“Oh, this is delightful.” Audrey sighed, bringing Zach back to the present. “Taste.” She shoved a spoonful in his mouth and he nodded. The creamy texture of coffee and mocha melted on his tongue.

“That is really good. Let me have another bite,” he said with his mouth still full.

“Where?”

“Where what?” He dug the spoon into the piece of dessert Audrey was sampling.

“Where did you get it?”

“I don’t think I should tell you. I think I should keep it my secret.”

“Zachary Tyler Benson, I’m your mother and you’ll tell me, or you’re right—Regan will have me on her phone bright and early Monday morning.”

He shook his head. She actually would do it. “Don’t hound her. Promise?” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her confirmation.

“Would I do that?” She stuck her bottom lip out.

“Mother.”

“Fine.” She smiled and folded her hands before her like a good girl.

“Regan made that just for your party.”

“She made it?” Audrey’s eyes widened just as they had when she’d seen him walk through with the delectable dessert.

“Yes. She said she’d bill me later.” Unable to help himself, he took another spoonful.

“She really won’t bill you, will she?” she whispered.

Zach laughed and kissed his mother. She might have been born to money and lived life lavishly, but she loved anything that was cheap, or better yet, free.

Tyler Benson strolled into the kitchen in his swimming trunks, leaving a trail of water across the tiled floor. His eyes lit when he saw Zach, but the tapping of his wife’s foot put him quickly in his place.

Audrey crossed her arms over her chest. “People will be here in less than thirty minutes. Why are you standing here dripping in my kitchen?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he joked and kissed her cheek. “Nice to see you, Zach.” He held out his hand, and Zach shook it at a distance, not wishing to get wet. “Oh, God! Is that a tiramisu?” His dad made a move toward it, but his mom’s hand smacking his arm stopped him.

“Don’t you dare! You are restricted from such things.”

The very mention of his restrictions drew Zach’s attention to the scar that ran down the center of his dad’s chest. How could a man who enjoyed his life, business, and was physically active be forced into retirement because his heart couldn’t keep up?

His father leaned in closer to his mother. “Then why do I have to be at your luncheon?”

“Because you love me, damn it. Now get a shower.” She tried her best to shoo him out of the kitchen, but not before he ran his finger through the slice of dessert on her plate.

“Damn, good. You make that yourself, Zachary?”

“No, sir. My new assistant seems to have many skills. One being desserts.”

“Better keep her around then.”

I certainly intend to, Zach thought as his father dug his finger in one more time before heading upstairs to become presentable.

The party was just as Zach had imagined. Dull. He knew it was one more attempt for his mother to flaunt him in front of her friends and their lonely daughters.

“Zachary, this is Marsha Livingston,” she introduced him to the blonde at her side. “Remember the Livingston Care Estates that we built in the Hamptons?”

“Yes, a very nice facility.” He smiled politely.

“Marsha, I’ll find you an iced tea,” his mother said, excusing herself.

His mother left them alone, and Marsha, who was probably all of twenty-two, looked up at him.

“My father was very impressed with your company. He hopes to build more facilities in the future. He’d certainly use your company, I’m sure.”

Zach nodded and accepted a glass of champagne from a tray that passed by him on the hand of one of his mother’s caterers. “That would be a very welcomed opportunity.”

He looked around the room. He simply wasn’t interested. He knew all the names. Many of them had been engraved on plaques on the sides of buildings he’d cut his teeth on when he joined his father and grandfather in the business. Their daughters were elegant, educated, and beautiful. They were young and hopeful. They were bait for his mother to marry him off. But none of them could measure up to the quiet determination he’d found in Regan.

The party hadn’t yet died down when Zach cornered his mother. He’d graciously diverted Marsha Livingston’s attention to another young man, and Sylvia Astor had found herself all alone in the rose garden after he’d excused himself to take a phone call he decided he needed to attend to right away. He kissed his mother on the cheek.

“I really have to be going,” he said, to her displeasure. “I have a lot of things to do before I leave on Monday.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be in Los Angeles. I have a big prospect.”

“I wish you had someone to go with you. I could make arrangements.” She looked around the room. “At thirty-seven you shouldn’t be alone. It is killing me.”

“I’ll be fine. This is one of those clients that like things personal. I’m not taking John Forrester or Regan either.”

“Well, fine then.” She straightened his shirt collar. “Please call me. I miss you so much.”

“Mom, I’m here once a week, and you talk to me threetimes a day.”

“I talk to Mary Ellen and…”

“Regan.”

“Yes, Regan, more than I talk to you.”

“I’m a busy man.”

“I know, dear.” She grasped his hands in hers. “Don’t be too busy to remember what’s important.”

He kissed both of her cheeks, made his way through the guests and away from the few that were steering his way for conversation, and slid out the side door.

The long drive was filled with cars, and he was glad he’d parked where he had. He climbed into his Lexus and started away from the estate in which he’d lived his whole life, when he hadn’t been away at school, that was. There was no southern drawl to his voice. A fried chicken had never landed on his plate either, but he was blessed and he knew that. He had parents that doted on him. He’d never needed nor wanted for anything, and his family business was a legacy he was proud to carry on.