Don't Stop Me (The McCabe Brothers)

Chapter 4, Don't Stop Me

Vic lifted the crystal decanter and poured a finger of scotch, fifteen-year-old single malt from a small village in Scotland. This bottle was the best he'd ever had, giving just the right amount of burn to shake up his senses and help him sift through the events of the day.

He hadn't fired Natalie, although she'd worried he might. He had to admit that he hadn't done his homework on the reporter. From now on, anyone who showed up without an appointment and without having been checked by his security team wasn't getting past her. He'd gotten sloppy, and that was something Vic McCabe never did.

Natalie was his gatekeeper, and he hadn't realized how much he depended on her until that day. It unsettled him. Relying on anyone was a weakness he'd sworn he would never display again. His past had taught him never to rely on anyone for anything.

"Badra..." Just saying her name had him aching, and the strength that kept him grounded evaporated in that moment, all because Tish Campbell had dared say a name she wasn't worthy to repeat. Where was she?

"Mr. McCabe, dinner is ready, sir," his housekeeper said. "Would you like to eat in the dining room, or should I bring a tray in here?"

He knew his housekeeper well enough to know she would stand and wait all day until he answered. He wasn't hungry, and he should have told her not to bother. "In my office," he said. "I'll eat there." He turned to face Nora Anderson, an older woman, in her fifties, who ran his house and took care of everything for him. She lived in a suite in back and wore the same outfit every day: black pants, a white shirt, and a black vest over top. She was the first woman he'd ever met who had trained as a butler, and she ran his house like a dream.

"Very good, sir. Will you be needing anything else?" she asked, so professional and drama free. He liked that, needed that.

"That's all, Nora. Take the rest of the night off. I can clean up after myself."

Then she was gone, and Vic took in the big living room, the dark polished wood, the open stone fireplace, and the oil painting of a mother and child mounted over the mantel. She was lovely, and there was such love there. It was something he longed for but had never had. Maybe that was why he loved it so much. An elusive woman, a love for a child. It was interesting and such a fairy tale.

Then there was Badra. Vic strode across the entryway, looking up to the stairs, the second level and the third, which he had yet to do anything with. He could see it all as he walked through an archway into what had once been a parlor or a library, one with large windows, a second fireplace, and a smaller brown sectional in front of his large desk, on which sat a plate with a warming cover. He lifted the top and took in the lamb chops, sautéed carrots, and greens. He was about to put the lid back on, but he knew that if he didn't eat something, his housekeeper would worry he hadn't liked it. It was the only womanly thing about her that she couldn't shake. So he pulled up his mesh chair, tapped the keyboard of his desktop until the screen came on, and sliced into the lamb chop. He took a bite, tasting the herbs and rosemary, a hint of mint. It was perfect, tasty, yet he still had no appetite.

As he chewed, he typed in "Badra" and "Phoenix" and waited for her name to pop up. There it was, but it wasn't Badra or him that he saw in that article from all those years ago; it was her parents. There was nothing else.

That day over fifteen years ago had been one of the best and worst of his life. It was the day he'd lost everything, including Badra, who had meant everything to him. "What happened to you?" he said. After all these years, Badra wasn't just a memory. She was a part of him. She had promised to love him forever, yet she now hated him and had left him, and he had to let her go.