The Villa

wife—Ty had actually lost track of how many Mrs. MacMillans there'd been by this time—had been humiliated at the spa. Expected invitations for various social functions had not been forthcoming.
    Something had to be done about it, and quickly. It was Eli's responsibility to keep the family name above reproach, which he had obviously ignored by marrying the Italian woman in the first place. But be that as it may, it was essential, it was imperative, that the MacMillan name, label and company be severed from Giambelli. He expected Tyler to use all his influence before it was too late. Eli was old, and obviously long past the time for retirement.
    "Finished?" Tyler didn't wait for his father's assent or objection. "Because here's how it's going to be. You have any complaints or comments, you direct them to me. If you call and harass Granddad again, I'll do whatever I can, legally, to revoke that trust fund you've been living off of for the last thirty years."
    "You have no right to—"
    "No, you have no right. You never worked a day for this company, any more than you and my mother worked a day to be parents. Until he's ready to step aside, Eli MacMillan runs this show. And when he's ready to step aside, I'll run it. Believe me, I won't be as patient as he's been. You cause him one more moment's grief, and we'll have more than a phone conversation about it."
    "Are you threatening me? Do you plan to send someone after me like Tony Avano?"
    "No, I know how to hit you where it hurts. I'll see to it all your major credit cards are canceled. Remember, you're not dealing with an old man now. Don't fuck with me."
    He jabbed the off button, considered heaving the phone, then spotted Sophia standing at the edge of the patio.
    "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to eavesdrop." If he'd looked angry, she could have brushed it off, but he looked miserable. She knew, how well she knew, what it was like. So she went to him, cupped his face in her hands. "Sorry," she said again.
    "No big deal. Just a conversation with dear old Dad." Disgusted, he tossed the phone onto the patio table. "What do you need?"
    "I heard the weather report, so I know there's a frost warning tonight. I wondered if you wanted any company out there."
    "No, thanks. I can handle it." He lifted her bangs, studied the healing wound. "Very attractive."
    "Those things always look worse a few days later. But I don't feel stiff when I wake up in the morning anymore. Ty… tell me what's wrong."
    "Nothing. I handled it."
    "Yes, yes, you can handle anything. Me too. We're so annoying." She gave his shoulders a squeeze. "I told you where it hurt. Now you tell me."
    He started to shrug her off, then realized he didn't want to. "My father. He's sniping at my grandfather about all the bad press, all the police business. Interfering with his tennis lessons, or something. I told him to lay off."
    "Will he?"
    "If he doesn't, I'm going to talk to Helen about putting some leaks in his trust fund. That'll shut him up quick enough. The son of a bitch. The son of a bitch never did a day's work in his life—worse, never stirred himself up to show an ounce of gratitude for what he was given. Just takes and takes, then whines if he runs into a bump. No wonder he and your father got along so well."
    He caught himself, cursed. "Goddamn it, Sophie. Sorry."
    "No, don't be. You're right."
    There was a bond here, she thought, that neither of them had acknowledged before. Perhaps this was the time.
    "Ty, have you ever considered how lucky we are, you and I, that certain genes skipped a generation? Don't close off," she said before he could draw away. "You're so like Eli."
    She combed her fingers through his hair. She'd come to love the way she could tease out the reds. "Tough guy," she said as she touched her lips to his cheek. "Solid as a rock. Don't let the weak space between you and Eli cut at you."
    As his temper deflated, he laid his forehead lightly on hers. "I never needed him—my father." Not, he thought, the way you needed yours. "Never wanted him."
    "And I needed, wanted too much from mine for too long. That's part of what made us what we are. I like who we are."
    "I guess you're not half-bad, considering." He gave her arms a casual caress. "Thanks." He leaned down, kissed the top of her head. "I wouldn't mind a little company on frost watch tonight."
    "I'll bring the coffee."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
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    Tiny flowering buds, bursting open as the lengthening days bathed