Chapter Eight

Lucas

The move to the West Coast takes five days to arrange, even though Blake’s place is fully furnished and I only need to bring some clothes and shoes. It isn’t the actual move that takes the time, but making sure Gail and the staff will be all right. She and the landscapers have been with me for over two years. There’s no way I’m dumping them into the unemployment office just because I’m leaving Charlottesville.

Then there’s the paperwork from Don. Ava scrawled her signature on the dotted line and the document has been duly notarized. It should’ve made the weight on my shoulders ease, but somehow it seems to have moved to the center of my heart where it sits like a boulder—hard, uncomfortable and impossible to ignore.

Now I’m on the plane, less than an hour away from landing in L.A. “So you’re not mad, right?” Rachel asks over the phone. We’ve spent the last forty-five minutes going over items for my arrival.

I gaze at my knuckles and brush them against my pants. “Do you want me to be?”

“No, of course not,” she says hurriedly. “It’s just I know how much you hate interference.”

“I’m not insanely happy that you went to Blake, but I understand why you did.”

She sighs. “Thanks, boss. I just didn’t know what to do when Gail called. She sounded so worried.”

“I know.”

“I’ll meet you in L.A. next week.”

“Don’t bother.” Rachel doesn’t enjoy flying, and I don’t ask her to travel on my behalf unless it’s unavoidable. “I have something else for you to work on.”

“Oh?”

“I’m going to start giving speeches, and maybe taking on a few interesting projects.”

“Really?” The single word rises high, almost making me wince. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Why do you sound so shocked?”

“Um. Well. I turned down like seven offers without reviewing them less than two hours ago.”

“Then tell them there’s been an error and review their propositions. Send me the ones that look the most promising.” She’s been with me a while and knows what I’ll find interesting.

“Will do. Anything else?”

“Nope. I trust that you got everything squared away.”

“Great. Glad you’re back, boss.”

“I’m not going to be in Seattle.”

“I know, but this is better than you not working and always flying out to that…town.”

I pause. Rachel never pretends she doesn’t know what’s going on in my life. We’ve been together too long for those kind of games. But her sudden hesitation makes me grit my teeth. She must’ve sensed that everything went bad in Charlottesville.

Damn it. Am I that transparent?

Of course you are, moron. Why else would Elizabeth have sent the info to get you to go after Ava?

I make a face, suddenly annoyed with myself. Modulating my tone, I say, “I’m finished with that town, now that everything’s been resolved.” With Ava’s signature at the end of a two-page agreement. “Time to find something else, keep myself occupied so I don’t die from boredom.”

“Perfect. I’ll also let Nate Sterling know you’ll be in L.A. for the medical center opening tonight. He asked me about it, and I sort of demurred.”

“Good. I’m going to do what I can for that center.” Even if my initial interest was due to Ava, I’m not going to turn my back on the project. It’s a worthy one, something that could really benefit the community.

“I’ll send you the latest schedule.”

We hang up. Within fifteen minutes, the cabin attendant serves me another glass of ice wine and informs me that we’re ready to land. Finally.

I look out the window. Los Angeles suburbs have begun to appear through wispy desert clouds, grids of streets laid out on a sere and tawny land. Here and there are green patches, where new homeowners have hooked up their sprinklers. I’m as far from Virginia as I can be without fleeing the lower forty-eight.

Fleeing? What the fuck. It’s not fleeing. I’m leaving.

You’re toxic.

My teeth grind together. So are you, Ava. You with your bullshit test and bullshit words.

I’m not letting her destroy me, strip me of everything until all I can think about is pleasing her. I’ve been down that destructive path before. Never again.

Two million bucks is my way of clearing the slate, making sure we have nothing more between us, so I can move on. Scars or no scars, I’m young, rich and smart. I don’t need Ava.

I don’t need anyone.

The car that’s waiting for me is a freshly waxed Bentley SUV. Someone loads my lone suitcase into the back while the driver holds the door open. He’s in his late thirties, his hair a pale gold and eyes ice blue…coloration that reminds me of Ava. He has to go.

No, don’t. If you do that, you’re letting her win.

He can stay. Thoughts of Ava don’t necessarily imply desire. They can be contempt…disgust…

I climb into the car and get taken to Blake’s penthouse. The traffic in L.A. sucks, cars sitting on roads, burning up gas. But at least here I can be free, away from the ugly memories and hateful indictment of what I am.

Leaning back in my seat, I think about my immediate objectives for the next two months.

One: start working.

Two: find a wife—preferably someone who doesn’t find me toxic and gross. Now that I’ve come this far, I might as well help my siblings get the damned paintings. Fuck my father and his Bitch Number Six.

Three: forget Ava. Purge her as completely as possible from my life, my thoughts…my memory.

My phone buzzes with an email from Rachel. She’s already found the five most promising propositions to help me achieve Goal Number One. I take a quick look.

The first is a leadership speech for a Fortune 500 retreat in Vegas. Not bad. The rest are startup-related items. My twin brother Elliot does consulting for tech firms and startups to keep himself out of trouble…not that that’s helped. I only do them when I feel like it—which is the case now. The one about online cognitive behavioral therapy seems the most interesting. I make a mental note to look into it more closely.

I glance outside, and there’s a platinum blonde on the sidewalk. Something about the way she’s walking seems so familiar, my heart stops for a moment. The woman is slender, wearing a simple lavender dress. Her long hair hangs down a trim back, and as the car passes, I crane my neck to get a better look. She’s into something on her phone, a small smile on her lips. A pair of sunglasses hides her eyes.

The traffic picks that moment to finally start moving, and the car speeds up, pulling away. Damn it. My pulse throbs unevenly.

Ava. Ava. Ava.

Damn it. I run a palm roughly down my face. Just what the hell is wrong with me? I left Charlottesville to forget her, and look at me—pitifully hopeful and full of pain in my heart.

Remember the third objective—forget Ava. Fuck her. She set me up.

I breathe through my mouth. Patience. It’s taken years for Ava to dig her claws into me; it’s going to take a while to rip them out. One day at a time. And I’m going to get rid of her, even if I have to give up a chunk of myself in the process—the way lizards break their tails off to free themselves.

Suddenly, the engine stops. “We’re here, sir,” the driver says, opening the door.

I step out, then stretch my left leg. The muscles feel tight and achy. The excessive jogging in Charlottesville didn’t help, and the long flight aggravated it further. But I embrace the pain. It’s distracting me from thoughts of Ava.

On the other hand… I wince as I walk. Damn, that hurts, and my lower body hates me. Why shouldn’t it? I’ve been pretty nasty to it in the past few days.

Well, my self-abuse phase is over. I’m going to baby the leg until it feels better, and I’m going to make sure to put myself first. I’ve cut people out of my life before. I can do it again.

I grasp the handle of my suitcase and walk into the building where Blake’s penthouse occupies the top three levels. The lobby is so ostentatious I’m almost embarrassed. Only a person with no sense of proportion would live in a place like this. Everything is done in gold, with shiny brass accents and a smartly dressed concierge in a light caramel uniform. The chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling are contemporary, but no less showy for that. But then Blake compulsively displays his wealth whenever he’s around the Pryce side of the family, and most of them live out here. I go to the elevator bank and take the one waiting with its doors wide open.

One side of the car is made of glass—an acrophobe’s nightmare. I punch the five-digit PIN to access the penthouse level, and the car starts moving immediately. Everything on the ground grows smaller until I only see dots and small boxes moving. Exactly what I want—to be away from everyone.

When the elevator opens, I’m in a foyer. It’s cozy compared to what I’ve seen of the building so far. A white vase with an Asian arrangement of plum blossoms sits on a dark cherry table. My shoes make sharp sounds on the smooth, spotless dark green and blue marble. I enter the key code Blake gave me, and the double doors unlock with a quiet click.

I step inside. Blake’s penthouse is nothing like the lobby. Airy and open and done predominantly in white and chrome and glass, the place is even bigger than I expected. The staggered lofts on the second and third levels overlook the living and dining area, with a huge kitchen under a high ceiling. The lights are recessed, and a black Steinway baby grand piano takes the place of honor by the floor-to-ceiling window. Blake plays occasionally, although I don’t see the point of owning something like a baby grand when he’s so rarely in L.A. Out on the deck is a pool, another pointless luxury item, since—unlike Elliot—Blake doesn’t swim much. It’s probably considered a selling point, though. Californians love their pools.

“Surprise!”

I pause, then blink at the sight of Elizabeth coming toward me with a big grin. She’s as beautiful as usual, her artfully curled golden hair bouncing around her slender shoulders, brown eyes warm and friendly. The sleeveless raw silk pink dress she wears is fitted, making her look even slimmer.

Before I can pull back, she envelops me in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“You mean you have more schemes up your—” I don’t get to say the rest, as my siblings pour out of their hiding places in the kitchen.

Ryder reaches me first, his bare feet quiet across the marble floor. He is disgustingly good looking—a pure genetic lottery winner. The dark, chiseled looks have women around the world panting and men gnashing their teeth with envy. A white T-shirt and jeans set off the lean physique he’s spent countless hours in the gym to create. Once he’s within my personal space, he slaps me on the back. I just grunt.

My identical twin Elliot pumps my hand. Unscarred, he’s what I’d look like if I hadn’t had the accident. He’s dressed casually in a fancy black synthetic fiber T-shirt and khaki shorts. From their reactions, you’d think I’d survived a war to reach L.A. Blake, always the reticent one, merely nods in the back. Given his dress shirt and slacks, he probably had a business meeting earlier.

“You’ve met Paige already, right?” Ryder says, gesturing at his former assistant. She’s a big, brown-eyed blonde glowing with pregnancy. Her belly is showing now, but an elegant blue dress makes her look chic rather than awkward.

Paige hugs me, which is a little uncomfortable. If she notices my stiffness, she doesn’t show it. “Good to see you in town again, Lucas.”

“Likewise,” I say for politeness’s sake.

I spot a stunning redhead standing by Elliot. She must be the infamous stripper. Contrary to what I’ve imagined, she doesn’t look like a crass, money-grubbing ho. There’s softness that says she’s a woman of quality. The makeup on her face is light, just enough to accentuate her high cheekbones and pretty lips. Her beige halter-neck dress is cut modestly, the hem almost reaching her knees.

“My wife, Belle,” Elliot says, putting an arm around her waist.

“A pleasure.” I smile. I’m not a completely hopeless ogre, even if I often feel like one.

Her shoulders relax perceptibly. “I’m thrilled to finally meet you.”

“Sorry I missed your introductory reception. I wasn’t fit company then.”

Blake raises an eyebrow, but nobody’s paying attention other than me. “It’s good you didn’t show,” he says. “Thanks to our father’s idiot wife, the whole party ended up a clusterfu…”

I’m wondering what on earth could make Blake not say what’s on his mind when a young girl—fourteen or so—comes out. She’s pretty, with wide-set eyes and soft brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wears a fitted red shirt that reads I Love Hollywood and cropped teal pants with ballet flats. I cock an eyebrow at Blake.

It’s Belle who answers my silent question. “That’s my sister Nonny.” She waves the girl over. “Come say hello to your new brother-in-law.”

The title is a bit of a shock. Apparently I’ve just acquired an impressionable teenage sister. What am I supposed to do with her?

The girl raises a hand shyly. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” I turn my attention to my siblings. “What are you guys all doing here?”

“Welcoming you home, silly,” Elizabeth says. “We haven’t been together like this in ages.”

She has a point. The summons a few months back to our father’s new estate in Virginia doesn’t count.

“I don’t know about you, but I miss that. At least when we were younger, we spent summers and winter vacations together in Europe. In the last few years, we’ve barely had any quality time.” Elizabeth gestures at the dining table. There are a couple of bottles of champagne chilling in a silver ice bucket. “Let’s have a toast!”

I go along with it, although I wonder if she’s angling for brownie points. If she believes a toast is going to absolve her from meddling in my life, she has another think coming.

Ryder and Elliot expertly uncork the bottles, and everyone gets a flute except Belle, Paige and Nonny, who all opt for ginger ale instead. I look at Belle. “I’m sure people won’t mind if you have a little bubbly.”

She smiles. “I want to join the non-alcohol girls.”

Paige puts a hand on Belle’s arm. “Lucas is right. You don’t have to.”

Elliot wraps an arm around Belle’s shoulders. “She doesn’t have to, but she wants to. Don’t worry, I’ll drink two to make up for it.”

Laughing, Paige rolls her eyes, while Belle smiles up at Elliot like he just gave her a yacht. I’m not fooled by my twin’s little act there. Is Belle a recovering alcoholic? If so, how does she deal with his drinking? Elliot imbibes so much scotch he might as well get it through an IV.

Blake clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. “To us. May our father rue the day he decided to f—interfere in our lives.”

Amen. I lift my flute, then sip the champagne. It’s good—none of my siblings do bad alcohol.

“So how long are you staying in L.A.?” Paige asks.

“Indefinitely, at this point,” I respond.

“Then you’re coming to the opening of Nate Sterling’s new hospital tonight?” Elizabeth asks. Nate is her cousin’s brother-in-law, although she’s known him since forever. The Sterlings are important if one of your goals in life is to play Mother Theresa. There aren’t many families as wealthy and influential. “It’s sort of an opening-plus-fundraiser.”

“I’ll go if he’s invited a lot of unattached women,” Blake says.

“They may all flee in terror. You’ve got a reputation,” Ryder says.

Elizabeth shakes her head. “Blake doesn’t have a reputation. He just hasn’t met the right person yet.” She turns to our oldest brother. “And to answer your question, yes, Nate did invite a lot of single women.”

Perfect. I could use some gratuitous female company. Besides, I already promised. “I’ll be there.”

Elliot gives me a look. “Really?”

“It’s for a good cause, and I can use the tax deduction.” I shrug. “Besides, I’m the one who encouraged Nate to do the hospital project.”

“That’s great.” Elizabeth beams, while Elliot stares at me like I’ve grown a horn in the center of my forehead.

“It’s gonna be boring,” he says. “Skip it and come to my place for dinner instead.”

“I’ll bail early if it is. And take a rain check on the dinner.” I meet his eyes squarely and shove both hands into my pants pockets, fingernails digging into my palms. “But you heard what Elizabeth said about the women. It’s about time I get to work on fulfilling our father’s condition.”

Ryder’s jaw drops, his eyes almost bugging out. If I weren’t so heartsore with what happened with Ava, I’d probably laugh. “I thought you’d rather die,” he says.

“Changed my mind.” I let my gaze sweep over my siblings. “You guys want the paintings, right?”

Except for Blake, they nod, one by one, their motions a bit uncertain. Not surprising, given how strenuously I protested before.

Abruptly I pull out my hands and let them hang by my sides. “All right, then. Stop complaining.”