One

      Darius Taylor-Pratt sat in front of a heavy mahogany desk and surveyed the space around him.

      The room’s dark decor seemed better suited to an older man than to upbeat lifestyle guru and reality TV star Miranda Dupree.

      Miranda, founder of the Goddess health and lifestyle brand, had invited him to Royal, Texas, for a meeting. She’d proposed a collaboration with Thr3d, his quickly growing performance wear company, to create a Goddess-branded line of athletic wear.

      The timing was terrible.

      His team was preparing for their first LA Fashion Week runway show. Still, this deal could catapult Thr3d to the next level. So he hadn’t been able to board the plane she’d sent for him quickly enough.

      Heavy footsteps approached. Too heavy to be the five-foot-three, redheaded sprite. Miranda probably weighed less than a buck twenty-five.

      A man with a messy shock of brown hair, brown eyes and a five o’clock shadow entered the room.

      “Hello, Darius. I’m Kace LeBlanc.” The man extended his hand. “Attorney.”

      Darius regarded him warily as he stood to shake his hand. “Don’t lawyers typically get involved after an agreement has been reached?”

      Kace thumbed through papers in a folder already on the desk. “In a business deal, yes. But I’m not Miranda’s lawyer.”

      “Then whose attorney are you, Mr. LeBlanc?” Darius’s shoulders tensed.

      “I represent the estate of Mr. Buckley Blackwood, recently deceased. The estate which he left to his ex-wife, Miranda Dupree Blackwood.”

      “How nice for her.”

      That explains the furniture, but not why he’s here.

      Darius returned to his seat and glanced at his black-and-gold Tissot chronograph watch before meeting the man’s gaze again. “Will it be much longer before Miranda joins us?”

      “I apologize for the subterfuge in bringing you here. But you’ve been summoned to meet with me about a completely different matter.”

      “Miranda has no interest in partnering with my company?” When the man didn’t respond, Darius shot to his feet. “Look, I don’t know what this is about, but I’m a busy man. I don’t have time for your little shell game.”

      “I assure you, you’ll want to hear what I have to say,” the man said calmly. “I only need ten minutes of your time. When I’m done, if you’d still like to head straight back to LA, the driver will take you to a fueled and ready plane.”

      Darius set his stopwatch. “You’ve got exactly ten minutes.” He sank onto the chair. “Why am I here?”

      “Does the name Buckley Blackwood mean anything to you?”

      Darius shrugged. “I know he’s Miranda’s ex-husband, and that he owned a bank.”

      “Plus this six-hundred-acre ranch, homes around the globe and investments in a variety of other business interests, like Thr3d.”

      “You’re saying he invested in my company?” Impossible. He knew the names of every investor. Buckley Blackwood wasn’t one of them.

      “He invested in Thr3d using a shell company.”

      “That still doesn’t explain why I’m here.” Darius’s patience was wearing thin.

      “You’re here for a private reading of Buck’s will.” The man tapped the document in front of him.

      “Why would an investor include me in his will?”

      “Buck was more than just an investor, Darius. He was…your father.”

      The room became eerily quiet. The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock on the wall behind him.

      Darius stared at the man a few moments longer, sure someone would pop through the door and declare that this was a prank.

      “Look, Mr. LeBlanc—”

      “Kace.”

      “Kace…there must be some mix-up. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

      “You’re Darius Taylor-Pratt, son of former actress Liberty Taylor. Adopted by your stepfather, William Pratt, at the age of two. You’re thirty years old, and you received your undergrad at—”

      “All right.” Darius held up a hand. He wanted Kace to stop talking long enough for him to wrap his head around what was happening. He sucked in a deep breath and tried to slow his rocketing heart rate. “You’re saying that this guy, this…”

      “Buckley Blackwood.”

      “…and my mother…they were together at some point.”

      “Yes.”

      “He knew I was his son. Yet, he never so much as called or dropped a birthday card in the mail in thirty years.” Anger slowly crept up his spine. “Why? Was he ashamed that he’d fathered a son by a black woman?”

      “No,” Kace responded emphatically. “That wasn’t it at all.”

      “Then what was it exactly?” Darius seethed, unconvinced.

      “You were the product of an affair during his first marriage. That’s why he thought it best to care for you from a distance. When you were two, and your mother married Mr. Pratt, Buck agreed to allow him to adopt you and raise you as his son. You were to be informed of the adoption once you turned eighteen, which I assume