"I'm not here to talk about your dubious business practices, Jacob," Simon told him.
"What you call dubious, I call smart. Efficient." The old man snorted. "Then if that's not what's chewing on you, what is it, boy? I'm a busy man. No time to waste."
"Fine. I'll get right to it then," Simon said, even while that voice in the back of his mind urged him to shut up, stand up and leave before it was too late. But looking into Jacob's eyes, seeing the barely concealed sneer of superiority on his face, made it impossible for Simon to listen.
"Well?" Impatience stained Jacob's tone.
"Just wanted you to know that while you were out stealing that property from me, I stole something from you."
"And what's that?"
"Your daughter." Simon hated himself for doing it, but he watched and waited for the old man's reaction. When it came, it wasn't what he had expected.
Those icy blue eyes frosted over and emptied in the space of a single heartbeat. "I have no daughter."
"You do," Simon argued, leaning forward, lowering his voice. "Tula. She's at my house right now."
Jacob speared him with a hard look. "Tallulah Barrons is not my daughter. Not anymore. If that's what you came for, we're finished."
"You'd deny your own flesh and blood?" Shocked in spite of how badly he had always thought of Jacob Hawthorne, Simon could only stare at him.
Jacob looked away and signaled for the hostess. When she arrived, he said, "Please tell my guests I'm ready to continue our meeting. You'll find them in the bar."
"Yes, sir," she said and hurried off.
"You really don't give a damn about Tula, do you?" Simon hadn't moved. Couldn't force himself to look away from the old man's eyes.
"Why the hell should I?" Jacob countered. "She made her choice. Now what she does-or," he added snidely, "who she does it with-is nothing to me. We're done here, Bradley."
Stunned to his bones, Simon realized he actually felt dirty.
Just sitting at the same table with the man. Strange, but he had always pictured the moment of his revenge as tasting sweet. Being satisfying in a soul-deep way. He'd imagined that he would be vindicated. That he would walk away from Hawthorne, head held high, secure in the knowledge that he had bested the old thief. That he had won.
Finally.
Instead, years of anticipation fell flat. He felt as though he'd climbed down into the gutter to wrestle a rat for a bone. Mick had been right, of course. Simon had lowered himself to Jacob Hawthorne's level and now he was left with a bitter taste in his mouth and what felt like an oil spill on his soul.
Thoughts of Tula ran through his mind like a soft, cool breeze on a miserable day. She was the openhearted person he had never been. She was all of the smiles and warmth and joy that he had never known. Everything about her was the opposite of everything he was. Everything her parents had been. Somehow, she was the very heart that he hadn't even realized was missing from his life.
And he'd betrayed her.
He had used her for leverage against a man who didn't even see what an amazing woman his daughter was. But if Jacob Hawthorne was blind, then so had Simon been. Now, though, he could see. Now that it was too late.
Standing up slowly, Simon looked down at the man. Shaking his head, he had the last word as he told Jacob, "You know, I've wasted a lot of years hating your guts. Turns out, you just weren't worth it."
Simon found Tula in the living room, curled up on the window seat reading. She looked up when he walked into the room and the smile she gave him, complete with dimple, tore at his insides. He had made up his mind to tell her the truth. All of it. But he knew the moment he did, everything would be ruined. Over. And he would have to live with the knowledge that he had hurt the one person in the world he shouldn't have.
"Simon? What's wrong?" She came up off the window seat and walked to him, concern in her eyes.
He held up one hand to hold her off, not trusting himself to go through with this confession if she came into his arms. Once he had the feel of her against him again, he might not be able to force himself to let her go. And that's what he had to do.
"I saw your father today," he blurted, knowing there was no easy way to say any of this.
Her jaw dropped and her blue eyes suddenly looked wary. "I didn't realize you knew him."
"Oh, yeah," Simon said tightly. "Remember when I told you about the man who nearly stole this house from my father? The man who stole a piece of property out from under my nose?"
"My father."
"Yeah." Simon walked past her and headed to the wet bar. There he poured himself a short scotch and tossed it down his throat like a gulp of medicine designed to take the inner chill away.
"See, when I found out who you were," he mused aloud, staring down at the crystal glass in his hand before shifting his gaze to hers, "I had the bright idea of somehow using you to get back at your father."
She actually winced. He saw the tiny reaction and, even from across the room, he felt her pain and hated himself for causing it. But he couldn't stop now. Had to tell her everything. Didn't someone say that confession was good for the soul? He didn't think so. It was more like ripping your soul out, piece by piece.
"I told him today that we were together." He waited for a reaction. The only sign she had heard him was the expression of resigned sorrow on her face.
"I could have told you," she finally said into the strained silence, "that he wouldn't care. My father disowned me when I chose to, as he put it, 'waste my brain writing books for sniveling brats.'"
"Tula … " He heard the old pain in her voice and saw her misery shining in her eyes. Everything in him pushed at him to go to her. To hold her. To … love her as she deserved to be loved. But he knew she wouldn't welcome his touch any longer and that brought a whole new world of pain crashing through him.
"He's an idiot," Simon muttered, then added, "and so was I. I didn't want to tell you any of this, but you had the right to know."
"Oh," she said sadly, "now I had the right to know."
He gritted his teeth and still managed to say, "I didn't mean to hurt you."
"No," she agreed, "probably not. It was just a byproduct of you going after what you wanted. In a way, I'm not surprised. I knew when I first met you that you were like him. Like my father. Both of you only know about business and using people."
He took a step toward her, but stopped when she moved back, instinctively. How could he argue with that simple truth? Maybe, he told himself, he was even worse than her father. He had actually seen Tula for who she really was and had lied to her, used her, anyway.
Simon thought back to his meeting with Jacob Hawthorne. He had seen firsthand just what kind of man the old pirate was. And unless he made some changes in his own life, Simon knew he would end up just as cold and ruthless and empty as Jacob was.
Choosing his words carefully, he said, "I know you have no reason to believe me, but I'm not the man I was when you first came here. More, I don't want to be that man."
"Simon," she said softly, shaking her head.
"Let me finish." He took a breath, and said, "There are a lot of things I should say to you, but maybe I don't have the right anymore. So instead, I think the only way to prove to you that I'm not who you think I am, is to let you go."
"What?"
"Hell," he laughed shortly, shoving one hand through his hair with enough strength to yank it all out. "It's the only decent thing to do." He looked into her eyes. "We both know I'm ready to take care of Nathan. I'll hire the best nanny in the country to help me out. And you can go home. Get away from here. From me. It's the right thing to do."
Tula felt the world tip out from under her feet. She swayed under the blow of the unexpected slap. Bad enough to hear that the man she loved had only been pretending to care so that he could use her against the father that didn't give a damn about her anyway. Bad enough to know that her hopes and dreams had just been shattered at her feet.