The Complete Novels of the Lear Sister Trilogy

by Julia London

  “Yeah. Okay, I’ll rearrange a couple of things. Four- thirty at the Four Seasons. Great . . . just swing by the campaign office and pick me up.”

  Matt was thrilled to have finally snared the big fish they said could not be caught. But he’d been around long enough that he should have known, when his morning took a nosedive at court, that things were not going to go as he had hoped.

  Kelly Kiker’s discovery hearing went badly. The ruling against him was especially bad because Matt had not seen it coming. He had arrogantly believed that they would win access to some of the employer records that they both thought were critical to her suit, and therefore, had not been fully prepared when they did not. He apologized profusely to Kelly, but the words sounded empty and hollow, a big fat lie.

  “Dude, it’s okay,” she had said, stuffing her papers into her enormous black bag and lighting a cigarette. “We tried our best, and that’s what counts, right?”

  He thought about that when he got back to the office, and came to the conclusion that no, it didn’t count, not when people like Kelly Kiker got hurt. Trying just wasn’t good enough and the truth was that he’d been too caught up in Rebecca and this campaign crap to pay proper attention to the case. Matt rarely let a client down, but he had let Kelly down, and to add insult to injury, Ben gave him another speech before he left the office. That, he did not need, and he was, therefore, in a pretty foul mood when he pulled up at campaign headquarters.

  He stalked into the offices. There was no Angie. He continued on to the back, saw Pat sitting at a break table with Grayson.

  “Hi, Matt,” the kid said, his face brightening.

  “Thank God,” Pat said. “I’m going to be late. I have to pick my daughter up from band practice.”

  “Where the hell is his mom?” Matt snapped, ignoring Grayson.

  “With Tom somewhere.”

  “You mean I finally get a meeting with HGG and he’s late?”

  Pat stood up, slung her purse over her shoulder. “Is that where he went?”

  “What do you mean, where he went?” Matt demanded.

  “Hey!” Pat exclaimed, holding up a hand and scowling mightily at his tone. “Tom left earlier, said he had a meeting at the Four Seasons. He said you could meet him there when you got in. You don’t like that, take it up with him, not me.”

  The information shocked Matt so thoroughly that he could only stand there, immobilized, as Pat walked past.

  “You want to read my book with me?” Grayson asked.

  “Wait!” Matt said, pivoting sharply toward Pat. “Are you telling me that he left without me? That he went to that meeting alone?”

  “He didn’t go alone. He took Rebecca with him. Look, I really have to go,” she said, and walked out, leaving him standing there, his blood percolating up to a full cauldron boil.

  He could not believe it. After all he’d put up with, after all the time he had devoted to Tom’s campaign, gratis, and this was the thanks he got? Matt felt a rage coming on like he had only felt once or twice as an adult, and both times in a courtroom. Slowly, he turned and looked at the kid. He frowned darkly.

  Grayson took a step back, his hazel eyes widening slightly.

  “You wanna go for a little ride?” Matt asked.

  Grayson thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  In accordance with our principles of free enterprise and healthy competition, I’m going to ask you two to fight to the death for it . . .

  MONTY PYTHON

  Rebecca glanced at her watch a second time, worried that Tom was getting a little carried away. She had only intended to be gone a half hour, no more, and she thought of Grayson with Pat, his least favorite of the campaign staff. “She smells like milk,” he had once told her, wrinkling his nose. Rebecca thought she’d have to excuse herself, send someone back for Tom when he suddenly looked up, beaming. “Matt Parrish!” he called loudly, and Rebecca’s tummy did a funny little flip. Smiling, she instantly glanced over her shoulder—but her heart seized when she saw the look on Matt’s face and Grayson beside him. Something had happened.

  Tom turned toward the three men he had come in “to say hello to,” and as Matt reached them, he said, “I’d like you to meet Matt Parrish. You may have spoken to him on the phone.”

  “Of course!” Mr. Martinez said. “Many times!”

  “Mr. Martinez? Pleasure to finally meet you in person,” Matt said, unsmiling as he extended his hand.

  Rebecca leaned over Grayson, ran her hand over the top of his unruly hair, and asked if everything was okay, to which Grayson dropped his gaze and shrugged.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Matt said to Tom and the three men. “I ran into a little problem.”

  “Late?” Tom asked, looking at his watch. “Oh no, you’re not late! Rebecca and I are a little early.”

  They were early? But Tom wasn’t even certain these three gentlemen would even be at the Four Seasons.

  “But now that everyone is here, I guess we should get a table and talk about this little campaign thing I have going,” Tom laughed, gesturing toward a table.

  “Be right with you, Senator,” Matt said. “I need to give Ms. Lear some of her son’s things.”

  Ms. Lear? That didn’t sound very promising.

  “Take your time,” Mr. Martinez said pleasantly. “We’ll order a Mexican martini for you, if you’d like.”

  “That would be great,” Matt said, and forced what almost passed for a smile.

  “Gentlemen, what do you think of a superhighway running from Dallas to Brownsville?” Tom asked as he ushered the three gentlemen toward an empty table.

  Matt turned his hard smile to Rebecca; it faded to a sneer.

  She did not like that look—it made her feel cold and vulnerable. “I’m sorry you had to bring Grayson,” she said, attempting to smooth over whatever was annoying him.

  Matt released Grayson’s hand. “You probably thought I’d just sit around and babysit for you all day, didn’t you?”

  “I left him with Pat,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know exactly what you didn’t mean,” he said, gesturing for her to walk. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to give you his things and get on with my business.”

  “All right, Matt.” She took Grayson’s hand, started walking. “I’m sorry you thought you had to bring him down here, but I was going—”

  “Save me your lame excuses,” he muttered angrily.

  Rebecca sucked in her breath. She and Matt had had their moments, but she had never seen him like this, and she didn’t like it. “I am not making excuses,” she said tightly. “I know you don’t like the fact that I have to bring Grayson with me, but I’ve told you, I am volunteering, and sometimes—”

  “What you are doing is letting other people use you so you can flit around and be some ex-beauty queen,” he rudely interrupted her as they strode across the marble floor, side by side, Grayson working to keep up between them.

  The remark went all over Rebecca. No matter what he was upset about, she did not deserve that. “What is the matter with you?” she demanded angrily. “I’m not doing any such thing, but honestly, it’s none of your business what I do.”

  “It is when you start interfering with my business,” he said coldly as they reached the elevator.

  “How could I possibly be interfering with your business?” she retorted as he punched a button. “How could I possibly interfere in something I know nothing about? I couldn’t possibly care less about your business.”

  “Mom?” Grayson asked nervously.

  “It’s all right, honey. Matt’s just grouchy, that’s all,” she said irritably, and stepped into the elevator with her son.

  “Oh, I’m grouchy, all right,” Matt said, coming in behind her. “You and Tom have lost all sight of what’s important. I don’t care, personally, but there are a lot of other people who are working hard to get him elected, and when you dash in, drop your kid,
and take off with Tom, you are screwing up a lot of that hard work. You think everything revolves around you and what you want. How you and Tom look to everyone out there. But this campaign is a little bit bigger than you.”

  She didn’t know if she should be angry or confused. “What are you talking about?” she demanded as the elevator landed on the bottom floor. The doors opened; Matt put his hand on her back, steered her none too gently out the door and into the underground garage. “I’ll tell you,” he said low as they strode toward his car. “I am talking about that fact that it is time for you to grow up and stop resting on your beauty queen laurels—”

  “Stop accusing me—”

  “Let me finish!”

  “Mom!” Grayson cried, clutching at her sheath dress.

  “You need to learn how to use your brains rather than your looks, and you damn sure shouldn’t let others use your looks!”

  That stung. A swell of emotions, old and bitter, rose up in her. “This is ridiculous. I don’t know what you think has happened, but there is nothing going on. I was just running errands with Tom and—”

  “I am talking about that meeting upstairs!” Matt shouted, pointing at the garage ceiling as they reached his car. “I have worked for weeks to get that meeting, and the first thing Tom does is trot you out there! Look at you!” he said, gesturing wildly at her as he tried to fit the key into his Jag. “You look great, Rebecca, but you don’t know anything about the issues facing this campaign, or even what Tom stands for. All you know is which recipe goes with what newsletter. You spend all your time running around on stupid little chores and you have no clue what Tom’s record is in the senate. If you were really interested in this campaign, you would learn about your candidate and the issues, but no, you want to walk around like a fucking beauty queen. This whole thing is about how you look, how Tom looks, and not about a political campaign.”

  Rebecca gasped—he couldn’t have hurt her more if he had punched her. She couldn’t speak, she could only gape at him. All her fears and insecurities, all her hopes, bubbled up into some toxic mix. She felt queasy and pulled Grayson into her side. Her son buried his face in her dress.

  Matt paused for a moment, looked at Grayson, then angrily yanked the car door open. He reached inside, got a book and Gray’s backpack and shoved them at Rebecca. She took them, still unable to speak, the burn in her heart spreading to her throat.

  “There’s just one more thing,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “This is your kid, and you need to be the caretaker.”

  “Mommy, I want to go home,” Grayson said into her leg.

  Rebecca was too stunned to move at first. Whatever feeling she might have had for this man was effectively destroyed, stomped right into the ground, along with her pride. “Fuck. You,” she said calmly.

  “Mommeeeee!” Grayson sobbed. “You said a bad word!”

  She dropped his backpack and covered Grayson’s ears. “You arrogant, arrogant asshole! How dare you think you can mow me down! For your information, Tom never said anything about your stupid meeting, just said he was going to run in and see if these guys were around and say hello. Second of all, if you would get down off that high and mighty throne of yours and quit trying to top everyone on staff, you might know a little more of what was going on. Do you think we’re all mind readers? How could we possibly know what you’ve been working on? All you ever do is complain about what we’re doing! You waltz in, bark your opinions, and then you waltz out. But do you ever ask what anyone else is doing?”

  “That’s not so—”

  “Let me finish,” she said, seething. “You think you’re so special, Matt? All I see is a hack lawyer who thinks more of his title than his work. And you know what the worst thing is about you?” she asked as a hot tear burned her cheek. “You made me believe you. You made me believe!”

  Matt’s face turned dark; his eyes glittered with fury. “You didn’t believe,” he said, spitting out the word. “You’ve held me by a string like your personal little puppet, playing with my feelings. You’re perfect on the outside but miserably incomplete on the inside!”

  His words slapped at her conscience and she felt on the verge of sobbing uncontrollably. “You think I’m empty? Take a look at your own life, Matt. But hey, say or think what you will, because you know what? You win. You can have it all. In fact, you can shove it up your ass,” she said, and dropped her hands from Grayson’s head. “Come on, honey,” she said, peeling his arms from her legs. “Let’s go.”

  She grabbed Grayson’s hand. “And one last thing—I never, ever want to see you again.”

  She turned her back on Matt and marched away from him as quickly as she could while her Grayson struggled to keep up.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Habit is habit and not to be flung out the window by any man, but coaxed downstairs a step at a time . . .

  MARK TWAIN

  Rebecca and Grayson cried all the way home.

  Rebecca cried because she felt like she had been dumped all over again, which of course she hadn’t, because you can’t be dumped if you’re not involved, but nonetheless, it felt pretty darn near the same. And Grayson cried because he had witnessed a horrible fight and rarely saw his mom cry. Rebecca’s repeated and blubbering attempts to tell him it was okay were not enough to make him stop. Plus she was so angry, so very angry—with Matt, with Tom—but mostly with herself and the universe in general.

  As she and Grayson turned onto the two-lane road that would take them to the lake house, Rebecca swiped at the tears beneath her eyes, then dragged the back of her hand beneath her nose, took a deep breath, and stopped crying. After forty-five minutes, her tank was completely empty. Now she could just be angry in peace.

  What pissed her off more than anything was that she was so fragile. Oh sure, after suffering the astounding humiliation of being dumped by Bud, she’d pretty much figured out that she didn’t have a lot of chutzpah to cling to when the going got rough. Which was why, of course, she’d spent all that money and time—to build chutzpah! Well obviously, transformation seminars, subliminal motivational tapes, videos and stacks of books about eastern philosophies and self-awareness practices had all piled up and up until she was a huge bundle of Pick Up sticks. And all it took was for someone like Mr. Big Pants to pull the wrong stick out of the pile, and there she went, literally collapsing into one huge mess.

  Thank you, Matt Parrish.

  Rebecca hated him. Hated him, hated him, hated him so much that at that moment, she thought she might really, genuinely, HATE him. How could someone be so charming and so in tune with her while at the same time be a gargantuan dick? And the thing that made it hurt the worst? That deep down, she knew Matt was right. He was so damn right. Campaign issues bored her. She had no idea what Tom’s record in the senate was, or what he hoped to achieve. All the times she’d sat in meetings with Angie and Gilbert and Pat (and yes, with HIM), while they talked about platforms, issues, a new superhighway and pipeline, she had been somewhere else in her head—usually doing self-visualization exercises, or wondering what Grayson was doing. She’d been so eager to sign up and prove something that she’d forgotten the basics, like, who is this candidate? The bottom line was, in spite of all the effort she’d put into improving herself, she had gone into this deal doing the one thing she was trying not to do—look fabulous and put on a killer party. And she’d gotten so caught up in trying to prove something to herself that she hadn’t even realized she hadn’t changed.

  It occurred to her that Tom was more like Bud than she had even realized. They both cared more about appearances above all else, and that was exactly why Tom always wanted her to come along. A pretty face to bring in the contributions. Why could she have not seen it before Matt had to point it out to her?

  But he was wrong about one thing. She wasn’t empty. No, no. She was a million pieces. How could he not see the difference?

  Rebecca pulled the Range Rover up into the drive, slammed the thing into park.
Grayson, still upset, was out in a flash, running around to the back and to the comfort of his dogs before she could say anything to him. That was just as well, she supposed, because at the moment, she really didn’t have the energy to talk about what had happened. Where was Lucy when she needed her? Matt was right about that, too—she was a rotten mother.

  Rebecca got out of the truck and went into the house. She tossed her purse onto an antique bench in the entry, then proceeded into the great room, where she paused, hands on hips, and looked around. Everything was so neatly arranged; books on shelves according to height and thickness. Her lap rugs were artfully arranged on the backs of couches and chairs, each one perfectly color-coordinated with the piece of furniture it graced. Her selection of candles, likewise color-coordinated, were arranged with short ones in front of tall ones, fat ones in back, skinny ones in front. Fruit fragrances on one end of the room, flower fragrances on the other.

  Yep. Everything perfect.

  Disgusted, she walked to the kitchen, where her spices were alphabetically arranged, her dish towels ironed and stacked by color, and her glasses arranged by purpose in sparkling glass cabinets. Juice glasses on the bottom, wineglasses on top, and tumblers in the middle. Not to be confused with iced tea glasses, which had their own separate shelf. Even the apples in her fruit bowl were arranged so that no two reds or two greens were together.

  He was right—perfect on the outside, miserably incomplete on the inside. How had she managed, in the course of her life, to order and sort and arrange everything about her so that it was all pleasing to the eye and masking all the imperfection underneath? All this time, she had been trying to break the bonds of being Rebecca while at the very same time she had been working just as hard to maintain her perfect little world. And in that perfect little world, she had held Matt at arm’s length, treating him like a puppet, toying with his affection.