by Leigh James
The image of my sister in the lobby haunted me—her jiggling boobs, her perfect ass, her insidiously glinting hoop earrings. My thoughts drifted back to that night, years before, when I'd found my sister in bed with Vince. Did I forget to mention that part, Lucas? That I found them together? In my own goddamned bed? Even the voice in my head was slurring.
I tried to block out the images, but my mind—ugly with wine—refused to cooperate.
I turned back to the movie, trying to concentrate. A few minutes later, I realized I was crying, and I was too drunk to stop.
Julia Roberts was trying on dresses with the nice woman who knew Richard Gere wasn’t her uncle.
Vince's white ass is pumping his dick into a woman on all fours in front of him, and he's giving it to her much harder than he ever gives it to me.
Julia was trying to eat an escargot but instead, flung it across the room.
I can see the woman's hair as she tosses her head back and lets out a deep, guttural moan. Her hair is long and blond, just like mine. I wonder if I'm having an out-of-body experience and that's actually me on the bed. But then Vince grabs her hair and yanks it, a litany of curses streaming out of his mouth. He says that no one makes him come this hard; no one else can do it.
It's not my hair he's grabbing.
Julia Roberts was taking a bath with a Walkman on, adorably singing along to Prince. Richard Gere was sitting on the edge of the tub, watching her.
And she orders him to do it harder, because he's the only one who can make her come like this, too. Then I walk into the room a little farther, and I realize it's my sister. Vince is fucking my sister, and he's so busy having an orgasm and fingering her clit—which I have to do for myself when we have sex—that he doesn't even see me standing there. But my sister does. My sister does, and she doesn't stop him.
Richard placed the stunning necklace on Julia and then took her to the opera.
Vince and Chelsea elope in Jamaica. She comes back and spreads the pictures all over my mother's coffee table—pictures of the two of them, smiling and tan, with palm trees and sparkling aqua water all around them.
Julia and Richard were at the polo match, where he saw her with another man and felt a stab of jealousy.
Chelsea is leaving Lucas's office today, looking like the cat that just swallowed the canary.
Chelsea would love to screw my handsome billionaire husband's brains out, because that's what she did. She stole things from me. Maybe it made her orgasms better, like those people who enjoyed choking themselves during sex or the ones who liked to be tied up. It heightened the sensation or something.
But he wouldn't touch her. Lucas wouldn't do that to me, and I knew it.
Of course, I'd said the same thing about Vince.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lucas
"What the hell do you mean, you don't know where she went?" I practically spit the words out at Ian.
"I dropped her at your office at seven. I told her I'd circle the block until she texted. She said you two were going to dinner in the North End."
"She never told me she was coming. She never even came up." My heart was pounding in my chest, quite possibly skipping beats. "You didn't see her leave?"
"No sir. I was driving around the block, but there was traffic over on Congress." Ian’s throat worked as he swallowed.
I tried to call Blake, but it didn't even ring. It went straight to voice mail. "They haven't seen her at The Stratum. No one's come or gone from the penthouse since she left earlier tonight. And there's been no activity on any of the credit cards she has."
"Did you call the police?" Ian asked.
"Not yet. I think there's something else going on." I pinched the bridge of my nose. Maybe Chelsea had immediately called her. Chelsea could have ignored our agreement and told Blake that I'd given her five million dollars, and Blake was beside-herself angry with me.
Maybe Blake had run into her sister here at my building, and Chelsea had told her. Or maybe Blake had just seen her sister leaving and drawn her own conclusions.
"I'll walk home," I told Ian.
"Sir?"
"Jesus Christ, it's not that far," I snapped. "If you hear from her, call me immediately.”
I fumed as I walked from my office through Downtown Crossing, past Suffolk Law School, and into the park. It was quiet at this hour, with the swan boats closed and the screaming children stuffed back into their minivans and driven home to whichever suburb they were from. I stalked down the path, not even seeing the trees around me, their limbs heavy with fragrant blooms.
"Hey!" a familiar voice shouted. I stopped, confused, until I realized that it was Herman Pace. I'd practically walked right past him.
I stopped. "Hey."
"What's your problem? And don't say nothing because you look like you just took a bite of moldy cheese."
I shrugged. "Work stuff. Nothing I can't handle."
"How's that beautiful wife of yours?" he asked.
"She's turning out to be somewhat of a disappointment."
He sat up straighter. "Why's that?"
"It's complicated." I have feelings for her and it's totally f'd up. I can't even deal with it.
He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "That's the problem with you rich people—the same thing that's wrong with celebrities. Can't be happy with what you've got. Everything's too complicated. Or it's not perfect. You all are getting married and divorced and remarried faster than the rest of us can keep track of."
"Really?" I asked. "You're keeping track of celebrity marriages these days?"
"People throw those magazines away in the trash every day—which is where they belong. But I can’t help it if I get sucked into the headlines." He adjusted his wool hat, which he wore every night, even in the summer. "How'd she disappoint you?"
I groaned. "I really don't want to talk about it. I need to think it through."
"Well, go on and do that. But don't make a woman like that wait too long. She might not stick around."
I bristled at the thought. "Are you talking from experience?"
"I learned the hard way." He motioned me on. "Let me be a lesson to you."
Confused anger thrummed through me as I headed home. I stopped in the bar at The Stratum, which I never did, but I couldn't bear to go upstairs yet. I ordered a Manhattan and nursed it, not even seeing the people around me. Blake must've seen her sister at my office, and she must've thought the worst. And now she was gone.
Even since Elizabeth had left me, and involved me in an ugly personal scandal, I'd chosen to live my life alone. And it had been fine, almost perfect, until Blake had shown up… My phone buzzed, and I picked it up without even looking at the number. It had to be her.
"Lucas?" It was my sister, Serena.
"What?" I snapped.
"I just got off the phone with my attorney. He said that based on his team's research, he believes the social provisions in our trust are voidable. He's putting together a brief and calling Rupert first thing in the morning."
"That's just fucking perfect." I finished my Manhattan in one gulp.
"What's your problem?" she asked, but I hung up before giving her an answer.
My problem? Blake left me tonight, and I don't know where she is.
She left me because she thought I'd gone behind her back and done something with Sister Act.
She didn't give me a chance to explain myself.
And now I don't have to stay married to her for the rest of the year, because I can inherit the money anyway.
There was an acrid taste in my mouth that I knew was not just from the alcohol. I was going to have to tell her the truth, and soon—so that she could go. I motioned for the bartender. The thought literally drove me to drink.
As a venture capitalist, I took pride in always telling myself the truth. I assessed corporations' strengths and weaknesses, ruthlessly ascertaining the value of their technology. Before I made a major investment, I asked myself a series of questions:
Was the technology a market disruptor? Could it capture a significant share of the market? Was it solving a must-have need?
There were other considerations, but these were the most important. I wanted wow-factor technology. Anything less didn't hold my interest. I guess the same was true in my personal life. I wasn't interested in pursuing a relationship just for the sake of having one.
To me, Blake was the equivalent of a massive market disruptor. She'd captured more than a significant share of the market—she'd captured the whole market. She was solving a must-have need, a need I hadn't even known existed in my pre-Blake world.
For fuck's sake. I was in love with her, and it was never going to work. She could have talked to me tonight. She could've asked me about Chelsea. Instead, she ran.
Bitter disappointment coursed through me as I considered what she must be thinking: That I'd let her down. That she couldn't trust me. That I'd gone behind her back.
Well, I had gone behind her back, but it was to protect her. If I hadn't taken care of Chelsea right then and there, she'd be setting up a press conference and plastering pictures of Blake and me all over social media. Instead, she was on her way to pack for New York. She was going to leave Boston, and she was going to leave us alone.
Us. Who was I kidding? Blake had run away from me without a word. She hadn't even given me the opportunity to explain myself, or defend myself, or even say good-bye.
Christ. Was I saying good-bye to her now?
I grabbed my next Manhattan and proceeded to drown my sorrows. I would say good-bye to her tomorrow. Tonight, I was getting shit-faced.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Blake
After I took two ibuprofen, I texted my mother to let her know I was on my way. She just texted back a question mark. I wasn't sure what I was going to tell her.
My stomach sank as my cab drove into the section of Southie where we lived. South Boston had become home to many young professionals over the past decade, but there was no gentrification in our neighborhood. Faded baby-blue paint peeled in rolls from the exterior of our multi-family building. Weeds grew out of the cracks in the sidewalk out front, and empty cans of Schlitz littered our shared porch.
Home sweet home. I'd always hated it there, but it was worse now because I knew I was never getting out.
My mother was sitting on the couch, wrapped in an old afghan, with a bunch of crumpled tissues next to her.
I hugged her, pulling her close. "What's the matter?"
"Like you don't know." Her voice was wobbly.
I knelt down and grabbed her hands. "Know what?"
She pursed her lips, but her accusatory look faded, replaced by unshed tears. "You don't know about your sister?"
The headache from my hangover started to pound worse. "Is she okay?"
My mother grabbed another tissue and blew her nose loudly. "She's leaving town. Moving to New York, of all places. She's probably going to become a Yankees fan. I don't know where I went wrong with that girl. I tried to raise her right."
I sank down onto the couch next to her. "She's really going?"
My mother blew her nose again. "Yes. She said she ran into some good luck and finally had the money to move. She's going to acting school." She turned and looked at me. "I don't know where all this money came from. I didn't want to tell you this, but I'd lent her some money a couple of weeks ago. Actually, I opened a new credit card so she could get herself some things."
I stiffened. "You shouldn't have done that. You'll never get the money back."
My mother shook her head. "That's the crazy thing—she paid me back last night."
"Huh?" My sister never paid anyone back. Not ever.
"You heard me. She paid me back two thousand dollars. In cash. And she wasn't even bothered by it." A suspicious look was back on my mom's face. "Did you do this? Did you give her the money to go away? I know she drives you crazy, and I wouldn't even blame you after what she did with Vince—"
"It wasn't me." I swallowed hard. "It was probably Lucas."
I could feel my mother staring at me. She was probably taking in my puffy eyes and the mascara still smudged on my face, that I hadn't bothered to wash off. "Speaking of Lucas, where is he? And whad're you doing here? I thought you weren't coming back until next summer."
I grabbed a tissue from her. "Can we not, please? Talk about him? Or anything to do with him?"
"Did he do something bad?"
"Yes." I blew my nose. "No. I don't know."
"Did he hurt you?"
"No," I said quickly. "He wouldn't do anything like that. He's not like that."
"Why would he give Chelsea money?" Her tone was now gentle, which pushed me dangerously close to tears.
"I don't k-know." My breath hitched. "It might be because she threatened to blackmail me. Or maybe she… did something for him." I wiped roughly at my tears. I didn't want to be crying, and I didn't want to be having this conversation.
"She tried to blackmail you?" My mother put her hand over her heart, as if I was finally doing her in.
I nodded. "She said if I didn't give her the money to go to New York, she was going to tell everybody that I'm an escort. If that happened, Lucas would lose his trust, which is worth billions of dollars."
"Just because you have to expect the worst from your sister doesn't mean you have to expect the worst from Lucas." She patted my hair. "Then that's why he gave her money, sweetie. Not because of whatever else you're worrying about."
I wanted to believe that was true. But that want—that piercing, yearning want—didn't make it true. "But I told him not to. I know she's your daughter, and she's my sister, but she's a Grade-A leech, Mom. If he gives her money, she'll never go away."
"Except that she's packing up to leave and do just that."
It seemed too good to be true, but I didn't want to say that to her.
"I saw her coming out of his office." My voice was low and hoarse. "She was wearing this skin-tight black dress. She strutted through the lobby like she owned it."
My mother put her arm around me. "Your sister always walks like that. She walks through Target like that. It doesn't mean Lucas did anything with her."
"Vince did."
"Vince is an idiot, and you know it."
I started crying, but then I laughed. "Vince is an idiot, and I do know it."
"Lucas shouldn't have to pay for what's happened in your past." Her voice was gentle again.
I shook my head. "You're right. He shouldn't. But it doesn't matter. What happened in my past has nothing to do with him. We don't have a future, anyway. He's my client." I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling as though I was physically wounded.
My mother looked at me and frowned. "If he's your client, and you're still on assignment, why are you home, crying into my afghan?"
I blew my nose again. "I'm not."
"Um, that's my Kleenex you're blowing your nose into. So yes, you are."
"Here. Take it back." I tried to hand her my rumpled tissue, and she swatted my hand away.
"Gross! You stop that right now, young lady!"
Then we were both laughing, then she hugged me, and then I started crying again. My mother patted my back. "Why don't you go back to bed for a little while, honey? I'll make you breakfast. I bet you'll feel a lot better after that."
I nodded and headed to my room, but I knew that sleep and food wouldn't make me better. Nothing could. I slid underneath my covers and looked out at the miserable view of the yellowing multi-family unit next door. I would call Lucas after breakfast. I would tell him I hadn't been feeling well the night before and that I'd gone home so I didn't get him sick. I would live with him for the rest of the year, per the terms of our contract. I would sleep in his bed, make love to him, and do whatever he asked.
But I wasn't going to let myself feel for him anymore. I couldn't. Last night had made it very clear to me—I had real feelings for my client, and no matter how much money he gave me, I couldn't afford them. I ha
d to say good-bye to him today, at least in my heart. Otherwise, saying good-bye to him months from now would probably kill me.
I tried to sleep, but I kept thinking about him. I thought about the way his eyes had sparkled at our wedding, how he had carried me over the threshold, the first time we'd made love, and my world had been rocked forever.
I remembered the way he'd held me after I had a panic attack over that stupid barracuda. It was as though I was his most precious jewel, his favorite blanket, and the next technology app that was going to storm the market, all rolled into one. He wouldn't let me go. I'd felt something from him then… something real.
But I'd been fooling myself. Even if I had felt something from him, it was better this way. Nothing was ever going to happen between us in the long run. I was a hooker, and he was a billionaire technology magnate. He had hired me to solve a problem, because that was how he dealt with his problems, by paying them to go away.
Just like he'd done with my sister.
I would go back and perform my fake wifely duties in just a little while. For the moment, I let myself clutch my sides and cry.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lucas
My phone was ringing. Still in a foul mood and facing a nasty hangover, I took it from my nightstand and threw it across the room. Fuck off.
But then I sat up straight, because it could be her.
I found my phone and glared at it. The missed call was from Rupert Granger. I stalked out to the empty, quiet kitchen, made myself a coffee, and called him back. "Serena already called me," I said as a greeting.
"Jesus, she's fast," he said. "I wanted you to know that I'll be reviewing her attorney's research with my legal team. If I get the go-ahead from them, I'll be releasing the funds by the end of the week."
I felt hollowed out by the news. "That's fast."
"I know. I'll be happy to put my administrative duties to rest. Your sister's been driving me crazy about this."