His Kind of Trouble

by Terri L. Austin

  “What is it, Calum?”

  “Good to speak to you too, Father. I believe you’ve misplaced something.”

  “I don’t have time for games today.” The man never had time for games. Even as a child, the only thing Cal remembered about his father were harsh, punishing silences in between heated rows with Pix.

  “Jules turned up here last night.”

  “And just where the hell is ‘here’?”

  “Vegas. She’s fine, by the way.”

  “Vegas,” he sneered. “A funfair for adults. How perfect for you. If you gamble away your grandfather’s money, don’t come crying to me.”

  Cal pinched his earlobe. “I’m worried about Jules. She’s distraught right now, unsure about her future.”

  “That’s rich, coming from you.” Contempt coated his father’s words like grease on a filthy engine. “Juliette will make a course correction. She’s not going to turn out like you, Calum—too much money and too little smarts. She’s a bright girl. Send her back home immediately, do you hear me?”

  “I will do, but I wanted to let you know what’s going on. Since you don’t seem to have a clue.”

  “How dare you? Why don’t you go back to wherever the hell you came from this time? Juliette doesn’t need you filling her head with nonsense.”

  Determination stiffened Cal’s spine. “I’m not going anywhere. For the time being, I’m staying in the States. And I suggest you stop acting like a plonker. Jules says you haven’t spoken to her directly in days. That stops now, do you understand me, Father?”

  The old man’s breathing was heavy, almost gasping. “If you believe for one minute that you can dictate to me, you’re in for a whopper of a surprise.”

  Cal felt a ping of sadness. How had they gotten here, to this place where bitter words were more normal than courteous ones? “I’m sending her home. She cocked up, and now she needs to face it with you by her side. Do the right thing.” Cal ended the call.

  Next, he phoned Mr. Lawson and had him book Jules a first-class ticket for later in the evening. At least they’d have a few hours together. If she deigned to speak to him.

  With his hands thrust deep in his pockets, Cal strode down the hallway. At the bedroom door, he knocked three times, but she didn’t answer. “Jules, I know you’re angry with me, but let’s talk. Jules?”

  When she didn’t shout obscenities or call him names, Cal started to become worried. He tried the handle, but the door was locked. A feeling of dread washed over him. “Jules, let me in. Jules.” He listened carefully for movement, but all was silent behind the door.

  Cal ran back to the lounge and dialed Mr. Lawson, requesting a key. “I need it immediately. My sister has locked herself in the bedroom.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, sir,” Lawson said in a flat Midwestern tone. “According to the security guard, your sister requested a cab fifteen minutes ago. She’s gone.”

  Bloody hell.

  * * *

  “Deena Adams is here to see you.”

  Monica glanced up when Stella poked her head in the doorway. “Deena? She’s here now? Send her in.” Monica stood and smoothed nervous hands over her pant legs.

  In her early forties, Deena Adams was a dynamo. As a successful entertainment attorney, she volunteered her legal advice, served as a board member, chaired committees, and worked tirelessly to fund-raise. Monica wished they had three more just like her.

  Deena briskly walked in a moment later, a bob of dark blond hair swinging against her jawline. She wore no makeup, and her pantsuit was a higher-end version of Monica’s. “Sorry I didn’t call first. I was driving by and took a chance that you’d be working today.” She held out her hand for Monica to shake.

  “Good to see you. Please, sit. Can I get you something to drink?”

  Deena propped her briefcase on the chair, checked her phone, and then speared Monica with a sharp glance. “I only have ten minutes, so I’ll keep it brief. I don’t appreciate your going behind my back.”

  Monica was speechless for a second. “Excuse me?”

  “I had the media covered. I’ve talked to all the entertainment reporters, I’ve gotten us interview spots on three of the top radio stations, and we have a cover story in the style section of the paper, which comes out in two weeks. But you evidently didn’t trust my committee to handle the details. Imagine what an ass I felt like when I got phone calls asking me why the foundation coordinator is trying to undermine me.”

  “That wasn’t my intention, Deena. I apologize.” Goddamn Allie. This was her fault. Monica trusted the PR committee to do their job, but no, Allie wanted to micromanage. As usual.

  Deena checked her phone once again. “Either I’m the PR chair, or I’m not. Pick one.”

  “Of course you are. We just wanted to be thorough. And I apologize for crossing the line.”

  “We? As in Allie? Look, Monica, everyone knows the deal. Allie runs the show, and you’re just her mouthpiece. But if you blindside me again, I’ll quit the board. And frankly, you need me.” She picked up her briefcase and nodded. “Good to see you.” And then she strode out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

  A drive-by bitch slap. That’s what it felt like.

  Monica fell back into her chair in an angry daze. Allie’s mouthpiece. The truth hurt. Monica worked hard to show she was up to the challenge of running the foundation. But with Allie pulling her strings, it was a little hard for Monica to prove her competence.

  As soon as Deena left, Stella hustled into the office. “What did she want?”

  “I stepped on her toes when I contacted the media.”

  Stella fingered the beads around her neck. “Are you all right?”

  “Does everyone on the staff think I sit in here all day and twiddle my thumbs?” Allie’s interference was starting to wear Monica down. But what could she do about it? She only had this job because of her sister.

  “Oh, honey, anyone who’s seen you working day and night knows you’re great at your job. When this gala brings in more money than last year, the board will know it too. I was going to head out, but I can stay, if you like?”

  “No, I’m good. See you Monday.”

  It was almost noon, but Monica wasn’t hungry. Her stomach tangled into knots of frustration. And if worrying about her professional reputation wasn’t enough, she had a date with Cal.

  All morning he’d been there, in the back of her mind. She couldn’t stop thinking about last night. And not just the sex, although that had been amazing. Just hanging out with him, listening to him talk and tell her stories about all the places he’d been to—it was probably the best date she’d ever had.

  In control. Eyes wide open. Right. Monica should focus on work, not Cal.

  This gala needed to go off without a hitch. Monica wanted the entire board to see what she could do, how much money she’d raised. And then she’d tell each and every one of them to suck it.

  Well, probably not. But she’d sure as hell be thinking it.

  * * *

  Cal questioned a security guard, who couldn’t recall the name of the cab company or the number plate. Why the bloody hell was the man in this business, if he couldn’t remember important details? Cal requested a look at the surveillance footage, which apparently required an act of God.

  While he waited for approval, he called Jules’s phone for the tenth time. Straight to voice mail. She was ignoring him.

  His father would never forgive him if something happened to her. Cal would never forgive himself.

  Jules may be too young to gamble or drink, but that probably wouldn’t stop her if she hooked up with the wrong people. Monica knew this town, and she used to be a wild child herself, once upon a time. Perhaps she’d know where to look. That would be a start.

  Without wasting another second, he dialed her. “My sister’s run off, and I need to find her.”

  Monica didn’t miss a beat. “Here in Vegas?”

  “Yes, she arrived last night, we
rowed this morning, and she took off in a cab. I have no idea where she is, and she won’t answer her phone.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Monica. Thank you.” It had been fifteen years since he’d relied on anyone other than himself. It felt foreign to him. Strange.

  As he waited, Mr. Lawson discovered the name of the cab company and had already spoken to the dispatcher. The cabbie had dropped Jules at Planet Hollywood. Cal wasn’t sure why, but Monica might know. Good man, that Mr. Lawson. He deserved every cent of the hefty tip Cal planned on giving him.

  When Monica arrived twenty minutes later, Cal was waiting for her by the gated entrance. He threw one last look of irritation at the security guard, hopped into the passenger seat, and explained the situation.

  Monica nodded. “I’m betting she’s at the Miracle Mile Shops. I know it well. It’s basically a mall, so I’m guessing she’ll feel right at home.”

  “She can’t afford the mall. My father cut up all of her credit cards.”

  Monica turned her head to look at him. He couldn’t see her eyes behind her dark glasses, but she pursed her lips slightly. “I’d check your wallet, if I were you.”

  “Fuck.” Cal dug it out of his jeans. It had been stuffed with twenties and fifties this morning. “She left me three dollars and took two of my cards.”

  “Tell me what’s going on, Cal. I didn’t even know you had a sister.”

  As Monica drove, he gave her a brief history, leaving out the gory details about his father’s scathing disapproval. “They moved to California eight years ago. Now she has a DUI, and she’ll be twenty-one in three months.”

  “Oh boy, are you in for a bumpy road.” She pulled into an enormous parking garage and eventually found a spot on the eighth level. “Cal,” she said, twisting the key out of the ignition, “Jules sounds a little lost. And I know something about that. It’s none of my business, but if she takes a lot of shit from your dad, you might want to go easy on her.”

  He didn’t want to go easy on Jules. Cal wanted to haul her to the airport and toss her onto the plane. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Hey,” she said softly, pinning her glasses on the top of her head. “She came to you. When she needed a place to land, you were her choice. So she trusts you.”

  That took the self-righteous wind from his sail. Cal tugged his earlobe. He could have handled Jules with more tact and patience. “She can’t stay here, and I can’t very well force her into going back to L.A. I don’t know how to rein her in.”

  Monica patted his thigh. “You can’t. She’s going to make her own choices. And I’m not saying she should stay here, I’m just saying use your indoor voice when you talk to her. Allie used to yell at me when I messed up, and I would shut down completely.”

  She trained her blue eyes on him, looking so bloody sympathetic, Cal gave in to temptation. Snaking a hand around her nape, he kissed her. It was hard and brief, left him hungry for more than a taste. But for now, it had to be enough. “Thank you.”

  She smiled. “You’re welcome. Now let’s go find your sis.”

  When they entered the building, Cal stopped and gazed around. For some reason, all the stores had Moorish architectural features and looked as though they belonged inside a Moroccan town. He raised his eyes to the barreled ceiling painted to look like the sky. Cal tried Jules’s number once more. “She’s not answering.”

  “She’ll turn up. Probably once she’s run through your money, but she will turn up.”

  They wound their way around tourists and past kiosks, when suddenly, the artificial sky darkened. Thunder boomed.

  Monica leaned over. “The rain show. Not that exciting. Come on, security is up ahead.”

  “Well acquainted with the security here, are you?”

  She donned a stony expression. He’d hit a nerve. She’d probably done something minor when she was young, and Allie had no doubt thrown a wobbler.

  As they walked, Cal kept a lookout for Jules. Every flash of pink caught his eye. Every dark-haired girl captured his attention. But she could be anywhere.

  At the security station, Cal described Jules. The man used his two-way radio to communicate the information to someone, somewhere. They paged Jules’s name over the PA system and alerted the various shops that he was looking for her. All pretty fucking useless.

  “Why don’t we split up?” Monica asked. “You take one side of the shops, and I’ll take the other.”

  Cal nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Do you have a picture of her? It’ll give me something to go by.”

  Cal scrolled through his phone, glancing at hundreds of photos. Mostly shots of cars he’d worked on, in various states of repair. A few of Babcock, when she was still healthy enough to sit on the terrace and look out at the beach. He finally found a pic of Jules on her nineteenth birthday. She hadn’t worn nearly as much makeup then as she did now, and her hair was shorter. She wore a birthday tiara and showed off the sapphire earrings he’d given her as a present.

  His stomach dropped. He had picture after picture of the cars he’d worked on, but only one of his sister.

  “Here she is.” His voice sounded gruffer than usual, thick with emotion. He showed Monica the photo and glanced away. Cal really was a crap brother. That seriously needed to change.

  “She’s pretty. You guys have the same eyes.” Monica glanced up at him, scanned his face. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve been a selfish bastard.”

  “I would never describe you as a selfish person, Cal.” She reached out and gave his arm a quick squeeze. “I’ll take this side and meet you in front of the theater.”

  Cal nodded and moved off. Monica was being very kind to him. He wasn’t sure he deserved it.

  * * *

  Cal was a lot of things—handsome, funny, a fantastic lover…but selfish? Not even close. Monica had seen him give money to strangers, and he was kind to everyone. She didn’t know the whole story with his sister, but from the way it sounded, they didn’t see each other very often. So Cal probably didn’t understand that sisters were a pain. Monica had two to prove it.

  Over the next three hours, she and Cal tried to divide and conquer, looking in every store, bar, and restaurant. They asked sales people and wait staff if they’d seen Jules. Monica wasn’t sure the girl had ever been here. Cal had described his sister’s revealing outfit, and Jules’s short, gold skirt sounded second-glance worthy. Surely someone would have noticed. But they struck out over and over.

  Finally admitting defeat, she and Cal walked back to the car. Monica gazed up at him. His eyes were serious. She was used to seeing him wear a smile, but now, Cal’s mouth leveled into a straight line, and his wide shoulders climbed upward, tense and strained. She wished she could reassure him somehow, but she didn’t know what to say.

  This must have been how Allie used to feel when Monica pulled shit like this.

  When Cal’s phone rang, he practically ripped it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “I don’t have time now, Mum.” Then he froze. “What? She’s with you? For how long?” That worried look on his face morphed to anger, hardening his features, turning his eyes into green glaciers. “I’m on my way.” He punched the End button. “She’s been with my mother most of the afternoon. That fucking little brat.”

  Chapter 13

  Monica held on to his arm. His biceps bunched under her hand. “Cal. Remember, patience.”

  He turned those cold, angry eyes on her. “I’m brassed off with Jules, make no mistake, but Pixie should have called me hours ago. She’s meant to be the adult.” He jerked his arm from her grasp. “Do you mind driving me out to her place? I could take a cab, if you’d rather.”

  She dismissed his biting tone. “Of course I’ll drive you.” And Monica hoped he’d calm down a little before they arrived. Cal was good-natured and very easy to be around. She had a feeling it took a lot to push him over the edge. Between Pix and Jules, they’d given him a hard shove.

 
As she exited the parking garage and pulled onto the Strip, she shot him a look. Dusk had set in, painting the horizon in shades ranging from deep pink to light peach. The neon signs popped against the darkening sky. “She may have had her reasons, Cal. Your mom, I mean.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t think so. Pixie is unreliable at the best of times, and self-serving always.” He clamped his mouth shut and faced the passenger window. Other than giving her directions, he didn’t say another word the entire trip.

  When Monica arrived at Pixie’s house and rolled past the heavy wooden gates and up the long, circular drive, security lights glowed. Near the house, Paolo waited for them with a little Pomeranian in his arms.

  Cal turned to her as she braked. “You don’t have to stay, Monica. Go home, do some work, sit in your unfurnished house, and have a good evening.”

  He started to get out of the car, but she pulled on his sleeve. “Don’t pull that shit with me, okay? I don’t deserve it.”

  With a bitter twist of his lips, he nodded. “You’re right. I’m taking my foul mood out on you. I apologize. You were brilliant today, calmed me down when I was about to lose my rag. I appreciate it. But don’t feel like you have to stick around.”

  “I’ll wait to see if you need a ride.”

  He smiled then. A wan, tired smile, but it was something. Better than the frown he’d been sporting all afternoon. “Thank you. I’ll have to make it up to you somehow.”

  “You took care of Ryan last night. I’d say we’re even.”

  Cal grimaced. “That’s right. Don’t remind me.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then got out of the car.

  While he strolled toward Paolo, Monica went to the front door and used the knocker. A maid answered the door and led the way to the large, open living room. This was the first time Monica had been to Pixie’s house—the palatial palazzo. Mediterranean architecture on steroids.

  The walls, the furnishings, the rugs—all white. The only color in the room was Pixie, lounging on a tufted, modern chaise, thumbing through a glossy fashion magazine. She looked up when Monica stepped into the room. “Hey, Pix.”