The Black Sheep's Secret Child. Cat Schield

was on her way to becoming emotionally attached again. Damn. This was not why she’d come here. She needed him to save the record label so Dylan would have something to inherit.

      “The only help I need is for you to take over West Coast Records.” Despair swept over her, but she couldn’t let Trent see her distress. “Beyond that, there’s nothing I need from you.” She used her key card and let herself into the suite. “Good night, Trent. It was nice to see you again.”

      With a cheeky Courtney Day smile, she waved at him and slipped through the open doorway. She thought she’d gotten the final word in, but Trent had one last parting shot before the door closed.

      “Take the night and think about my offer.”

      Savannah opened her mouth to tell him he was wasting his breath, but he’d already turned and walked away. She resisted the urge to call after him. She was tired of arguing.

      With her plan to escape her current predicament amounting to a major failure, Savannah sought solace in the one spot of light. Her son, Dylan. She entered her bedroom, found him sleeping peacefully in his crib and turned off the baby monitor so as not to wake Lori, the babysitter Savannah had used on and off in the months since Rafe’s death. Dylan was a sunny, healthy baby who’d begun sleeping through the night by the time he was six months old.

      Having never known her mother, Savannah hadn’t known what to expect when her son came along. Although she’d long craved a family of her own, reality was never the same as daydreams. In Dylan’s case it was so much better.

      Savannah left her sleeping son and crossed to the bathroom. She stripped off her dress and examined her bare thighs. Sure enough, a bruise was forming where Trent’s fingers had bitten down. She brushed her fingertips across the spot. Letting her body dictate the encounter with Trent hadn’t been the best idea, but she didn’t regret what had happened. Yet she knew her impulsiveness would have emotional consequences.

      Maybe she should take Trent’s help to get out from under Rafe’s load of debt. Let Siggy destroy the company. What did she care as long as she and Dylan were free? Besides, even if she could convince Trent to take on the leadership of the record label, she might be inviting more trouble from her father-in-law. He was leveraging her situation to keep Dylan close. What if he came after her with some ridiculous legal ploy that she couldn’t afford to fight?

      Savannah changed into pajamas but doubted her ability to sleep, so she turned on the television and sat on the couch in the living room to watch a show about tiny-house hunting. Her mood lightened somewhat as she considered the idea of finding a four-hundred-square-foot house where she and Dylan could live a simple life.

      The sort of life she might have had with her mother if she hadn’t been killed while deployed in the Middle East when Savannah had been three. She’d give anything to recall even the blurriest image of her mother, Libby. Instead, all she had were the stark memories of being passed back and forth between her father and maternal grandmother like an endless tennis volley.

      Her parents had indulged in a brief fling that resulted in Savannah being conceived. And despite her resolve never to follow in her mother’s footsteps, she’d done exactly that. From what she’d gathered from her grandmother, Libby hadn’t planned to tell Chet Holt he was a father. Nor had Savannah’s dad been thrilled to be saddled with the responsibility of a daughter he’d never expected.

      When her father’s bad decisions landed him in prison for burglary, and with her grandmother’s health making it too hard for her to care for Savannah, she’d been shipped off to LA to live with her aunt, who worked as a housekeeper for the Caldwells.

      Savannah closed her eyes and recalled the discomfort of her first few months in LA. The Caldwells’ house was not a happy place. Siggy’s second marriage was on the rocks, and Melody fought with her stepmother nonstop. At sixteen, Trent was raising hell at school and driving his father crazy at home. Only Rafe seemed above the fray. He’d been breezing through his senior year of high school and was on track to finish in the top 10 percent of his class.

      With those unhappy days filling her thoughts, it was no wonder that when she fell asleep in front of the TV she had a nightmare about her and Dylan living in the Caldwell home with Siggy. She woke to the sounds of her son stirring in his bedroom and stumbled in a fog of lingering dismay to get him changed before Lori woke. Savannah loved these quiet early hours with Dylan.

      Snuggling him enabled her to escape her worries for a little while. His smiles lit up a room. He was such a happy, inquisitive child and since he’d begun to walk two weeks ago, she had to keep a close eye on him at all times.

      Both Savannah and Dylan were still in their pajamas when the babysitter emerged from her room. Savannah had given him breakfast and was on the couch reading to him from his favorite picture book.

      “What time is it?” Savannah asked Lori, standing with Dylan in her arms.

      “It’s a little after eight.”

      “Why don’t you order us some breakfast,” Savannah said. “I’d like an egg-white omelet and toast.”

      The closing on her house was at two thirty that afternoon. Their flight back to LA was at eleven. Savannah handed over her son and headed to the bedroom to get ready. She didn’t linger over her morning routine and had her bag packed in short order. By the time she emerged, a waiter was pushing a room service cart toward the large window that overlooked the Strip. Savannah signed for the breakfast, and the man headed for the door. When he opened it to leave, Trent was standing in the hall outside her suite.

      “Good morning,” he said, not waiting for an invitation to enter the room.

      Trent’s abrupt appearance threw her for a loop. She’d considered he might call. But never in her wildest dreams did she think he might actually show up in person this morning. Dressed in an impeccable navy superfine wool suit with a crisp white shirt and cobalt tie, Trent looked ready to do business.

      Savannah shot a quick glance toward her son. He sat on the floor surrounded by books and toys, happily gnawing on a plastic key ring. Lori had seated herself at the dining room table and was removing the metal domes from the plates of food. She seemed uninterested in Savannah’s visitor.

      In the dark hours of late-night Vegas, reconnecting with her ex-lover had been relatively uncomplicated. In the cold light of day, with her son—Trent’s son—less than ten feet away, she was feeling overwhelmed by her past mistakes and future missteps.

      “What are you doing here?”

      “You aren’t really planning on moving to Tennessee, are you?”

      After her troubled sleep and her dream about living in Siggy’s house, Savannah was feeling less confident than she had been the night before. Despite what she’d told Trent, the truth was she had no place to go once she signed the papers on her house. She’d been so convinced she could get Trent to help her she hadn’t focused at all on what would happen if she failed.

      “I...” Her chest grew exceedingly tight. She couldn’t get any words out.

      “Are you okay?”

      “Fine.” The word had very little conviction behind it. Where was Courtney now? Savannah had lost her connection to her confident alter ego.

      “Where are you planning to go, then?”

      Misery engulfed her. “I don’t have a plan.” He’d never know what it cost her to admit that. Too many times he’d viewed her as helpless. “My only option was for you to help me with the company.”

      “But that doesn’t help you with your immediate problem of where to go once you close on your house.”

      She knew he was right.

      “I called Melody last night,” Trent continued. “She’s in Australia at the moment, and with the time difference it was afternoon. She told me Siggy wants you to move in with him. You’re not planning on doing that, are you?”

      Not if she could help it. Even as