“Oh. My. God,” she squeaked. “You were a paperboy?”
Jeez. Typical Rhiann. “Hey, I’m trying to have a serious moment here. Cut the tycoon some slack, okay?”
He glanced at her and found the snickering brunette biting her lip in what he assumed was an effort to stifle her laughter.
She cleared her throat and solemnly urged him to continue. It was hard to take himself seriously around her. Rhiann’s little giggles had a way of stripping away the gravitas he clung to.
“Since I already knew what a delivery route would be like, it was easy to say yes. He gave me his card—told me he’d be calling my mom, and just like that, I had my first job.”
“So, what you’re saying is that showing interest in my work was just a fishing expedition with no other thought in mind?”
Humph. “Well, no actually. Sometimes, it helps cover up other things.”
“Other things?”
“Yeah. You know. Like insecurities. Failings. Shit I lack.”
“Shit you lack?” she bawled with disbelief. “How do you figure?”
He wanted to grab her and kiss the fucking shit out of her for that. This was exactly why he had to do everything he could to make this right. For some incredible reason, she believed in him. Sure, she didn’t know some of the fucked-up things he’d done in his quest for power and vengeance, but right here, right now? Rhiann actually believed in him.
“I was nervous about being alone with you. Worried I wouldn’t know how to keep a conversation going so . . . yeah. I researched the things you deal with at work. So you’d feel comfortable talking to me.”
“Liam,” she sighed. “I’ve always felt comfortable talking. To you. The real you. Not the one you put on like something you wear.”
What did that mean, anyway? “I don’t understand,” he murmured.
“Do you remember the night you rescued me from that Phi Delta Shithead rager and we hung out in your apartment?”
Did he remember? She was joking, right? Like he’d forget the first time they made love and the first time he’d ever broken down and shed a tear. That night had been life changing, only he hadn’t truly realized how profoundly until recently.
She looked at him shyly and her fingers twitched in his grasp. Memories will do that to you. Flood your mind with powerful images that shock the system.
“That was the first time we really talked. Not bullshit college talk—real, actual talking. I’d never felt more at ease. That was the real you, Liam. The one I remember. I’m not quite sure I get this person you’ve become, but I still find it easy to talk to you. You didn’t need to put together a laundry list of talking points to save the day.”
Liam was caught somewhere between grinding his teeth and falling to his knees before her. She was blowing up his belief that he was an awkward, social misfit.
And he absolutely remembered that conversation—had done so more frequently than was wise to admit during the ensuing years. Hanging out with her had been so easy. Straightforward. With Rhiann, and actually all the Wildes, there was no pretense. Even as a teenager, she was naturally curious. Smart as a whip. Hilariously irreverent and funny. He never felt like a day late and a dollar short with her.
Hell, the truth was she wore her feelings like an overcoat and had been clearly infatuated with him from day one. He’d reveled in her young adoration—felt like a fucking hero. Especially that night when he’d rode in like the white knight and rescued the fair damsel before the shit hit the fan.
He lifted her hand to his mouth for another kiss and smiled.
“You’re extraordinary.”
She smiled, blushed, and looked away.
They drove in silence for a bit. When an alert flashed on the GPS about an accident ahead, he’d reluctantly released his hold on her hand so he could deal with the touch screen.
“Was it just you, then? You and your mom? No siblings?”
Her question surprised Liam. He’d been more of a closed book over the years than he thought.
“Just Carolyn and me.”
In a hushed whisper—almost as if she was afraid to say the words she asked, “And your dad? Was he in the picture?”
A combination of anger and vengeance detonated inside him. Rapid flashes of the man he hated and destroyed went off before his eyes like the strobes of a paparazzi camera. This was dangerous territory. Someplace he was not prepared to go. Not yet. Talking about his mother and childhood was the limit. More? Ugh.
WHAT-FUCKING-EVER. FAMILY WAS GREAT AND all, but she’d had enough. Rhiann could handle the Baron-Wilde clan in manageable doses—preferably one-on-one—but not this loud, raucous group who were exhausting as a whole.
Having eaten way too much, she was in that stuffed to the gills and feeling uncomfortable period when a good nap and a big glass of Diet Coke would have saved the day. But as it was, they were clustered in pods around Nan’s enormous home. From the fifth floor atrium with the tremendous skylights that gave the dark wood finishes throughout the 1800’s home a brightening to the ladies’ parlor off the conservatory room with its curving wall of floor-to-ceiling windows in front of a magnificent baby grand piano where her irrepressible grandmother was presently holding court. What was she singing? Hmm. Ah, yes. “Shall We Dance” from The King and I. Rhi smirked with a sigh. Poor Dad. Any minute now, he’d chime in to sing along—play his part.
Oh, my. She crept quietly along the hallway and headed for her absolute most favorite spot in Nana’s entire home—a beautiful, built-in window seat with elegant hand-carved accents beneath six wide panes of Victorian leaded glass. The well-worn curved wood bench with the comfy throw pillows was a magical spot for Rhi. The wood floors and heavy, dark wainscoting that lined the hallway gave the nook a romantic quality. It was here that, as a young girl, she indulged her first dreams of charming princes and happily ever afters.
In her quiet space, Rhi wondered what Liam was doing. It had been many hours since they’d parted company. He’d assured her several times that he’d be just fine at Ritz, but she’d been unsettled by the blasé way he blew off the holiday aspect of the day. Didn’t Thanksgiving mean anything to him? I mean, surely, she thought, there had to be some fond memories at the very least.
But he’d always been a blank slate. A very deliberate one. Though he tried to act all cool and matter-of-fact where his mother was concerned, even calling her by her given name instead of mom, she heard the underlying affection in his voice. He’d loved her. Despite that, she was, according to Liam, a mess—he’d loved her. That had to mean something.
Kicking off her shoes, Rhi curled up, stuffed a pillow between her hip and the wood back of the window seat for comfort, and tucked her legs beneath her butt. Idly fiddling with the velvet bow hanging from her dress, she tried to force her thoughts away from Liam and on to other things.
She’d gotten a long email from Amy about the finished manuscript, and her friend’s enthusiasm blew her away. It was nice to hear from someone else that they thought she was showing growth as a writer. She counted on Amy to be honest and she was. To the point of sometimes being brutally blunt. But with this story—she felt it was perfect as-is and didn’t require any tinkering.
Rhi had been delighted to read that. She really liked the new book and didn’t want to make any significant changes. And then the other shoe dropped.
What’s his name? Amy had written. There’s a man in your thoughts. I can feel a male presence in the last quarter of the story. Who is he? [as if I don’t already know]
Dammit. Even when she tried to think about other things—Liam was always right there.
Feeling twitchy because Amy jumped on something that Rhi thought she was keeping private, she fidgeted with her hair—drawing it into a pony with both hands, then twisting it into a loop and pushing the ends through until the long tresses secured in a self-made knot.
Liam. What was she going to do about him? His behavior—especially in the car—had left her with little doubt that
he was on a campaign to get close to her. The confessed nervousness; how he prepared in advance to carry on a simple conversation. The way he kept finding ways to slip in a milaya moya here and there. And then the jaw-dropping reveals about his childhood, why he was the way he was, and the mother he’d lost.
In short, the glowering gazillionaire was making an actual, obvious effort to be open with her. A direct result of her waspish reminder to him of the brutish dismissal he’d destroyed her with all those years ago?
Humph. Would seem that way. Or it had until she asked about his father and an impenetrable shield went up and that, as they say, was all she wrote. He’d shut down faster than a keg party in the woods after the cops showed up.
Their parting had been awkward, due in no small measure to the loud silence that made the last twenty minutes of the trip unbearable. Dropping her off on the side of the park furthest from her grandmother’s home, they’d eyed each other cautiously, each of them doing a bit of edgy toe scuffing on the sidewalk.
“Just text me when you think things are wrapping up.”
The cloak and dagger aspect of them being together and trying to keep it from her family worried Rhi. So did the idea that he’d be hanging around for hours and hours just so she could play happy times with the people she was lying to.
Aiming for a bit of humor, she kiddingly asked, “Want me to bring you a plate of leftovers?”
Liam’s swift, bitter response had stayed with her throughout the long day.
“No need. I don’t really like that stuff.”
What stuff had he been referring to? The actual feast? The family getting together? And who in their right mind turned down a piece of homemade pumpkin pie? Was he crazy or just full of it?
It was funny how thoughts string together because the moment she questioned if he was crazy, a different kind of crazy lit up in her mind. A frigid, Botox’d blonde cuckoo with a bunch of screws loose. One Kim Don’t Fuck With Me Walsh.
Rhiann replayed the bizarre confrontation that happened in her office and shook her head. No doubt about it—the woman was batshit on her best day. She wanted to dismiss Miss Non Compos Mentis 1999 as nothing more than a fading bitch-in-heels, but her spider-sense was on high alert. There was more going on with Madame Craziness than was obvious.
Her reverie was blown to hell seconds later when Brynn appeared out of nowhere, spied her curled up in her usual hidey-hole, and made a beeline straight toward her. Uh-oh. And not only that, but her big sister also had one of those Your-Name-Is-On-My-List faces that made Rhiann squirm.
“There you are!” Brynn called out. “Should have known this is where you’d be. Have it all figured out yet?”
Rhi grinned and shook her head. She wondered if her sister knew that she had the tiniest of tummies developing, and it was frickin’ cute as hell. Knowing she was going to be an aunt in the new year made Rhiann almost giddy. She secretly loved babies and planned to be the most amazing auntie ever. Just thinking about all the shoes she could get for a niece or nephew got her going.
“Remember when Nana caught me trying to carve my initials on the window sill? I thought she’d had a real conniption by the way she reacted.”
Brynn plopped down at her side and chuckled. “Jesus, Rhi. Only you would use the word conniption. And don’t try to wiggle out of answering my question.”
She looked at her sister, saw the amazing woman she’d grown into, and thanked her lucky stars a million times over for blessing her with a family who really was next to perfect.
They smirked at each other. Rhiann because she knew Brynn was going to try and get all up in her grill, and Brynn because she also knew that Rhi would do almost anything not to have this conversation. Ah, sisters.
She sighed. “What exactly am I figuring out?”
Brynn smiled cynically and tut-tutted with a shake of her head. “Still not ready to get real? You surprise me, Rhi.”
Giving a one-shoulder shrug, Rhiann looked away from her sister’s knowing gaze and hung her head. Everything was just so frustratingly complicated—by her own doing—that she didn’t even know where to begin. But she knew it was past time to confide in someone and Brynn was the obvious choice. She was levelheaded enough to keep her cool and wouldn’t gloat or pull any of that You should have known better crap.
Jumping first and thinking about it later, Rhiann quickly blurted out, “Liam brought me.”
Brynn looked startled. “Brought you . . . what?”
“Brought me here,” Rhi explained with a wave of her hand. “We drove in together.”
Brynn grunted with impatience—a familiar response from her no-nonsense sister. “Don’t make me ask. If he drove you here, where in the hell is he? Explain and do it quickly.”
The Club Lounge at the Ritz-Carlton was blessedly quiet when Liam rolled out of his suite. Feeling restless and edgy after an impeccable room service meal that rivaled any Michelin rated restaurant’s Thanksgiving tribute, he needed some air. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Rhiann that he really didn’t care for the whole turkey and stuffing ritual.
Truth was, it made him irritable and crotchety as fuck. All of his childhood recollections of this day were bittersweet with a sickening aftertaste. Carolyn would bend over sideways to do a proper holiday only for it to at some point always end up the same way—her joyful enthusiasm would fracture to be replaced by regret, hurt, or despair. All courtesy of the pig she’d given her foolish heart to who disavowed their affair and turned his back on her and their unborn kid.
The happy family meal always disintegrated under the crushing weight of his mother’s sad melancholy. In the end, it was always about him. Adam Ward. No matter what Liam did—no matter how hard he tried to protect and please his only parent—her bottom line was always that other man. The one who broke her spirit.
He thought of Rhiann and the time she was spending with the Baron-Wildes. What was a Thanksgiving Day like with them? Would Darcy Wilde end the evening in tears, bemoaning a betrayal older than the towels in the bathroom? Hardly. And that was the issue.
It wasn’t a secret that Darcy Baron-Wilde had come into this life as an orphan, abandoned by her mother and an unknown father. Life had not been overly kind to her, and she’d struggled, probably more than he ever had.
But make a life, she had. Marrying into the Baron-Wilde family, raising three marvelous kids, having a long and successful marriage. She’d overcome the obstacles she’d been born to. And not just because she married well. The lady had balls and made pretty much anything she took on became her bitch. It wasn’t fair to compare the two women, but he did.
While Carolyn had come from a happy home with an older sister and loving parents, it was the shame and devastation she experienced, all of her own making—after all, no one forced her to sleep with a married man—that had acted as a crutch for the rest of her life. A crutch of misery and depression. More often than not, it seemed to Liam like she got off on being miserable. It was where she found her identity. Over time, Carolyn morphed into that woman. The one with the sad eyes and defeated body language—endlessly bemoaning the one guy who had done her wrong.
Should it come as a surprise that he didn’t care for holidays? Any of them? Swirling the ice floating in his drink—plain tonic water with a lemon wedge since he’d be driving later—Liam actually squirmed in his leather seat when the voice inside him jeered, Just who exactly do you imagine gives a shit what you do and don’t care for?
The life he’d created was one big deflection after another. He didn’t socialize. Or have friends.
Suddenly he needed proof that he wasn’t the empty shell seen in his mind’s eye and started searching his recall for instances when gifts or a simple greeting had been exchanged. The only thing that came to mind occurred last year, for his birthday.
He’d just returned to the states after a long trip abroad, feeling drained and even more irascible than usual. After making everyone’s life hell for about a week, he came upon a sm
all wrapped box on his desk one day. Inside was a note from Kim and a business card. The note told him he was in need of an attitude adjustment and ended with a snarky mention of his birthday.
Calling the number on the card led him to an executive concierge service that had his itinerary for a long weekend at Falling Water in western Pennsylvania. The Frank Lloyd Wright architectural masterpiece was a known passion of his and somehow Kim had hooked him up for an on-site personalized experience with the home’s curator. He’d had the time of his life.
Something shifted inside him. Kim. Surely she wasn’t the only one to ever have thought of him but try as he might, Liam only kept finding one example after another of how entrenched his CFO had become in his life and he wasn’t referring to his business life.
Damn. How had he not noticed before? There was that birthday thing although quite backhanded in its own way and once he thought about it, she always finagled a drink or two out of him to celebrate the end of year holidays before he jetted out of town.
A pleasant waiter, who was savvy enough to wait for a proper moment to approach him, disturbed Liam’s uncomfortable reverie.
“Excuse me, sir,” he announced quietly. A small tray on which sat a tall, elegant martini glass and a small dish with two picks stuck with three olives a piece appeared in Liam’s line of sight.
He paused and looked at the waiter’s charming smile. Liam didn’t recall ordering a cocktail. He was driving and a bit of a stickler about not getting behind the wheel if he consumed any alcohol.
“A woman at the bar downstairs sent this up for you, Mr. Ashforth.”
Who even knew he was here? It was not as if Philadelphia had ever been on his agenda. Fuck. He’d been trying to fly off radar, but someone obviously recognized him.
A frisson of unease slithered along his nerves as the drink was set before him. How many people were privy to his preference for an ice-cold vodka martini with extra olives set on the side? Something about this wasn’t right.
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