Funny how he'd been okay with that just a few short years ago.
Without another thought for the woman he'd once thought he'd loved, he dumped the photo in the trash.
Hours passed, and by the time Asher's phone rang again, he was on edge. More so when he saw that it was Stijn and not Greer. "About time," he snapped at the Dutch businessman when he answered.
"Can I help you with something, Mr. Sutton?" Stijn sounded equally annoyed. "Augusta tells me you had an urgent message for me."
"Yeah. This bullshit wedding we're putting on? Call it off. Tell Greer you changed your mind or something. She's running herself ragged trying to please those three girlfriends of yours and I don't like it. Cancel things and I'll hold up my end of the bargain."
"You want me to cancel the wedding?" Stijn's accented voice was flat. "After demanding that I have one?"
"That's right. Like I said, I'll hold up my end of the bargain and give your business the shot of cash you need."
"I'm not canceling."
Asher's eyes narrowed and he paced in his office, glaring at the Manhattan skyline visible through the windows behind his desk. "What do you mean, you're not canceling?"
"I mean that our sales have been exceeding expectations ever since the wedding was announced. We have received several endorsement deals and I am in talks with another company to monetize the story. This has been the perfect media event that I needed for Dutchman magazine."
Was he serious? "You don't even want to get married. Calling it off will get you just as much attention as an actual wedding."
"Did you need anything in particular, Mr. Sutton? I need to go to dinner with my fiancées." Stijn sounded bored.
Asher gritted his teeth. "I'm telling you. Call this off. I changed my mind. I'm not giving you any funding if you don't pull the plug on this shit."
"Are you trying to blackmail me, Mr. Sutton? Because if you neglect to hold up your end of the bargain, I shall have no choice but to tell my daughter that you manipulated the entire scenario simply so she would be forced to spend time with you."
Mutual blackmail? Anger shot through Asher. He was fucking cornered. The moment Greer found out Asher was pulling the strings, she'd go right back to ignoring him, all so she could have a scrap of attention from her father. "Fuck you, Stijn. Don't you say a thing to her."
"I'm glad you've come around to my point of view, Mr. Sutton. I look forward to seeing you at the rehearsal dinner."
Asher hung up and then flung his phone across the room. That cocksucker. He wanted to play hardball? Asher could buy his pissant little company and slash and burn it. He could make Stijn choke on his sales if he liquidated his stock and sold his shares to a competitor. He could do a dozen things to make the man's life miserable, because Asher had enough money to do so . . .
And then Greer would hate him. Again.
Fuck.
He stormed across the room and picked up his phone.
Like it or not, he'd have to ride this bullshit out. Even if he did, though, he was going to make sure that Greer was taken care of. She was his top priority.
She was his only priority.
***
Greer left her doctor's office and got into a cab, stifling a yawn. She gave the driver the address and settled into the backseat, lost in thought.
Here she was, back in New York City for the day. She'd flown in at dawn to keep her appointment with her obstetrician, and scheduled lunch with Taylor and Gretchen while she was here. She'd go over some quick wedding updates with Gretchen, scarf some food, and then fly back to Vegas so she'd return in time for a planning meeting with the band scheduled to play at the wedding. After that, she needed to talk with the pastor to smooth some ruffled feathers, interview photographers, and a dozen other small things eating away at her time.
But the doctor's appointment had floored her.
She was having a boy.
She didn't know why the gender of the baby had flummoxed her, but it had. Maybe in her grand scheme of things, she'd figured she'd be raising a little girl and it'd be the two of them against the world, much like Greer and her mother . . . except Greer would actually be present. A little girl? She knew girl things. She could handle that. A little girl would be just fine with one parent, a mommy.
But she was having a boy.
And she felt so damn guilty. Greer nibbled on her lip, thinking about the contract she'd made Asher sign, forsaking his parental rights. Would he be excited about a boy? Probably. She could see someone like him showing up at Little League practices, and playing catch, and heck, a million other boy things that she'd have no clue about. Did Asher deserve to be in her baby boy's life?
She was no longer sure the answer was no. And she hated that she'd done a one-eighty on her values simply because the man was a good kisser.
No, that wasn't it, she told herself as she stared out the window at the busy streets of the city. She'd known Asher to be a great guy in the past; that was what had attracted her to him in the first place. She just hadn't grasped the depths that he'd fallen to when his life had turned upside down.
And . . . he was not just a good kisser, but a great kisser.
She was closer to forgiving, but she wasn't there yet. Understanding, yes. Forgiving, no. Greer touched her mouth, thinking about his kisses. He was here in the city. Would he want to get together and take up where they'd left off? He'd left messages with her father's assistant but she hadn't responded, because she wasn't sure what to say. She worried he think she was obsessing and following him to NYC since he'd been gone too long? Perhaps it was best if she didn't let him know she was here, after all.
Course of action decided, Greer paid the driver and got out of the cab, heading for the small, trendy bistro in SoHo that was one of Gretchen's favorites.
Inside the crowded restaurant, Taylor was easy to pick out. For one, even though it was summer, she was wearing a long, red and brown Doctor Who scarf and had a backpack that looked like a cat hugging her. Her messy hair was tucked under a tweed news cap. She waved a hand excitedly in the air, ushering Greer over. Only . . . Gretchen wasn't sitting next to her. A big, muscular man with tawny hair and a tan was poring over the menu. That was odd.
"Greer! I want you to meet Loch!" Taylor jerked to her feet, nearly upending the small table. "Whoops." She pointed both fingers at the man at her side and pumped them back and forth. "I'm his guide to the city for the next few weeks."
Loch got to his feet, a good deal more graceful than Taylor. He extended one enormous hand-really, the man seemed to be enormous all around-and gave Greer a polite smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Chadha-Janssen." His voice was accented, European.
Taylor put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her fists, giving Loch an adoring look as he shook hands with Greer. "Isn't his accent wonderful, Greer?"
Having grown up with a Dutch father and a native Indian mother, she was a lot less impressed with an accent, but Taylor's enthusiasm was hard to deflate. "You do have a lovely voice," Greer said politely, taking a seat across from the duo. "British?"
"Bellissimi," he corrected. "It's a very tiny country in the Alps, but I think you must know that if you know Griffin. He is a cousin of mine."
"Ah. Of course." Griffin was in Hunter's circle of friends and a name they'd been tossing about to step in to the wedding since Levi had bailed. "Are you enjoying New York?"
He flashed her a smile and glanced over at Taylor. "It's very different than what I've expected, but entertaining."
Oh dear. Entertaining was what people said to be polite. "She's making you go to gaming meet-ups, isn't she?"
"Something called an LAN party," he agreed, chuckling. "And we're playing Wordcraft later tonight."
Taylor made a pained noise. "Warcraft, Loch. Warcraft. Oh my god. I will die of shame if you call it Wordcraft in front of my guildies." She raised her menu and hid her face from him, leaning in. "He called ‘orcs' ‘porks' instead. Can you believe it?"
"The nerve," Greer teased. No one was quite as into games as Taylor was. Sometimes it was hard to get her to leave her apartment. Guild obligations, she'd say. But judging from the way she beamed at Loch and the color in her cheeks, she had a new thing to obsess over, and that new thing was tall, European, probably played polo in his spare time instead of computer games, and was busy rescuing Taylor's scarf from her glass of water.
"Is Gretchen coming?"
"Of course. She's being a spaz over wedding stuff." Taylor grimaced. "Except I wasn't supposed to tell you that."
"Oh no. A spaz? What kind of wedding stuff? Did we miss a deadline?" Gretchen, bless her heart, was a wonderful friend, but she'd been a fairly hellish client so far. She'd make a decision one day and completely change it two weeks later, which caused Greer endless amounts of work. The only saving grace so far was that Gretchen kept pushing her wedding further and further out because it "had to be perfect." As of now, they were edging close to Christmas, which meant new themes and entirely new freak-outs for Gretchen.