by Nadia Lee
“She won’t care. She insisted you come too.” Blake hands me a glass of water and a couple of aspirin. I finally sit up with a grunt, take them and down them.
“What happened last night?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Thought you were gonna get laid.”
The last thing I want to think about is how cold my body was—how unresponsive to what Faye offered. “What I’m gonna do is shower.”
I stand with an enormous effort and slowly stumble toward the second level, where Blake’s stashed my stuff. The suite is large, with a small study attached to it. I kick my shoes off in the giant walk-in closet, which is only about ten percent full. I should probably get Rachel to send my usual wardrobe here. Just ship it. The whole thing.
Leaving a trail of wrinkled clothes, I walk into the glass stall and start the shower. Blake got one thing right with the penthouse—instant hot water all the time.
As it sluices over me, the thick fog around my head starts to clear, and the pounding eases somewhat. The aspirin must be kicking in.
I wash myself gingerly. I really don’t want to face anybody today, but I have no choice. Blake won’t leave me alone, and if I don’t go, Elizabeth may well decide to barge in and cater a bunch of food here because that’s just how she rolls. As lovely as she is, she’s too used to getting her way. And why not? Men fall to their knees for her, and women can’t hate her even if they want to because she’s just that nice. Not even her psycho mother bothers her anymore.
I put on a gray V-neck sweater and slacks and stare at myself in the mirror. A hint of green mars my complexion, and the bloodshot eyes and dry mouth do nothing to make me feel better about the upcoming brunch. I brush my teeth, trying to get the nasty taste of stale alcohol out.
“You done?” Blake calls out from downstairs. “You take longer than a woman.”
“Fuck you,” I mutter, then slip my feet into a pair of sandals and drag myself to the living room.
My brother doesn’t look up from his phone. “Seriously. Five minutes longer than my ex.”
“Was she hung over and about to be shanghaied to a brunch she didn’t want to go to?”
He ignores me. “Come on. We’re late.”
I keep my eyes closed as he drives us to the restaurant. The motion of the Aston Martin sloshes the alcohol in my belly, and I open a window to draw in some fresh air.
“If you puke, you’re buying this car,” Blake says.
“Don’t worry. It was only four bottles.”
“It was five.”
Elizabeth has chosen a retro-themed diner. The inside is rather cramped and decorated in some kind of garish, rubbery red plastic. The vinyl-covered chairs match the ugly color scheme. The music coming from the sound system is disgustingly cheery—the Gershwins’ “I Got Rhythm.” What have I done to deserve this?
Blake sees our sister before I do. She’s in a corner booth in the back. We walk over, and she gets up to give both of us a hug. A huge pair of sunglasses hides most of her face, and she’s wearing a Cubs cap, a fitted white long-sleeve shirt, frayed cropped denim pants and white tennis shoes, like she’s about to go to a game. “So good to have you join me.” But she says it with a smile.
I take a seat. I need to sit down…and cradle my head with my hands before it falls off. “Where’s everyone else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Ryder. Elliot.”
“They aren’t invited.”
Huh. “Why not?”
“You want me to call them?” She reaches into her purse.
I start to shake my head, then think better of the idea and wave my hand weakly instead. “No. It’s fine.”
“Let’s order. I’m starving,” Blake says, opening the laminated menu.
“I know what I want.” Elizabeth lays her hands on the table—slim and beautifully manicured. Sort of how Ava’s were after that spa treatment in Osaka. She glowed afterward, and I loved seeing her so relaxed and pam—
Stop thinking about her.
“I’ll go with their Man Set.” Blake leans back. “You?”
“Whatever. Something.” I’m not that interested in eating.
Our waitress comes over. Her huge plastic tits don’t even bounce as she moves, although her blond ponytail does. Enhanced lips glisten with too much gloss. Probably an actress or model wannabe. From the way Blake eyes her, she’s going to get a fat tip.
Elizabeth orders for all of us, and the server leaves after placing a carafe of hot coffee on the table. I pour myself a steaming cup. Caffeine will be just the thing to get through whatever bullshit lies ahead.
“Guess who I saw yesterday at the opening,” Elizabeth says.
“A man with a big—fat—swollen…check,” Blake answers, enunciating every syllable with care.
I snort. “If anything would get our sister excited…”
“Don’t be a jerk.” She gives me a sidelong glance of warning.
Aw, shit. This isn’t a good sign. “Okay. Who?”
Elizabeth shifts and sips her coffee. Then with an inordinate care that tests my patience, she places her mug on the table just so. “Ava Huss.”
The hammer in my head starts pounding twice as hard. I sit back and glare at her. “Are you high?”
“Soberer than you, it looks like.”
“You must have been mistaken. Ava doesn’t run in circles that get invitations to an opening like that. She isn’t rich enough or connected enough. Nate would never invite someone who can’t blow tens of thousands without a thought.” A couple of events like that, and the two million I gave her will be gone.
“Don’t be such a snob. She works for Robbie.”
“Who the hell is Robbie?”
“I told you. Her boss.”
No way. I’m not letting my sister get away with this. I don’t care if Blake is watching. “Right, and I was born last night. You did this, didn’t you?”
She puts an angelic hand over her chest. “Me?”
“Who else? You were trying to manipulate me—again—into running into her. Well, you failed.” I try not to snap at her, since she’s my sister and I actually do like her. But she is seriously testing my patience.
“That’s completely unfair—”
Her pointless protest is interrupted when our server brings our food. Elizabeth gets French toast topped with fresh berries, powdered sugar and whipped cream, maple syrup on the side, while Blake’s Man Set comes with a mountain of bacon, sausages and scrambled eggs fried in butter—a cardiologist’s nightmare. The waitress places a platter of pancakes and waffles in front of me with a smile. “Our specialty.”
They remind me of the meal I had at Ray and Darcy’s house right before I stole Ava away to the bed and breakfast for the happiest weekend of my life…when I thought we both wanted the same thing. I promised to whisk her away to Paris, and she acted like that was exactly what she wanted, too. I bite back a curse.
Fool. Fool. Fool.
“Unfair my ass,” I grate out when we’re somewhat private again. “You sent me that envelope to push me toward Ava, you interfering little witch.”
Blake gestures with his knife. “Language…”
“What? You going to call her an angel when she fucks with your life?”
“Both of you stop.” Elizabeth turns to me. “You wanted to go.”
“I didn’t. Why do you think I never looked her up?”
“But you left as soon as you found out where she was.”
My grip on my fork tightens. “Again, proving my point that you’re meddling in my life.”
“Lucas, just hear me ou—”
“No. You hear me out.” I point the fork in her direction, and she shuts up. “Stop interfering. You’ve done more damage than you can imagine. I’m going to marry and you’re going to get your painting.”
Blake munches on a strip of bacon. “Who?”
“Faye. She’s perfect.”
Elizabeth closes her eyes briefly, but B
lake remains unperturbed.
“Does she know about…” He waves the half-eaten bacon.
“Who doesn’t?”
He grunts. “Not everyone thinks it’s true.”
“Yeah, well, she’s too smart to be fooled.”
“Are you sure you want to settle like this?” Elizabeth asks. “Ava is—”
“I’m not going to be with a woman who thinks I’m toxic.”
“Ava said that to you?”
“Yes.” I push my plate to the side and lean closer so she will really hear what I’m saying rather than what she wants to hear. Elizabeth is convinced everyone can be saved—a noble enough attitude for someone who’s trying to change the world, but totally irritating when she’s messing with my life. “I told her I loved her, and she said I was toxic and that we were finished.” I spit out the words. “Toxic. Finished.” They’re like coarse salt into an unhealed wound. “So don’t even think about talking to me about settling or any such bullshit. I’d much rather have a little honest greed than a bunch of pretty lies. At least Faye doesn’t play games.”
“That’s crap, and you know it,” Elizabeth says. “How can you say she doesn’t play games after what she did last night?”
“What are you talking about?”
“She made sure Ava was watching when she kissed you.”
I frown. Then it clicks. Giving Faye’s ex a show. Except it was my ex.
“Ava cried after you left.”
My gut tightens at the idea of her in pain. I prayed for it before—wished she would be a tenth as miserable as me so she would take me back—but now it just leaves me hollow.
Still… Nothing’s changed. I got my closure when she signed the documents and took my two million. I remind myself that the first time you cut someone off always hurts. It’s like the surgery to fix my leg. It left scars, but I was better off for having done it.
Blake shrugs. “She’s the one who left. What’s she got to cry about?”
“Probably felt robbed she didn’t get enough money,” I say, grateful for Blake’s voice of sanity.
“Lucas! That’s so…cynical,” Elizabeth says.
“Smart and realistic,” Blake corrects. “Besides, I like Faye. She knows how to stick the knife in when she has to.”
The kiss undoubtedly showed Ava I’m over her and no longer the same loser who showed up on her doorstep. But now that I know the truth, I feel vaguely used and dirty, an unwilling participant in Faye’s little game.
Why does it matter? If she’d told you Ava was watching, would you not have kissed her?
Elizabeth sighs. “You’re making a big mistake.”
Deliberately, I make my voice cold. “The only mistake I made was going after her.” I raise a finger to stall my sister. “Don’t interfere again, Elizabeth. I won’t forgive you the next time.”
“That’s totally fine. It’s not like there’s going to be a next time. And Ava’s date showed up to dry her tears anyway.”
I pull back while anger and jealousy unfurl in my gut. She’s moved on. Why the fuck did she cry then? I was right not to read much into it, wasn’t I?
I decide to have the pancakes and waffles after all. And I choke down every damn bite…because fuck this. I’m not going to starve pointlessly.
When the waitress brings our check, Blake hands her his plastic. Elizabeth says something, but I’m distracted as my phone starts ringing. I check the number. It’s Nate.
“Yes?” I bite out.
“And a cheery good morning to you, too.” Nate’s voice is dry. “Thanks for coming last night. You finally decided to pull your weight in this venture, huh?”
I drop my forehead into my palm. I’m being a dick, taking my frustration out on people who don’t deserve it. “Sorry. Just not in the right frame of mind for…you know.” Nate doesn’t need to know the details.
“The tabloids haven’t been kind to you guys.” Nate sounds sympathetic. He’s experienced some vulture-fests in his time as well. Can’t be helped when he’s second in line to take over the Sterling & Wilson fortune. “I was calling to see if you’re still serious about contributing to the center.”
“Of course,” I say without hesitation. It’s just the sort of thing I need to keep me from thinking about Ava. I wasted my life doing nothing for two years after she vanished on me. No way am I going for an encore.
“Great. Why don’t you come by this afternoon? Take a tour of the place and we can talk. I want to make sure it’s really something you want to get involved in long-term.”
“I’m sure it will be.” I’ve got nothing better to do with my life, I think and choke back a self-deprecating laugh. “Two o’clock good?”
“Perfect. See you then.”
The moment I hang up, Elizabeth asks, “Who was that?”
“Faye,” Blake guesses.
“Nate.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth sits back. “He’s finally getting you to help out?”
I nod. “It’s a worthy cause.” Even if I no longer care about Ava—and I really don’t—the medical center is something I want to champion.
“Tax deductible, too,” Blake adds.
Elizabeth shoots him a withering look. “There’s more to life than tax deductions.”
“True, but they help make it more enjoyable.” He studies her speculatively. “How come you aren’t involved? You’re a far better candidate than Lucas for fundraising and stuff.”
“Hey, I’m not that terrible.” But Blake is right about our sister being better. Actually, she’s the best.
“I can only take on so many projects,” Elizabeth says. “In addition to the international charity work I’ve committed to in the last twelve months, I’m also managing building and funding shelters for abused women and children. Then there’s the No More Childhood Hunger campaign…” Reaching for her coffee, she glances my way. “I don’t think I can do a good job with Nate’s hospital, so I’m glad you’ll be helping out.”
God. The expectations keep rising, but I can man up. “I can handle it. Somebody’s gotta take on the mantle rather than expecting you to do everything.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Blake is watching Elizabeth like he doesn’t quite believe her. Something passes between them. “I guess everyone’s got their limits,” he says, and finishes his bacon.
Somewhere in my head, a small alarm goes off.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucas
The Sterling Medical Center is much bigger and sleeker than I imagined. The photos and models at the opening showcased the hospital, but I assumed they were designed to idealize it as much as possible.
Nate’s office is in the back on the top floor, and I walk past an empty secretary’s desk straight into his inner sanctum. It’s small—for the moneyman of the whole operation—and modestly furnished with a standard work desk and one of those high-end ergonomic mesh chairs. A miniature painting of a strawberry farm hangs on the wall. Thin white industrial blinds cover the window behind him—which faces the parking deck, unless I’m guessing the building layout incorrectly.
Nate pushes back the chair—it looks like he’s being engulfed by some high-tech alien insect—and stands, a big smile splitting his face. “Finally, the mystery man!” He hugs me, slapping my back heartily a couple of times. I’m not a hugger, but it’s impossible to pull away when Nate Sterling wants to give you an exuberant greeting.
Although he looks a lot like his older brother—the same dark hair and dark eyes—there’s a softer and nicer aspect that Justin doesn’t have. It could be a mask, of course. Justin didn’t start acting like Justin until he took over Sterling & Wilson.
Nate pulls away. “Honest to God, I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“A little over two years.”
“Right. The crash. How you doing?”
“I’m fine. Did the rehab, got better.”
He nods, watching me. “Good to hear. Hey, you want something to drink? The break room has c
offee, some tea…”
“You said something about a tour.”
“Direct as always.” He laughs. “All right, let’s go. I can’t wait to show you everything.” He leads me out and into the hall.
The interior is just as impressive as the outside. Because the medical center will primarily cater to the poor, I assumed it would be utilitarian and low-cost—sort of what you see on those TV shows about harried but dedicated medical professionals in inner-city clinics. But everything’s bright and ultramodern. It looks like another hospital the Sterling family built not too long ago—the Ethel Sterling Children’s Hospital. Although I didn’t go to that opening, I saw the media coverage. Very high-tech.
“I thought the goal was to stretch our dollar to provide care, not to have the nicest building we can get,” I say.
“It was. Still is. Why do you think I had Justin pay for most of this?” Nate gestures around.
“You got Justin involved?”
“He’d been nagging me to do some charity work, so I figured turnabout was fair play. I’m not averse to using the family money if the cause is good. And this is a good cause.” He smiles at a cute nurse. “Most of the medical staff came from overseas volunteer positions. I thought they’d understand what it’s like to serve the needy the best. And since you weren’t in the mood to help, I put Elizabeth on the advisory board.”
“How many times you want me to say I’m sorry?”
“As many times as I called.”
I frown. “Which is…how many?”
“At least ten. Didn’t Rachel tell you?”
A shrug. “She might’ve. I probably wasn’t in the mood to listen.”
“Because of the crash?” Nate’s eyes are exceptionally shrewd as he watches me.
“Rehab. Getting used to my new ugly face. You know, the usual.”
He exhales. “Retreating probably made it worse. I don’t know why your doctors didn’t tell you to go rejoin the living. I mean, you could’ve been around friends who care rather than staying in the Pacific North-Lost.” He shudders.
Nate thinks I’m still in Seattle, and being an outdoors man, he hates the rain and gray skies. I don’t bother to correct him. The last thing I want to do is get into why I lingered in Charlottesville.