If Love Had A Price

Kris stalled for as long as she could.

She enticed Nate into sex again when they woke up—though it didn’t take much enticing—and, unlike last night, their lovemaking was languid and sensual, filled with long kisses and soft caresses. By the time they got downstairs, Skylar had already left to meet her friends and Michael was mowing the lawn. Judging by the surprised look on Nate’s face when he saw his father tending to the front yard, Michael hadn’t operated the lawnmower in quite a while.

Kris convinced Nate to let Michael handle it—the elder Reynolds needed to prove to himself and to his children he could take care of things around the house on his own—and to allow her to make pancakes for breakfast.

Jeez, she set the pan on fire once, when she tried cooking an omelet, and Nate acted like she would burn down the kitchen every time she stepped within two feet of the stove.

Luckily, no pans caught on fire this time around, and Kris brandished the slightly burnt pancakes with triumph.

“The burns are your fault,” she said when Nate eyed the blackened flapjacks dubiously. “You distracted me with your kisses.”

The dubious stare morphed into a slow, panty-melting smile. “I’d eat all the burnt pancakes in the world for one of your kisses.” To prove his point, he sawed off the darkest portion of his breakfast with a knife and popped it into his mouth.

He even made chewing look sexy.

“You and your damn charm,” she grumbled while her heart pole-vaulted in her chest. “It’s not fair.”

That earned her another smile.

Nate could charm the panties off a nun with that grin of his, and he knew it.

Kris set aside extra pancakes for Michael, who came into the house right as she and Nate were finishing up.

“Oh, I’ll just reheat them after I freshen up,” Michael said when Kris realized the food had gone cold. “No big deal.”

“Did the lawnmower give you trouble?” Nate’s brow furrowed. “It can get tricky, especially near the corner by the sidewalk.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Michael bobbed his head. “All good.”

“What about the section by the fence? It’s—”

“Nate, I got it,” his father said gently. “Relax. Enjoy your Saturday with Kris. I’ll take care of things around here.”

Nate’s frown deepened. “But—”

Kris caught his eye and gave a subtle shake of her head.

Nate pressed his lips together. “All right.”

“We should do something about the shed in the backyard, though. It needs a good clearing out. There are tools in there that don’t even work anymore.” Michael paused, then added hopefully, “Maybe we could do it together. Have a father-son chore day one of these days.” A nervous chuckle. “I guess it doesn’t sound too fun when I put it like that.”

Kris sipped her juice and stayed silent. Nate and his father were making progress toward rebuilding the trust between them, but it would take a while before things were back to the way they used to be—if that was even possible.

“Sure,” Nate said. “That sounds…” He trailed off before repeating. “Sure.”

Michael looked like he’d just won a record jackpot. “Great.” He beamed. “We can work out the details later.”

Kris couldn’t suppress a smile at the elder Reynolds’ joy. The man practically floated out of the room—as much as a fifty-three-year-old could float, anyway.

“I can’t believe I just agreed to a day of chores with my old man,” Nate said. “High school me would’ve been appalled.”

“Don’t lie. You’re looking forward to it.”

He pointed a fork at her. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, which is why I think you spending quality time with your dad is a good thing, even if said quality time involves physical labor.” Kris wrinkled her nose at the thought of all the dust and sweat.

Although a sweaty Nate wasn’t necessarily a bad thing…

“Yeah, yeah,” Nate grumbled. He chewed and swallowed his last piece of pancake before he surveyed her with warm, sympathetic eyes. “Speaking of dads, are you ready to see yours?”

A heavy block of dread dropped into the pit of her stomach. “No, but I’d rather get it over with.” Kris fiddled with her bracelet. “Just like ripping off a Band-Aid, right?”

“Right,” Nate confirmed. “And if you need me, I’m a phone call away.”

She nodded.

She was not looking forward to her first conversation with her father post-bombshell, but it had to be done. She couldn’t stall forever.

Forty minutes later, Kris found herself staring at her family’s Beverly Hills home. Her father—and Gloria—were inside those walls.

The block of dread multiplied while she sat frozen in Nate’s car, tempted to call the whole thing off and hit the beach instead.

Avoidance: the answer to life’s problems.

Kris had avoided thinking about the implications of yesterday’s revelations so far, and she’d like that to continue, thank you very much. Sorting through her emotions regarding her real mother, her parents’ twisted history, and her aunt/fake mom’s out-of-the-blue betrayal required more time and therapy than she cared to commit to.

She’d grown up her entire life thinking her mom had abandoned her…and she had, in a way. But she’d been so hung up on the abandonment she’d never given much thought to what would happen if her mother reappeared in her life—and she’d certainly never thought about what she might do if she found out her real mother wasn’t who she thought she was.

“Come inside with me.” Kris gripped Nate’s hand, letting his warm strength ease her nerves.

He didn’t argue. He simply nodded and followed her to the front door.

Kris rang the doorbell, already regretting her breakfast decision. The pancakes and butter and maple syrup churned in her stomach, and she might hurl into that flowerpot—

The door flew open. Risa, the housekeeper Roger had hired to keep the mansion in acceptable shape throughout the year, didn’t remark on her boss’s daughter’s one-week absence from the household, but her relief was apparent.

She ushered them in and lured Nate to the kitchen with promises of homemade banana bread while Kris headed for her father’s office. It didn’t matter the house or location—you could almost always find Roger in his office.

“Call me if you need anything.” Nate pressed a quick kiss to her lips before they parted ways.

God, she loved that man.

Having Nate nearby provided Kris with the strength she needed to put one foot in front of the other without upchucking into the nearest antique vase. By the time she arrived in front of her father’s study, the block of dread had shrunk…by about two millimeters.

The door was ajar, but she knocked anyway and waited for her father’s “Come in” before she entered.

Roger stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the back of the estate, a glass of pale brown liquid in hand. He wore a charcoal sweater and jeans, and tufts of dark hair stuck out like he’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Stress and exhaustion carved deep grooves in his face.

“Kris.” His low voice rumbled over her, and for some inane reason, she wanted to cry.

“Daddy.”

They stared at each other, the air between them heavy with broken promises, unearthed truths, and remaining secrets.

They had a lot to talk about.

AFTER ONE HOUR, twenty-three minutes, and thirty-nine seconds of Nate doing nothing except staring, pacing, and hoovering Risa’s delicious banana bread, four things happened in rapid succession:

1) Nate ran out of bread to eat.

2) Gemma showed up looking for bread, Roger, and Kris (not necessarily in that order).

3) Kris and Roger showed up. The former nearly fell over when she saw Gemma, while the latter asked for—aka demanded—a “chat” with Nate.

4) Nate received three back-to-back phone calls from Marty, which he ignored because he had enough drama in his life right now without arguing with his cousin/agent over whether to audition for some shitty straight-to-DVD movie that would probably do Nate’s career more harm than good.

“Sorry, there’s no more bread.” Nate stared woefully at the empty loaf pan on the kitchen island. “I ate it all.”

“Jesus,” Roger said. “All of it?”

“That’s okay,” Gemma assured Nate. “I didn’t really want the bread. I just wanted something to calm my nerves.” She darted a glance in Kris’s direction.

Kris crossed her arms over her chest. Red rimmed her eyes and tipped her nose, like she’d been crying.

A wave of fierce protectiveness swept over Nate. He wanted to tug her into his arms and shield her from anything that might make her cry—her mom(s), her dad, Gloria, that ugly green sweater that made her recoil when she saw it at the outdoor flea market he took her and Skylar to the other day.

Since Kris was standing next to her father, who frowned at Nate like Nate had just announced he’d tested positive for STDs and was intent on spreading it to the older man’s daughter, he stayed where he was. That didn’t stop his heart from aching. This whole situation was so fucked up.

Nate’s phone buzzed with another call.

Dammit, Marty.

Roger’s frown deepened, and an irritated Nate silenced his phone. A second later, his screen lit up with a text message.

Marty: CALL ME! IT’S URGENT!!!

All caps, three exclamation marks. Nate would’ve been concerned, except the last time he’d received a similar message from his cousin, Marty had needed a double date partner for the blonde twins he’d met at The Grove.

Needless to say, Nate didn’t take Marty’s all-caps-three-exclamation-marks messages all that seriously.

“What are you doing here?” Kris asked Gemma. Her voice, while not unfriendly, oozed wariness.

Gemma fiddled with her bracelet, and Nate realized Kris had the same tic when she was nervous or distressed.

“I asked her to come.” Roger cleared his throat. “We have a lot of unanswered questions from last night and I thought we should wrap those up after we had time to sleep on…everything.”

“Kris, do you mind if I speak with you? Alone?” Gemma asked softly.

Kris’s shoulders visibly tightened. Her eyes darted from her father to Gemma to Nate, who gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Gemma seemed like a decent person, but if she hurt Kris, he was going to have it out with her.

He was sick to death of shitty parents.

“Okay.” Kris nodded in response to Gemma’s question.

Relief spread across the other woman’s face. “Okay,” she repeated.

Nate forced himself not to follow as Kris and her biological mother disappeared into another part of the house, leaving him and Roger alone.

Shit.

Nate wished he hadn’t eaten all the banana bread. A slice of that heavenly goodness would’ve gone a long way toward easing the scowl on the Carrera patriarch’s face…or not. There was a strong possibility Roger’s features had frozen into a perpetual disapproving grimace.

“I don’t like you,” Roger said.

Damn. Talk about cutting to the chase.

“Yes, you made that plenty clear when you tried to bribe me into breaking up with your daughter,” Nate said, equally blunt. No point in trying to kiss ass. It wouldn’t get him anywhere, anyway.

“Let me finish,” Roger growled. “I don’t like you, but I…appreciate how you’ve looked after Kris these past few days.” He choked out each word like it was a shard of glass slicing his throat open on its way out. “I know about the cafe and her living at your house,” he added when he saw Nate’s surprise. “I put someone on her tail when I found her note saying she was moving out for the rest of the summer. She’s my daughter, and I won’t let anything happen to her. That being said, I still think you two aren’t well-suited. You’re too different, and that’s not even taking into account your past…activities. But I can tell you genuinely care for her, and Kris cares for you, too.” More grimacing. “So I’m willing to step aside and allow you two to stay together for however long this thing between you lasts.”

Nate’s emotions fluctuated from shock to irritation to amusement in the two minutes it took Roger to give his little speech.

Trust Kris’s father to deliver the world’s most tepid stamp of approval. You almost had to admire the guy.

“Thank you,” Nate said. “But with all due respect, there are a few things I want to clear up. One, Kris doesn’t need anyone ‘looking after’ her. I supported her and cared for her because I love her, but she would’ve done just fine on her own. Two, we may be from different worlds, but judging from what I heard yesterday, I’m not the only one in this room who’s learned firsthand that love doesn’t give a rat’s ass—excuse my language—about where you live, or how much money you have, or whether you think someone is well-suited. Plus, it’d be boring as shit—again, excuse my language—to be with someone who’s exactly like you. Finally, while I appreciate and am humbled by your quasi-approval of our relationship, please believe me when I say there isn’t jack shit you could do, say, or offer me that would keep me away from Kris. You’re not ‘allowing’ us to do anything. It’s our decision whether we want to be together. Hers and mine. I will always stand by her side, so unless she tires of me one day, I’m here to stay.” Nate shrugged. “I’d say sorry, but I promised myself I wouldn’t lie anymore.”

A stunned silence filled the kitchen.

Nate was sure the other man would clock him in the face, but then Roger did something that shocked him even more than a sucker punch in the eye—he laughed. Loud and hard, like it was the first time he’d laughed in years.

“You’ve got balls, kid,” Roger said when his amusement died down. “Which is good, because Carreras don’t respect people without balls. But let me be clear—this is a one-time occurrence. Speak to me like that again and I’ll have my guy fix that pretty face of yours.”

Roger sounded more like a mafia don than a respected businessman, but Nate supposed there wasn’t a huge difference between corporate bosses and mob bosses in the dog-eat-dog world of capitalism.

He one hundred percent believed Roger had a “guy” and that said guy ran all manners of unsavory errands for his employer.

“Understood.”

Nate wasn’t a pushover, but he wasn’t an idiot, either.

His phone lit up with yet another call from Marty. He’d put it on silent, but the flashing screen was almost as annoying as Smash Mouth’s “All Star”—the ringtone his cousin/agent had programmed for just his calls—played on repeat.

“Are you going to get that?” Roger raised his eyebrows. “Your phone has been going off nonstop since I stepped into the kitchen.”

Even though Nate didn’t have the energy to deal with Marty, he took Roger’s advice. It was best to get the call over with so he could go back to worrying about how Kris’s conversation with Gemma was going.

“Thank God!” Marty yelled when Nate picked up. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling and calling and calling—”

“Sorry.” Nate interrupted the other man’s litany of “callings.” “I was busy.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, hyperaware of Roger’s presence a mere five feet away, though Kris’s father appeared engrossed in his own phone. He was frowning and tapping on that thing like it could predict stock prices for the next fifty years with one hundred percent accuracy.

“Doing what?” Marty demanded. “Never mind. It’s not important. What is important is what I’m about to tell you. Are you ready? Are you sitting down? Are you—”

Nate released a weary sigh. “Just tell me.”

“Fine.” A dramatic pause, during which Nate could feel his patience stretching thin. “You’re on the shortlist for the Scott West film!”

Nate’s eardrums rang from the volume of his agent’s—because Marty was acting as his agent right now, not his cousin—excited yell. It was so loud it bled into the air surrounding Nate and caused Roger to look up.

“Did you hear me?” Marty sounded breathless. “You are on the motherfuckin’ shortlist for a motherfuckin’ Scott West film. You and three other guys. All relative unknowns, because this is West we’re talking about. I’ve seen the other guys’ reels—they ain’t that good. You’re much better, and I’m not just saying that because you’re my cousin. You have a real shot at getting this, and then it’s fucking A-list, no-more-auditions-needed, cover-of-Vanity Fair time, baby! Your callback is in one week, and…”

While Marty rambled on, alternating between logistics and wild dreams of the future, Nate struggled to catch his breath. He felt like he’d paddled out to sea on a calm day, only to get swept up in an unexpected tidal wave.

He’d auditioned for the Scott West film a few days ago, but he hadn’t expected much. He definitely hadn’t expected to be shortlisted this quickly—or at all.

Holy fucking shit.

The import of the situation sank in. Nate’s chances of starring in a Scott West film had gone from one in a million to one in four. He had a twenty-five percent chance of getting everything he’d ever wanted. Career-wise, at least.

After a lifetime of looking up at the stars, he was finally close enough to almost touch them.

“Almost” wasn’t the same as “certainly,” but it was a helluva lot better than anything Nate had achieved so far.

He was vaguely aware that Roger had disappeared in the past ten minutes, but Nate didn’t question where the other man went. He didn’t do much except stand in dumbfounded silence, his heart racing, his palms sweating, and his mind whirling with a million thoughts and ideas and to-do items.

Kris.

Of all the people in the world, Nate wanted to share the news with her first, but she had enough going on right now.

Nate paced in a small circle while Marty doled out dubious advice with a few gems mixed in. “…West himself will be there. Wear gray—it’s his favorite color. I don’t know why, because gray is depressing as hell, but any bit helps…”

He’d thought this summer would be like any other. Boy, had he been wrong.

First, he’d met Kris, and now this. His possible big break, which he learned about in the kitchen of the man who’d tried to pay him $50,000 to break up with his daughter. The same daughter who’d just found out her mother wasn’t really her mother and that her real mother was her aunt—long presumed dead—who’d had an affair with her father.

A laugh broke out of Nate’s chest at the absurdity of it all.

Somehow, when he wasn’t looking, his life had turned into a movie.