

And I sure as fuck am not going to leave her just because it’s what Heath wanted. ”

Her entire demeanor shifts the second the last sentence leaves my mouth. It hangs heavily in the air between us. My mother’s eyes soften, and her bottom lip peels away from her top.

“Oh,” she breathes, realization dawning on her. Her shoulders drop, and she blinks her tears away. “Leave her?”

I swallow, snapping my mouth shut. Fuck.

A sickness brews in my stomach. There’s no denying what I feel for London, what I’ve always felt.

But knowing my mother has a sneaking suspicion of why I’m truly keeping London around doesn’t sit well with me.

I still don’t know if she’ll ever discover the truth of what happened at my last foster home.

My mother smirks like she’s a dog with a bone, as if she’s cracked the code to a safe she’s been trying to open her entire life. She’s looking at me as if I’ve betrayed her and her family.

Like I said, I’ve never been a Hall.

Fear of what this means creeps into the back of my mind.

“I see now.” She presses her lips firmly together and nods, picking up her stole.

She folds it over her arm and slings her purse over her shoulder.

She stands in front of me with a stiff spine and pointed stare.

“I fell in love with you when you came to live with us, and I never spent a day regretting my decision. I always felt like you were part of this family. I always felt you belonged with us.” She tips her chin higher, squaring her shoulders. “That is until today.”

The air is punched out of my lungs as she removes the sunglasses perched on top of her perfectly-styled, silver hair, and slips them back onto her face, shielding her eyes from me before spinning on her heel and walking back toward the front door.

My housekeeper holds it open for her, and I watch her turn the corner without a single breath.

I don’t regret what I said about London. I meant it. I won’t leave her for a family I never considered mine.

My only regret in this moment is that I’ve allowed the only mother I’ve ever known to walk out the door thinking I never loved her.

Because it wasn’t only London who was saved the day she was adopted.

I was, too.