PIERCE
I nuzzle into a pillow that smells like Rian, and slide my palm along the mattress in search of the real thing. Except all I get are ten-thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets under my palm. I crack a lid, close it because it’s too bright beyond the back of my eyelid, and wait a few more seconds before I open it again.
In the space where Rian’s body should be are rumpled sheets, cool to the touch. I assume she woke up and decided to let me sleep. If she’s hungry, we can do breakfast, then each other. Then we’ll figure out what to do with our day. I’m voting for Naked Monday, but I’ll give her a say. Except when I get to the kitchen, she isn’t there; she’s also not in the living room.
I rub the back of my neck to ease the hot feeling as I wander through the penthouse. The coffee cups on the counter are clean and unused. I backtrack to my bedroom and glance around the vacant space, noting the absence of her clothes, which most certainly had been strewn all over the floor last night. That prickling sensation on my neck becomes a sinking feeling as I call Rian’s name but get no response. Her heels aren’t by the door and her overnight bag is gone.
Maybe there was an emergency. Maybe an impromptu showing came up and she needed to go and didn’t want to wake me. But I’d like to think she would’ve left a note.
I check my phone for a message, but there’s nothing, so I fire one off, asking where she disappeared to. I worry last night was too much for her. I’d considered telling her how I felt about her, especially since she’d opened up to me. But in the end, I’d held back, aware a declaration like that might make Rian skittish. Getting close to her hasn’t been easy, and I’ve been trying my hardest not to push for more than I feel she’s willing to give.
While I wait for a response, I put the coffee on, but even after it’s finished brewing I still haven’t heard back from her, so I leave her a voicemail and head to my office. Since I’m in Manhattan, it makes sense to clock a few hours of work and see if there’s been any progress on revising the patent so the knockoff blow-up dolls are no longer a concern.
On my desk is a Moorehead magazine from a couple of weeks ago. I don’t generally put much stock in the articles, since the Mooreheads tend to spew a lot of biased garbage, but I still get a copy every week, mostly so I can keep tabs on my sister’s ex-husband’s family dealings. It’s lying open rather than stacked neatly on the corner of my desk, as I would’ve left it. An article about my sister’s fiancé and his family fills the page. I’m sure the Mills Hotel empire is getting ready to put up another five-star resort somewhere in the near future. They have projects all over the world. I assume Moorehead is covering this simply because it gives her ex-husband a reason to dig into Amalie’s life.
I spend a couple hours reviewing emails and paperwork that have been forwarded to me as a courtesy, more than anything else. What I really need to do is revisit the discussion with my father about my future at the firm.
I mentioned it the last time I was in Manhattan to feel him out, but I don’t want to push too much when the patent issue is still unresolved. We’re close to putting it to bed, but it’s been tricky since my dad would like to avoid court and drawing more attention to the problem than necessary. Which means settling. And settling costs money.
Regardless, I don’t want to put this off any longer.
I call his office, but discover he’s out of town with my mother for the week. I suppose it says something about where I’m at mentally when I don’t even know what’s going on with my parents.
After two more hours of silence from Rian, in which I review my personal finances and determine that without my trust, walking away from the firm will be exceedingly difficult on my bank account, I decide to head back to the Hamptons. All this ruminating is getting me nowhere, and I need to find out what’s going on. I try Rian’s apartment first, but neither car is in the driveway and no one answers the door.
By the time I arrive at the Paulson renovation it’s well into the afternoon. Worry dissolves into anger when I find Rian’s car in the driveway. I don’t knock before I open the door and walk inside her half-finished reno—one I’ve put a lot of hours into personally.
Rian’s standing on a ladder in the middle of the room with a can of paint and a paintbrush, ear buds blocking out the world. It pisses me off that she’s here, and I’ve spent my entire morning and most of my afternoon worried about what the fuck I did wrong to warrant her disappearance and her silence.
I startle her when I appear in her peripheral vision. She fumbles the paint can and nearly tumbles off the ladder trying to keep it from tipping over on her. I take it before it falls and set it on the floor.
Rian yanks her ear buds out. “Pierce! What’re you doing here?”
“Looking for you. Wanna tell me why you disappeared this morning with no message, and explain why you’re avoiding my calls?” I gesture to the phone tucked between her breasts in her clingy tank.
“I couldn’t sleep and I had work to do.” She motions to the paint, eyes darting everywhere, but avoiding my face.
“Shovel or bulldozer?”
“What?”
“What would you prefer for your bullshit, a shovel or a bulldozer? Because I’m not buying it. What the fuck is going on, Rian? We had a great time last night. Better than great, and I wake up to an empty bed and no indication as to where you went or why. Do you have any idea how worried I was?” My anger is gathering steam instead of dissipating, maybe because she’s mirroring my pose, arms crossed over her chest defiantly, chin tipped up, but her eyes say something different—they tell me she is scared, and I have no clue why that would be.
“I needed some space.”
“Space from what?”
She motions between us, eyes darting around. “From this. From us.”
“I don’t get it. I thought we were finally getting somewhere and then you pull a disappearing act this morning? How’d you even get home?”
“I took the train. I needed to think.”
“Think about what exactly? I’m really fucking confused right now, so if you could explain this so it makes some kind of sense, that’d be great.”
“Why didn’t you mention that Amalie’s fiancé is part of the Mills empire?”
“You mean Lex?”
“Yes, Lex.”
I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. The kind that makes my gut feel like it’s trying to turn itself inside out. “Because it has nothing to do with us, and it’s irrelevant.”
“But it does.” She’s so cagey and I don’t get why.
“I don’t see how my sister’s fiancé’s family has any bearing on our relationship.”
“It does when they want to put up a new hotel in the Hamptons.” Her anger seems to match mine.
“They’re always talking about putting up another resort. It’s what they do. It still doesn’t explain why you pulled a runner this morning.”
“I found that magazine in your office this morning, Pierce. The one with the whole article about the Mills family and the Mission Mansion. You can’t tell me you don’t know anything about that.”
“Are you talking about the Moorehead Review? Because I generally don’t read or believe whatever bullshit is spewed in there.”
Her eyes narrow. “So you read the article.”
“Sure. I’m still not understanding where you’re going with this.”
“That magazine is weeks old.”
“I read it this morning. I told you, I don’t generally put much stock in the content.”
“But you were in Manhattan a few weeks ago when that magazine came out.”
“Is there an accusation in here somewhere? Because that’s how it’s starting to sound.”
“You keep buying all these properties on the beach. Are you holding onto them so you can sell to the Mills family?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
She plants her fist on her hip. “You knew how I felt about the mansion. I told you weeks ago, and now you’re trying to play it off like you had no idea any of this is going on.” She motions between us. “Why all of a sudden are you calling me your girlfriend? Why take me to Manhattan? To get me out of the Hamptons so your brother is free to hatch some scheme?” Her eyes are wild, hands flailing as she paces around the living room.
Incredulous isn’t a strong enough word for my current state. “How the hell do you make such a wild leap? I don’t get how you can believe I’d do something like that.”
Rian throws her hands up in the air. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? Get close, be a distraction so you can get what you want and get laid in the process.”
I scrub a hand over my face. None of this is making sense. “This is what you think of me? You know, maybe I could understand if all we were doing was fucking each other, but come on, Rian, what’s going on between us is a lot bigger than that.”
“You’re going back to Manhattan in a month. How is this supposed to be anything more than a summer fling? You can’t tell me I don’t have a reason to question this, Pierce. I mean, look at me and look at you.” She gestures between us, eyes darting around, her panic rising. “Your situation and mine aren’t exactly the same. You live in a penthouse and I live in a crappy duplex. You wear two-hundred-dollar pairs of jeans to mow the lawn, and your sunglasses are worth more than my car.”
“That’s what you want to make this about? My financial situation versus yours? Do you really think I’m that much of a shallow prick?” Her silence is like a nail-gun shot to the chest. My jaw tics and I take a step closer. Rian, being Rian, doesn’t back down at all. She tips her head up, eyes flashing with defiance and under that, fear and devastation. “Let me tell you something. I grew up in a two-bedroom apartment in Long Island for the first seven years of my life. Then we had to rent a three-bedroom house when my sister came along. I know what it’s like to eat peanut-butter sandwiches for dinner when money’s tight, so don’t box me into some shitty stereotype that doesn’t fit me, Rian. I’m not that guy. I’ve never been that guy, even if you want me to be, even if it makes this, us, easier for you to dismiss.”
She swallows thickly, seeming vulnerable and small. She blinks a few times, eyes clearing, determination winning out. She stalks across the room, grabs a sheet of paper from the island, and holds it up in front of my face. “Look at this.”
It’s a black-and-white printout of an aerial view of Mission Mansion and the surrounding properties, several of which are circled in red. “What is this?”
“You and Lawson own all of these.” She pokes viciously at the red circles.
I take the sheet, inspecting it.
“What does that look like to you?” Rian demands.
I take in the strategic locations in which Lawson has pushed to buy properties. We have beach houses flanking all sides of the Mission Mansion. He’s been talking to Lex a lot on the phone lately; I’ve seen his contact lighting up his phone. I didn’t think anything of it because he’s going to be our brother-in-law.
“Look at how many of the properties you own close to the mansion, Pierce.” Her jaw is tight, eyes hard and yet they appear glassy, as if she’s fighting tears. “I told you weeks ago how I feel about that place, and two of these properties have been purchased in the last month. Why wouldn’t you tell me if you were making plans? Why would you keep that from me knowing how important the mansion is to me? You call me your girlfriend and then you do this? Tell me I don’t have a reason to be paranoid.”
“I can’t believe this.” And honestly I can’t, and then again, maybe I can. I’ve been so caught up in Rian, in spending time with her, and enjoying the fact that I don’t have to deal with bullshit patents and paperwork, or snobby assholes who think the sun rises and sets on them, that I’ve missed all the goddamn signs. Fucking Lawson.
“I’m right, aren’t I? You stopped with the big renovations and started the quick cosmetic updates because renting makes more sense if you’re planning to sell them off to the Millses.”
I exhale a frustrated breath. “Whatever Lawson’s plans are, he sure as hell hasn’t shared them with me.” Clearly I need to talk to him, because now that I’m holding this piece of paper, I have to wonder how long this has been his plan, and why he kept it from me. “I wouldn’t have kept it from you if I’d known the Mission Mansion was actually coming up for sale and more than just a rumor. Moorehead is good at feeding rumors, not truths. You should’ve talked to me before assuming the worst.”
Rian chews on her thumbnail for a second before shoving her hands into her pockets. “What was I supposed to think when I found that magazine in your office? Lex’s face is all over it and you’re connected to his family!”
“So at no point did you even stop to consider that maybe you could be the slightest bit off base? That in all this time we’ve been spending time together—”
“—giving each other orgasms,” she supplies.
“You’re un-fucking-believable.” I bark out a humorless laugh. “You could’ve walked away instead of trying to make me into the villain.” I turn and head for the door.
She grabs my arm. “Pierce, wait.”
I shake her off. “For what? You to accuse me of something else? For you to decide I’m worth more than just a fuck? No, thanks.”
I grit my teeth, the pain in my chest growing as I realize two very important things. One, I’m totally, hopelessly in love with Rian, and two, based on her reaction, it’s completely one-sided.
* * *
I’m in a foul mood by the time I reach my brother’s house. I sit in the car for a good twenty-five minutes, scouring recent articles on the Mills family. They’re often in the news because they’re constantly expanding. While some of the articles are based solely on speculation, there’s enough of a common thread for me to believe they want to invest in property in the Hamptons. I’d be more likely to assume that Lex wants to either build or buy Amalie a house, not bulldoze a bunch of beach houses to put up a monster resort. Besides the city council probably would have a lot to say about that. I wonder if Lawson even thought about that when scheming up his master plan, if he even has one.
I find my brother lounging on the deck with his laptop flipped open, dicking around on social media. It’s his job, taking care of that side of things, but half the time the messages are propositions from women, or boob shots. It’s creepy.
I toss the printout of the properties with all the ones we own circled in red on top of his keyboard.
He glances up at me, annoyed by the interruption. “What’s this?”
I hand him the magazine, open to the article featuring Lex, and drop down in the lounger across from him, crossing my arms over my chest.
He glances at the article. “Why are you giving me this? And what’s with the pissy mood? Didn’t you ball your girlfriend’s brains out last night? Shouldn’t you be happier?”
“I’d be happier if you weren’t planning shit behind my back.”
He has sunglasses on, but he can’t hide the tic in the corner of his right eye. It’s his tell. Everyone has them, and as a lawyer, I’ve had to learn how to watch for those. Rian was a signal flare for all kinds of sketchiness today. I gesture to the papers and the magazine. “Tell me how these two things are connected.”
He frowns, inspecting the printout. “They’re not. The circled properties are the ones we own.” He tosses the magazine back to me. “This is publicity for a Mills Hotel project.”
“Which happens to be in the Hamptons.”
“And?” He closes his laptop and taps on the arm of his chair.
“What kind of deals are you cutting with Lex behind my back?” No point in tiptoeing around the issue.
“Who said I was making deals?”
“For fuck’s sake, Law, be straight with me.” I motion to the documents in his lap. “Is this the reason we’re holding on to all these fucking properties? Are you waiting to sell them off when the time is right?”
He sighs. “Think about the financial logistics, Pierce. We own all these homes on the beach and they’re anchor points around the Mission Mansion, which is rumored to be going up for sale this fall. Having all these properties makes sense, especially if the Millses get zoning flexibility. And even if they can’t, imagine how much these beach houses are going to be worth if that mansion is renovated, or it’s turned it into an upscale resort. It’s been sitting empty for years, and there are ten bedrooms in that monster home. That’s not even taking into account the outbuildings. Think about the bank that could come out of that. And if they want to buy out the homes around it, then we’re looking at killer return on our investments.”
“How long have you been planning this with Lex?”
“I haven’t been planning anything with Lex. It’s just been conversations. Look, man, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life fucking around with dolls”—he points to the pair of plastic sunbathers to his right; today they have Frisbees—“just like you don’t want to be a patent lawyer. I’m trying to find a way to make bank and get out, exactly the same as you, and this is a way to do that.”
“And you didn’t think to mention any of this to me? Rian thinks I’ve been in on this.”
“Which is why I didn’t say anything to you. I mean, I figured you’d kind of clue in eventually, but you’ve got your face buried so deep in that pussy—”
I’m out of my chair and hauling him up by his shirt. The laptop hits the deck with a crack. “Don’t finish that sentence unless you want a black eye and some missing teeth, brother.”
He holds up his hands. “Jesus, Pierce, calm your shit.”
“You’re fucking this up for me.” I shove him back into his chair.
“How? By buying property? They could’ve been making a shit-ton of commission if they hadn’t played it shady with that flip of theirs.”
I give him a look. “It wasn’t shady and you know it.”
“It sure wasn’t above board.”
“The Paulson house doesn’t matter right now; the Mission Mansion does.”
“Why is this such a big deal?”
“Because Rian’s family used to own it.”
“What?” Lawson frowns. “How is that possible? That family was loaded.”
I don’t have enough background on Rian to really understand the connection. “She’ll be devastated if the Millses plan to tear down the mansion so they can put up another hotel.”
“I doubt that’s their plan, if they even really have one. They have something like five new hotels going up in the next two years. It’s not like they have any shortage of projects to keep them busy. I’m trying to make the best investments so I can get out, Pierce. Amalie Doll sales keep dropping every quarter, let alone every year. This train is going to go off the rails eventually.”
“Dad built this company and made room for us. Won’t he be disappointed if we jump ship when it’s sinking?”
“Dude. Dad needs to retire, us bailing would give him a reason to let go and sell out. Half the reason he’s holding on is because he wants us to have an easy life since his wasn’t, you know?”
I take a few deep breaths, the tightness in my chest a distraction. I can see what he’s saying. I know he’s right about the dolls. It’s why my father pushed for the life-sized doll patent and why my screwup was such a big deal.
We need alternatives. Something so my father doesn’t feel like he has to keep reinventing the wheel to keep us employed.
So many things seem to be up in the air, and while I don’t want Rian and I to be one of those, I’m too angry to get over her accusations.
* * *
It’s barely seven in the morning and I’m sitting on the deck, facing away from Rian’s half-renovated beach house, drinking coffee and going through Amalie Doll reports. I’m distracted, as seems to be the theme lately. I have unanswered messages from Rian on my phone. Yesterday she asked if we could talk, but I’m not ready to deal with her without going off yet.
“I think you need to see something, bro.” Law drops down beside me and holds out his laptop.
It’s an article on the history of the Mission Mansion. “Why is this important?”
“Click the next tab.” He taps the screen.
An image pops up that has nothing to do with houses.
He cocks a brow. “Those twins look familiar to you?”
A pre-teenage version of Rian and her sister smile at me on the screen. The shot is grainy, having been taken from a magazine article more than a decade ago. It’s a family photo, apparently, taken with the late Deana Mission, her daughter, Stephanie, and son-in-law, Nelson Fisher.
“Deana Mission was born a Sutter.”
I rub my forehead. “Which explains why they go by Sutter, I guess?”
“Possibly, but they’re technically Fishers.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Do you remember Fisher Estates?”
It sounds familiar, but I’m not sure why. “Should I?”
“A decade ago Fisher was huge; they represented some of the biggest real estate buyers in the area. Except Nelson turned out to be a real criminal. He screwed all sorts of people out of money, including the Millses. Harrison was the one who took him down. Bankrupted the family from what I know. And when Deana died, Nelson sold the mansion and fled the country with his wife.”
“So Nelson is Rian’s father?”
“Ding, ding, ding!” Lawson slaps the arms of his chair. “You got it. He and his wife left two teenage girls with a huge mess. Their bank accounts were frozen and all their assets were seized. My guess is they go by Sutter to avoid being connected to the Fisher name.”
I sift through the tidbits of information that Rian has given me about her family, which is admittedly very little. “Are her parents still alive?”
“I have no idea. Apparently they got something like three million for the mansion, since they needed cash fast, had it transferred to an offshore account, and disappeared. If they’re alive, they’re staying under the radar, because if the federal government finds them, they’ll be in prison for a long time.”
I think back to first time I was at Rian’s house, to the pictures on the bookshelf and my question about her mother—the one she never answered. As the pieces start to come together, I realize how much she’s kept from me.
“Hey, you okay? I figured this would be helpful, answer some of those questions.”
I rub the back of my neck, the muscles suddenly tight. “What kind of parents leave two eighteen-year-old girls to clean up their mess? And with nothing to survive on?”
“Shitty ones, I guess. Makes ours look like saints, doesn’t it?”
I huff a humorless laugh. Our parents are far from perfect. They haven’t been the best relationship role models, but they’ve never left us to fend on our own, financially or otherwise.
I consider the life Rian once had. Her upbringing had been the opposite of mine. She came from everything and had it all ripped away from her. She was abandoned by the people who were supposed to take care of her. No wonder she’s so guarded. Her secrets are the walls between us.
I push up out of my chair.
“Where you going?”
“To get some answers.” And break down some walls.