“Is that a gray hair?”

Roark scowled as he took a seat across from Ridge’s desk. “Fuck you.”

Ridge tossed his head back and laughed. His elbows rested on his desk as he continued to stare at his older brother. “I’m serious man,” he said between chuckles. “You actually have gray hair in your beard? You’ve only been a father for like five minutes and you’re aging that fast.”

With a huff, Roark ran his hand over his neatly cut goatee, which he’d just started to grow back in the past couple of months. “You can hardly see that one little hair and don’t start blaming my son for some shit that comes natural.”

“Nah, never that,” Ridge told him as he straightened in his chair, still wearing a wide grin. “My nephew’s not responsible for your stress. I mean, he may be in a few years once he grows into his full Donovan status, but right now, his only job is to be as handsome as his uncle.”

Now, Roark arched a brow. “You mean as handsome as his daddy?”

Ridge shook his head. “That’s not even what I meant.”

Roark chuckled then and crossed one leg so that his ankle rested on his knee. “You still a fool,” Roark told him. “So, since you’re all in my personal business, what’s up with you and Talaya? Things still going good over there in Kensington?”

The smile Ridge had been wearing didn’t waver, instead it stayed in place for a different reason now. Still a happy and contented reason, but a different inspiration, he figured. “Yeah, we’re cool.”

“Wow,” Roark replied.

“What the hell does “wow” mean?”

“It means, wow. I’m shocked. Surprised. In awe, maybe.” Roark shrugged.

“That’s a lot of shade you tossin’ my way,” Ridge replied. He wasn’t necessarily bothered by his brother’s comments, not in the way he would’ve been ten months ago.

At that time, he was irritated with all things Donovan because he hadn’t been certain he could live up to the name that was his birthright. He’d desperately wanted to, but at that point in his life every move he’d made had seemed like a mistake. Then Talaya came along and shifted his thoughts.

“Not my intention,” Roark told him. “But you’ve got to admit this is different. A year ago, you were still popping up at every function with a different beauty on your arm. So, you know, we’re all kind of wondering how long this thing with Talaya will last.”

“You mean this engagement,” Ridge said, his tone just a bit more sober since now he was actively trying not to get upset.

Roark wasn’t wrong. A year ago, hell for the last twenty-two of the thirty-eight years he’d been alive, he’d been slipping into one woman’s bed after another. And that one time when he was in Saint Tropez, he’d actually slid two women into his bed at the hotel. But that wasn’t the man he was now.

“I mean, this relationship,” Roark said. He kept his gaze on Ridge, his tone changing as well. “Listen, I know this isn’t the same as any of those other…I guess you could call them arrangements, that you’ve had before. I know the way you used to think about women and the role they played in your life. So, I’m just checking on you to see where your head’s at with all this now. You know, after some time has passed and things have settled down a bit.”

Things hadn’t settled down enough. Not to his way of thinking considering the past weeks as Talaya had struggled with nightmares and panic attacks. But he wasn’t about to tell Roark any of that. It had nothing to do with him or the rest of their family, so it would remain between Ridge and Talaya. They would get through this, just like they’d gotten through everything else.

“No, this isn’t the same,” Ridge replied because he knew Roark wasn’t going to let the topic rest until they’d had a discussion. “She’s more important than I thought any woman would be in my life. You know?”

Roark nodded. “I do know.”

His brother had been married twice so of course he’d probably felt something similar to what Ridge was now, at least one of those times. When Roark married Katrina, nobody in the family thought that union made sense. But Roark was the good son, he never messed up, so nobody said anything. And when it ended, they’d all wisely kept their mouths shut again. Roark’s current wife, was a total contrast to the uptight, controlling Katrina. Tamika was an American, just like Talaya, and the majority of their Donovan relatives. She was also a confident, independent woman who didn’t cower under Roark’s inherently bossy nature. No, Tamika stood toe-to-toe with his brother from the very start of their relationship when they’d both been suspected of setting deadly fires.

Ridge scrubbed his hands down his face and sat back in his chair. “I don’t know how else to explain it except, it’s the best feeling I’ve ever had.” And that was the simple truth. “In the beginning I was like, ‘what the hell is happening’,” he continued. “And then, all of a sudden, I knew the only right answer was—her. She was happening to me and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.”

The corner of Roark’s mouth lifted into a smile. “That’s a pretty accurate way of describing falling in love.”

“Hmph,” Ridge sighed. “I guess so.”

“Have you set a date for the wedding?” Roark asked.

“Not yet.”

“Because you’re hesitating or…”

“I’d marry her tomorrow,” he interrupted. “This evening.”

Roark nodded. “So, she’s hesitating.”

Because he didn’t like the sound of those words, Ridge frowned. “We just haven’t talked about it. She’s busy planning the inaugural fundraiser for the foundation and I’m just coming up for air after these lawsuits and all the running around Neshawn has us doing thanks to your instructions.”

“First, Neshawn is doing a great job balancing the good press with the negative. We still need that for a while longer if we want to successfully survive the hit that explosion put on us. Not to mention the chatter that still managed to get out surrounding Talaya’s involvement in those murders last year and your little paternity claim.” Roark had raised his brows at that remark. “You can thank me at any time.”

Now it was Ridge’s turn to say, “Fuck you.” Then he grinned. “I’m not thanking you for doing your job as the older brother.”

Never in all his years had Ridge leaned on Roark like an older brother. He’d been too proud, too determined to be his own man, on his own terms, to accept that there was room for two domineering Donovan men in their family. Obviously, that was after their father’s death, because Gabriel Donovan had been the undisputed head of their family every year that he had breath.

“Oh, now, I’m your older brother.” Roark chuckled. “Look, man. I know you don’t like the spotlight, not anymore. And especially not under these circumstances. And I don’t either. But we couldn’t deny the situations happened. It was smarter to simply try to get ahead of them and that’s exactly what Neshawn has been doing.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said. “Talaya had a meeting with her earlier this week. She came home with a list of events we’re attending and an appointment with that ridiculous stylist Neshawn insists on sending to my house to dress us like we’re children.”

“Oh yeah, Raphael. Tamika loves him.” Roark smiled. “I’m cool with him as long as he stops giving me those pants that I can barely get my foot into they’re so slim.”

“Right!” Ridge agreed. “I told him, man, I’ve got thighs and calves that’ll eat those slim ass pants right up.”

Now it was Roark’s turn to laugh out loud. “I told him Gabe and Maxine made some thick boys not no toothpicks like him,” Roark said. “Especially your ass since you live in that gym.”

“And that ain’t stopping no time soon. I may have given up taking my frustrations out on those poor dudes in the ring, but I’m still gonna stay in shape. I’ve been finding pants in my closet to go with whatever shirts and jackets he selects, but you know he hates that shit,” Ridge said.

“Yeah, he’s probably cussing you out the minute he walks out of your house,” Roark said.

“Probably.”

Ridge’s cell rang on his desk and he leaned in to glance at the screen. “Who the hell is this?” he asked when he saw the unfamiliar number.

Roark didn’t respond, not that Ridge really expected his brother to know. Hell, he most likely couldn’t even see the screen from where he was sitting. When it rang again, Ridge swiped a finger over the screen to accept it and then lifted the phone to his ear, “Donovan,” he said, his usual greeting. Except for when it was Talaya, at which time he answered with whatever nasty thought that came to his mind when he thought of her.

“Is this Ridgley Donovan?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Who is this?” was his terse reply.

“My name is Aida Diallo. I’m Renata’s mother.”

An hour and a half later, just as darkness had begun to settle over the Clapham district of southwest London, Ridge opened the back door and stepped out of his SUV. He was still dressed in the chocolate brown suit he’d worn to the office this morning, opting not to take the time to stop at home to change after he’d received the phone call and Roark had left his office.

“You sure about this?” Roark asked after he’d told him who had been on the phone.

Ridge had stood from his chair by then and was slipping his phone into his pocket as he replied, “No. But I won’t know for sure unless I go see what she wants.”

“Want me to ride with you?” Roark asked.

“Nah,” Ridge said with a smirk. “I think you’ve done your big brother duties for the day.”

They’d left his office then, each of them smiling, even though Ridge would’ve given anything to genuinely feel as happy as he had before that phone call had come in.

“So, you’re really doing this?” Sage asked after climbing out of the driver’s side door and coming to stand beside him. “We can put it off a day or two, take the time to collect more information.”

Ridge shook his head. “No. What you were able to get during our ride here was enough for now.”

He didn’t need to look at Sage to gauge her reaction to that. She’d told him when they were in the truck that she’d rather be more prepared. But her preliminary search—after she’d punched Aida Diallo’s name into the tablet she’d had sitting on the front seat of the truck—had given them enough of the basics for him to feel marginally resolved with moving forward with this meeting.

Aida and Baakir Diallo had lived in Clapham for over thirty-three years. They had one child, Renata, and had run Aida’s Kitchen, the restaurant he was about to walk into for twenty-two years. Neither of them had a criminal record and they owned their home.

“I don’t like this,” Sage said and then fell into step beside him the moment he started walking.

“Me either,” he replied. “But we’re here and I’m going in. You can wait outside to keep an eye on things.”

“See, that’s what I’m saying,” she argued even though her voice was low so that no one walking on the street beside them would’ve heard her. Not that there was anyone on this street now. “I don’t know this area, haven’t had time to study the place, figure out best escape routes, get a team together. Hell, if you would’ve simply scheduled this for another time, I could’ve at the very least gotten one of Que’s guys to drive, then they could’ve stayed out here and I could have gone inside with you. ‘Cause you know damn well I’m not letting you walk in there alone.”

“Sage,” he said and glanced over at her when they were just a few steps away from the golden yellow painted door of the restaurant. “I can go in here and speak to this woman by myself. I doubt very seriously she’s carrying and just waiting until I walk through the door so she can shoot my ass."

That probably wasn’t the right thing to say to a woman like Sage. He would swear her eyes lit up at the thought and before she replied she’d reached a hand behind her back to where he knew she had a Glock tucked into the waistband of the fitted black pants she wore. Her sheer black blouse hung low in the back and was tucked neatly into the front. She wore a silky black camisole beneath the blouse that further concealed the gun from view. But Ridge knew Sage was always carrying, both at her waist and the much smaller gun he had no clue how she still kept holstered at her calf in those tight ass pants.

“I wish the fuck she would,” Sage said and stepped in front of him to reach for the door. “Stay tight,” she murmured and led the way into the restaurant.

The first thing that hit him was the aroma of something that had his stomach instantly churning. He’d had a late lunch with their head of production but that had been almost four hours ago at two this afternoon. Now, he had a fleeting thought about getting whatever it was he was smelling wrapped for take-out.

His next thoughts came as he surveyed the relatively economical space. A total of twelve small round tables covered in yellow cloths, two to four chairs at each one. A couple sat at one table way in the back and a trio of women sat at one to his left, the others were empty. Straight to the back was a counter set-up with an open window area behind it. A young woman sat behind the counter taking the order of the first person in a line that had three other people behind her.

Sage stood directly in front of him, her scan of the room most likely more in depth than his, but he doubted she would see anything. There wasn’t much to see. It was a simple enough set-up with cream-colored walls that had what felt to him like random snapshots in different sized frames hanging on them.

“I don’t see her,” Sage said.

In addition to the information she’d been able to pull up, she had pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Diallo that she’d texted to him in the backseat so he could know what the couple looked like as well. Neither of them was here, at least not out in the open where they could see them.

“I’ll ask,” he said and took a step to walk around her and head toward the counter.

The frown she shot him over her shoulder could’ve seared a hole through him, it was so heated. “I’ll ask and you’ll stay tight like I told you.”

If she weren’t doing exactly what he paid her to do Ridge would ease her out of the way and go handle this business himself. But he respected her and her position enough to follow her lead, for now.

Sage bypassed everyone in the line and went right up to the counter. Ridge ignored the irritated stares but the moment Sage was about to speak, he put a hand on her shoulder. “Aida Diallo,” he said to the woman behind the counter who was now staring up at them. “She’s expecting me.”

Sage was tense and probably wanted to jump over that counter and strangle the girl who just continued to look at them without moving to get the woman he’d requested.

“You can go get her or we’re coming back there,” Sage said through clenched teeth. The ominous tone of her voice coupled with the eerie way her normally sea-green eyes turned almost emerald when she was angry had the exact affect Ridge figured it would and the woman scurried away from the counter to disappear into the back.

Minutes later a shorter woman, probably somewhere around five feet, slowly approached the counter, with the younger woman right beside her. When the shorter woman’s eyes met Ridge’s, she kept walking until she approached a door to the side of the counter. She opened that door and stepped through it. When she continued toward them Ridge watched as she used an arm to part her way through the line of people until she stopped directly in front of him.

“Renata said you were very handsome,” she said, her voice heavy with an African accent.

The Diallos were Senegalese, something Ridge had recalled seeing on the information card that had been provided to him at The Corporation where he’d first met Renata. That along with her age and the results to her STD tests was all he’d known on a personal level about the woman he’d seen a total of five times over the course of six weeks. Some might say Ridge had his favorites at the club, but what he really had were preferences. He was very careful to spend a measured amount of time with each of his preferred women to further reinforce his “no attachments” rule. He enjoyed spending time with the women at the club, but he hadn’t wanted any of them to get any ideas of some sort of prolonged relationship, sexual or emotional.

So, when Renata had accused him of being her daughter’s father, Ridge had been furious.

“Thank you,” he replied and then extended a hand to her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Behind him he could feel Sage tensing again, but he ignored her. He planned to make this meeting—whatever it was about—as easy as possible, for all of them. Well, maybe not for Sage since she was in a perpetual bad mood.

“Come,” Mrs. Diallo said. “Let us sit.”

He followed her lead, noting again how slowly the woman moved. It reminded him of the way his Aunt Birdie had been moving lately, but Mrs. Diallo wasn’t anywhere near ninety-seven years old, which his aunt had just turned this past February.

After pulling out the chair and waiting for Mrs. Diallo to take a seat, Ridge moved to the opposite side of the table and sat. Sage remained standing just behind him, to his right.

“My apologies, but I’m not certain why you wanted to meet with me, ma’am.” She hadn’t wanted to talk over the phone, so Ridge had agreed to a face-to-face meeting but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what this was about.

After the DNA test he had insisted on, it had been revealed that Khady Donovan, the then three-month old little girl Renata had given birth to and also given Ridge’s last name, wasn’t his child. And once that news had come to light, Talaya, as the social worker who had been assisting Renata with putting Khady up for adoption, had closed her case where he was concerned. And Ridge had walked away relieved.

“I am not well,” Mrs. Diallo said without further preamble. “I have leukemia and I must begin dangerous treatments. I will no longer be able to take care of my grandbaby.”

Ridge’s stomach churned, this time with a sense of dread, at the same time his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the woman. “But I still do not understand why you called me here. You already know that I’m not her father. And it was you and your husband who petitioned the courts to halt the adoption process once I was out of the picture.” An act that he and Talaya had decided to let play out, especially with all that they’d both been dealing with at the time.

Not to mention the fact that Ridge had no legal interest in the child. It was no longer his situation to remedy.

“My daughter thought very highly of you,” she said.

“Him or his money?” Sage snapped.

Ridge didn’t turn to glare at her because he knew they were both operating outside of their comfort zones on this one. Sage had been uneasy since things had popped off with Talaya and the murders that had taken place last year. And then on Christmas, when his cousin Trent had been shot on their family’s private island, she’d been incensed that someone had gotten past their security with a gun. From that moment forward she’d been hypervigilant about her duties and the supervision of all the guards who worked in or around Ridge and Talaya. He’d hoped she would settle back into her normal prickly demeanor after all was said and done, but she still hadn’t and he was trying not to be concerned by that fact.

Mrs. Diallo’s gaze shot up to Sage in irritation, then settled back on Ridge.

“This is not just about money,” she told him. “It is about what is in the best interest of the child. My husband and I will be traveling to the city, to the hospital there where he will get a room for us so I will be closer to the best medical facility and try to get well.” She sat back in her chair and let her hands fall to her lap.

Adia Diallo was a petite woman with chestnut-hued skin and deep-set almond-colored eyes. She wore her graying hair in cornrows twisted up into an intricate style. Her burnt orange dress fit her well but was worn in the area of the front breast pocket. Gold studs were in her ears and no make-up marred her face. She kept her gaze laser focused on him as she continued.

“There was a reason Renata chose you out of all the men she knew. And not just a money one,” she said. “When she came home to tell me she was carrying a baby, I asked her who the father was and do you know what she said?”

He didn’t give a damn what she’d said, the baby wasn’t his.

“No ma’am, I don’t,” he replied, his tone strained.

“She said that she wished it were you because you were a man with integrity, with confidence and authority. That a child would be lucky to have you as its father. She cried because it was not so.”

Which meant Renata was perfectly aware that he wasn’t that child’s father and yet she’d still put his name on that birth certificate.

“All she wanted was for her child to have a fair chance in this world. To become someone because she no longer believed she could do that, she did not want to be a disappointment or a hindrance to the child.” Mrs. Diallo shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “Her father and I tried so hard to convince her that she was worthy and beautiful and capable of doing whatever she wanted with her life. But it wasn’t something she could grasp and so she lived the life she thought she had to live. And then this pretty little bundle comes into all of our lives.”

“With all due respect, ma’am. That baby did not come into my life. I never saw her, never acknowledged her in any way.” Why that admission had his stomach twisting, Ridge couldn’t explain, but it was the truth.

“Then I would like for you to see her,” Mrs. Diallo said. “She is at home now, getting ready for bed. But I want you to see her and then,” she told him as she reached out a hand and leaned across the table until she could touch him, “then, I want you to tell me you cannot be what she needs.”