Chapter Twenty-One
Dominic
I review a few proposals to make sure they’re airtight, my bare feet propped on the coffee table in my living room. Normally I have no problem focusing on work in the evening, even after putting in a lot of hours earlier in the day. But not right now. My concentration lags, my mind continuously drifting to Elizabeth.
Something about her demeanor during the dinner was off…and the way she spoke to Marcella really bugs the hell out of me. But I can’t put my finger on it. Not even a couple good nights’ sleep has helped me figure it out.
What I’m feeling for Elizabeth isn’t just simple lust or anger. Those I can deal with. It’s something far subtler…but equally significant.
It’s like—
A loud ringing from the door is a welcome distraction and brings a smile to my lips.
Kristen.
Her bags were delivered earlier, although she went off to explore the city. Claimed she needed to reacquaint herself with L.A. You’d think she’d be tired after a flight from Paris, but the girl has limitless energy. Sure enough, the second I open the door, she hops inside and wraps her arms around me, her embrace tight and strong. I hug her back.
“So good to have you home,” I say.
“So good to be back.” She grins. “It’s been months.”
“Seven.”
Despite the long flight, she looks fresh—which is good, as that’s what first class promises.
She waltzes right in. The auto-lock engages as the door closes, and I follow her.
“Wow,” she says, craning her neck.
The two-level penthouse has living and dining rooms and a kitchen in a simple and modern open design. It also has leather furnishings, a vaulted ceiling, tall walls, and a loft with four bedrooms.
“I thought it’d take you at least a month to find something suitable,” she says. “When did you buy this?”
“Three weeks ago. My realtor understood what I wanted.”
“You didn’t pick these out yourself, did you?” She gestures at the sectionals and chrome and glass tables.
“No time for that. I have money to make, an empire to build.”
She snickers. “A man’s gotta have some fun too. You work too much.”
“Uh-huh. And did you enjoy flying first class?”
She sticks her tongue out. “I’ll settle for business if you promise to relax a little more.”
I laugh over her left-field compromise, then pad over to the kitchen. “Want anything to drink? Eat?” It’s past dinner time, but Kristen has a bad habit of forgetting to eat when she’s preoccupied with something. And sightseeing—even if it’s a city she knows as well as L.A.—counts as “something.”
“What do you have?”
“Everything you like.” I had my housekeeper stock the fridge with Kristen’s favorites earlier today.
“A turkey and ham sandwich then.”
I gesture at the marble countertop. “Pull up a stool.”
Then, just like old times, I make her a sandwich with the crusty bread she loves so much, extra mustard, no onions or pickles. She bites into it and moans. “This is it. God, I missed this in Paris.”
“Parisian sandwiches not good enough for you?”
“They weren’t the same. They weren’t made by you.”
A smile tugs at my lips. I place a tall glass of OJ on the rocks, her favorite to drink with the sandwich.
“See? People in Paris didn’t know how I like OJ, either.”
I make a sandwich for myself, using roast beef rather than turkey and ham. I join her at the counter with a glass of Merlot, and we eat in companionable silence.
Kristen finishes half her food before saying, “I saw your high-society photos. You look great in a tux.”
“Meh. Everyone looks great in a tux.”
“Not the way you do.” She leans closer. “But your date… She’s married, isn’t she?”
“Don’t worry. Her husband knew we were going to the event.”
Her eyebrows rise. “They have an open marriage?”
I scrunch my face. “How do you know about stuff like that?”
“Uh, because I’m not a little kid anymore?”
“I know, but…” It seems weird my kid sister is all grown up. She’s been that way for some years now, but I still have a hard time thinking of her as anything other than a kid sister I need to watch out for.
“Anyway, the date?” Kristen prompts.
“She’s nothing. Her husband couldn’t go at the last minute, but she wanted to go and asked me to accompany her.” I don’t add that if it hadn’t been Elizabeth’s party, I would’ve told Annabelle Underhill to find someone else.
“I see.” Kristen chases her sandwich with the OJ. Ice clinks in the glass as she puts it down. “I was wondering why Antoine didn’t come to the airport. I thought he was picking me up and waited half an hour before I grabbed a cab.” She pouts.
“He’s busy these days.”
She frowns. “Are you overworking him?”
I arch an eyebrow at her annoyed tone. “Of course not…and why do you care how much I work him?”
“I don’t.” She clears her throat. “I was just, you know, asking. By the way, I saw Liza this afternoon.”
I freeze. “Liza” is an illusion, something made up to entrap me. Everything about her is fake. “Her name is Elizabeth,” I say, my voice cold.
“I know, but it isn’t easy to switch. To me, she’s always going to be Liza, I’m afraid.”
“Try harder.”
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes in that petulant “I’m superior to you” manner she acquired in her teen years. Adult or not, she hasn’t grown out of that yet.
Then something else occurs to me. “Was she stalking you?”
“Huh?”
“Did she…find you or something? It seems a bit odd that you ran into each other, don’t you think?”
“Not really. I saw her come out of a store, and I said hi.”
Hmm. Maybe I’m being too paranoid. L.A. is a huge city, but it’s possible to run into acquaintances. Still… Elizabeth’s persistent avoidance of me…then the dinner and now running into my sister…?
“Trust me, she wasn’t following me,” Kristen says forcefully. “Anyway, we had coffee.”
“Whatever for?” I ask, aghast.
“Just to catch up.”
“What did she want to say?”
“Dominic. I asked her for coffee.”
What the hell? Before I can say anything, Kristen gets up and goes to the kitchen. “Got any chips?”
“In the pantry. Second shelf, on your left.”
She finds a bag of baked potato chips and brings it over. After munching on a couple, she offers me the bag, even though she knows I don’t like chips and will decline. It’s an old routine. If I’m going to eat junk calories, I’m having fries.
“Well?” I say when I get tired of watching Kristen chew.
“Well what? Li— Sorry, Elizabeth didn’t really want to tell me anything in particular. She was as gracious as the articles say, and she listened to what I’ve been up to.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.” Kristen sighs. “Look, I know you’re going to hate hearing this, but…”
“Then don’t say it.”
“But maybe I should. It’s just a theory of mine, but I’ve been wondering about things.”
Not interested at all. But I don’t cut her off either. Maybe Kristen has some insight that can help me figure out what’s been bugging me about Elizabeth.
“I don’t think she wanted to hurt you. I mean, if she had, why was it that nobody charged you?”
I’ll forever rue the day I told Kristen the truth. I only did it because she was so freaked out about returning that damned prom dress. “Like I said, the DA probably thought it was a dumb charge.”
“But her family still could’ve insisted.”
“Maybe they did. Maybe Granddad out-insisted them.”
She gives me a look. “Granddad wasn’t as influential as the Pryces.”
True enough. He did okay in construction, but he never rose to that level of influence or reach. Most people don’t.
“After seeing Liza today, I feel like maybe she didn’t want to cooperate. Maybe she managed to hire a lawyer who could help her get out of Aunt Dorothy’s clutches,” Kristen says.
“Then why didn’t she hire somebody before?”
Kristen shrugs. “Didn’t want her parents to know?”
Most likely, they never gave a damn, my mind whispers, reminding me of her father’s snide and cruel attitude. Julian is the type who’d give a DA a folder full of all the things Elizabeth did wrong, including every time she went over the speed limit or forgot to signal before making a turn.
I shake my head. “You’re reaching.”
“And you’re being stubborn, Dominic. Something doesn’t add up. I can’t help but think maybe she had no choice and she still feels bad about what happened.”
“You know you spout a lot of nonsense when you’re tired?”
“I get my best ideas when I’m tired.”
“Nope. You just think you do because you lose your filter and good taste. Go to bed. You know nothing.”
Kristen makes a face. “Stop treating me like a kid and listen…or you’ll be sorry.”
I kiss her on the forehead and shove her upstairs. “I know. Thanks for advising me on my wardrobe.”
She flushes. “That’s not what I mean!”
“But that’s all I’m going to take your advice on.”
Kristen is too sentimental to see the puzzle that is Elizabeth’s recent behavior clearly. But I’m different.
My phone pings. I pick it up and see a text from Antoine.
Found Tolyan.
My heart pounds. Who is he? I text back fast, mistyping almost all the words. Thank God for autocorrect.
One of Elizabeth’s personal assistants. He’s been with her for three years.
A PA? Then why did she bring him up when Nate proposed marriage?
That’s all? There has to be more.
Finally, Antoine’s response comes. He was her grandmother’s personal assistant until she died. He accompanied Shirley Pryce everywhere, and he does the same for Elizabeth now. Other than that, I don’t have any info, not even a last name.
I frown. Then how did you find out who he was?
Charmed it out of her housekeeper in Virginia. The pride in his text is palpable. It wasn’t easy. Elizabeth’s foundation work assistant also corroborated.
My phone rings. It’s Antoine.
“Yeah?”
“Dominic, man. I don’t want to put this in a text.”
“Go ahead.”
“Watch your back.”
Cold shivers down my spine.
“I don’t give a damn what people say about that man—a slightly standoffish, well-mannered old-world gentleman and all that bullshit. He’s no personal assistant.” Antoine snorts.
“What makes you say that?”
“People who are aboveboard and have nothing to hide don’t have their past buried as deeply as this Tolyan guy. And the reason people around her don’t say much is because they can’t. They don’t know anything about him worth mentioning. I don’t know why Elizabeth keeps him around, but it isn’t for his organizational skills.”