The Rival's Heir. Joss Wood

have a new job, Bertolli is composing an opera and I am the lead character.”

      “Yeah, I heard. You are being cast against type.”

      “You are not the first to notice that. There have been a lot of insinuations already, about my past, you, my relationship with Bertolli.”

      “Which is?”

      Carla didn’t answer, which meant there was a very good chance she was sleeping with Bertolli. She was playing with fire. If word got out that she was sleeping with one of Italy’s most conservative, outwardly faithful men, the country’s favorite composer—a national treasure!—she would be labeled a sinful temptress and the press would eat her alive.

      Judah walked to the end of the hallway and placed his hand on the floor-to-ceiling window. He looked down at the bustling streets of downtown Boston below, resting his forehead on the cool glass.

      “There was a story recently, suggesting you are not her father. I cannot take the chance of the world finding out that Jake is Jacquetta’s father and not you. It was enough of a scandal that I had a baby out of wedlock but if they find out about my liaison with Jake—”

      “Affair.”

      “If they find out about Jake, that he is your brother and a heroin addict, that I had his baby not yours, the story will be on the front page of every tabloid from here to China. It will be a scandal and my contract with the new production says I have to remain scandal-free.”

      His heart bled. None of this had anything to do with him. Jake and Carla had had sex in Judah’s bed and now they had to deal with the consequences of their actions. He was in no way responsible for them or the fruit of their loins.

      Judah glanced down at the little girl and ignored the tiny lump in his throat.

      She could’ve been his...

      No, he didn’t want kids; he never had. He remembered having to change Jake’s diapers, night after night rocking him to sleep because their parents were out on the town or simply out of town. For six years, he’d been Jake’s primary caregiver, the adult in the house. He’d bought Jake clothes, made him meals, packed his school lunches. As a twelve-year-old child himself, Judah had stepped up to the plate and taken on responsibility for another human being—because his father and stepmother were useless—and Judah had promised himself that he would never again put himself in that position.

      After a pregnancy scare in his early twenties, he’d wanted a vasectomy, to take the issue off the table permanently. But the doctor refused, telling Judah he was too young, he might still change his mind. Furious, Judah had vowed to find another doctor, but then his career took off and he’d never found the time to go back.

      But he would. When he stopped being a monk, he’d find another doctor. He was thirty-five, he hadn’t changed his mind in ten years and he wouldn’t be refused again. As a child, he’d raised his baby brother and he didn’t want to raise another child.

      A scholarship to college had been his exit out of that life and he still felt guilty for leaving six-year-old Jake behind. Despite Judah’s attempts to keep tabs on his brother from afar, Jake was smoking weed by thirteen, fully addicted and boosting cars to feed his habit by sixteen. By eighteen, he was in juvie.

      Never again would Judah put himself in the position of having to choose between his future and his obligations. So, no kids. And after a few relationships that went nowhere and Car Crash Carla, no commitment.

      To anyone.

      Ever.

      Judah sucked in a calming breath. “I’m at the Sheraton, downtown Boston. Presidential suite. Get Rossi back here.”

      Carla pulled in a deep, ragged breath. “I tried to call him just before you called but his phone is off.”

      Judah gripped the bridge of his nose and cursed. “Make a plan, Carla.”

      Carla thought for a minute. “I’ll call an agency, hire a nanny. They can send someone.”

      God, she was going to ask a stranger to pick up Jac? Now that was exactly the type of dick move his father and stepmother would’ve pulled. Judah felt the burn of intense anger. “No, Carla. You will come and get her. Yourself. Personally.”

      “I can’t. It’s just not possible.” Carla spluttered her reply, making it sound like he’d asked her to become a nun.

      “Jacquetta is your daughter, so you come and get her. It’s not up for negotiation”

      Carla finally ran out of expletives. “I’ll come but I need some time.”

      “You’ve got a day. Be here in twenty-four hours or I’m going to be the one calling the tabloids, Carla.”

      “Judah, no! I am in Como, it will take more time than that.”

      “You should’ve thought about that when you played pass-the-parcel with your daughter,” Judah said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Hurry up, Carla. The clock is ticking.”

      Judah disconnected the call and banged the face of his phone against his forehead. He released his own series of curses and looked down to see Jac sending him a wide-eyed look. “Your mom is something else, kid.”

      Jac blinked once, then again and then she smiled, revealing a gorgeous dimple and pink gums. Man, she was cute. And despite being passed from person to person, remarkably sanguine.

      “So, I guess it’s you and me for the next twenty-four hours.”

      Jac waved her pudgy arms in the air and kicked her legs.

      “Glad you are on board with that program. It’s been a while since I made bottles or changed diapers so if you can try not to be hungry or need a change in the next day or so, I’d be grateful.”

      Jac sent him what he was sure was a get-real look.

      Judah walked her back to where the stroller stood, dropped her bag into the storage compartment and strapped her in. It had been years and years since he’d been in charge of anyone under two feet tall but he still instinctively knew what he was doing.

      He could look after this child for a day. A day wasn’t so long. Not when he compared it to looking after his brother day in and day out for six or so years.

      This time around he was an adult and he had a voice. And he’d damn well use it.

      After work the next afternoon, Darby sat down on the deep purple sofa in the showroom of Winston and Brogan and tucked a bright yellow cushion behind her back. While she loved color, and frequently approved of Jules’s interior design choices, she simply did not like the industry’s current obsession with eggplant. But Winston and Brogan were cutting-edge designers and they always reflected what was hot.

      DJ squeezed Darby’s shoulder before sitting down next to her, the diamond on the ring finger of her left hand so big Darby was sure she could see it from space. Jules’s emerald was just as large, as valuable, as impressive. Darby’s future brothers-in-law—one by law and both by love—were crazy about Jules and DJ respectively. Darby was happy they’d found their soul mates.

      Hers was probably stuck up a tree or had been run over by an out-of-control bus. Or maybe there wasn’t a man who would put up with a determined, driven, stubborn, type-A personality with fertility issues.

      Jules placed a cup of tea on the white coffee table between them before taking the seat to DJ’s left. DJ squeezed Darby’s hand. “Sorry you didn’t get the Grantham-Ford project, Darbs.”

      Darby forced a shrug. She hated to lose, even if it was to a Pritzker Prize winner. “It wasn’t a surprise that Huntley got it. They’d be fools to pass up his design. It was magnificent.”

      So was Huntley, for a cold, hard jerk bucket.

      Jules linked her hands around her knee. “And have they announced who will be his liaison between Huntley and Associates and the Grantham-Ford