NICHOLAS RAN his fingers over the curves of her breasts, along the delicate arch of her back, down her crossed legs.
Then he reminded himself he was fondling a fucking doodle on his arm.
He snatched his hand away, grateful the other occupants in the boardroom were too busy arguing to notice him stroking his shirtsleeve. Over the past three days, he’d picked up a washcloth no less than a dozen times, determined to eradicate the ridiculous naked fairy Livvy had drawn on him. Instead, he’d done his best to preserve the fading drawing. Last night, he’d even found himself absentmindedly tracing it as he closed his eyes and pretended he was back in that chair, calm as she ran her small hands over him.
It had been a tiny respite. He hadn’t had calm moments like that in a long time with a woman, and especially not with her. He hadn’t even realized he’d been missing that sort of intimacy until he’d had the barest taste of it.
Maybe you can pretend to have it with your pretend girlfriend, dumbass.
Nicholas picked up his fork and moved the lettuce around in his barely eaten salad. Masculine voices were gaining in volume around him, which meant he needed to forget Livvy and his past, and focus on the present.
Easier said than done.
Talking’s not usually what we do when we’re together. She was right. Aside from gasps and filthy words, they hadn’t truly spoken in a decade. Had he really thought he could calmly ask her about her plans and they could both go on their ways? A fool, that’s what he was.
From the second he’d walked in the door, his brain had taken a backseat to his impulses. She’d poked, he’d prodded. She’d demanded, and he’d reacted.
Reacted in probably the dumbest, most immature way when he realized how close he was to ripping off their clothes and fucking her on that rickety table. His only consolation was not giving his imaginary girlfriend a name or backstory, and that was a thin consolation.
He cringed inwardly. It wasn’t his finest moment, and not only because it was the sort of thing a high school boy might do.
Her skin had turned ashen, her face stricken. He hadn’t seen her display hurt in a long time—only physical pleasure and smirks and mocking smiles.
How would you feel if she’d told you she was seeing someone?
Not good. Nicholas speared an olive. He’d made a conscious decision after the first couple of years to not think about what Livvy might be doing on the 364 nights they weren’t together. He didn’t always stick to that resolution, but he’d done okay, probably because she’d always texted him, an implicit sign of her continuing singlehood. When her last birthday had come and gone, he’d spent more time than he’d cared to admit wondering whether she’d found someone.
He’d had sex and relationships with other women. He’d even stuck it out with one woman for a full ten months. But when Livvy’s birthday had rolled around, he’d always been magically single.
Magically. Sure.
He consciously shelved that thought, because if he went down the rabbit hole of how he’d structured his life around one night a year for the past decade, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to concentrate on anything else.
He should be grateful she’d launched that final grenade at him, or he might have spent more time embellishing his imaginary relationship with a nonexistent woman. There was no danger of any further conversation after she’d invoked their parents.
You don’t want to be seen with the daughter of the man who was responsible for your mother’s death.
Sometimes, when he was able to detach sufficiently from his emotions, he could marvel at how the ripples of a single accident could spread out and affect so many lives.
Nicholas swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. Regret and sadness and recrimination ate at him, coupled with longing and lust and affection.
He really was a wind-up man in a case. She’d turned the key and ushered in a host of emotions he hadn’t planned on dealing with.
“Nicholas.”
He looked up from his salad and the olive he’d nearly pulverized with his fork. “I’m sorry?”
Brendan Chandler had two modes of looking at his children: icy disinterest and frustrated impatience. The latter stare was what Nicholas was getting treated to right now. “That’s the second time you’ve zoned out.”
“Are you okay, Nicholas?” The soft question came from across the table.
Nicholas neatly placed his fork down and forced a smile for his baby sister. Eve took after their mother, small and round, and in her old-fashioned white blouse and prim skirt and dwarfed by the massive oak table, she looked far younger than her twenty-three years. “I’m fine, sweetheart. I have a lot on my mind. Didn’t sleep much last night.”
Eve nodded, her glossy dark hair catching the light. She hadn’t eaten much of her own meal either, but that wasn’t unusual. These mandatory biweekly lunches weren’t meant to be conducive to a good appetite.
Lunch with his family hadn’t always been a dreaded event. Every Sunday, his mother would dismiss the help for the day and she’d putter around the kitchen. After Eve was born, she’d usually do it with his baby sister strapped to her back. His father would stick to his study, but at least he’d be around the house. More often than not, the Kanes would join them after church, and the place would ring with laughter and food and talk.
Then she was gone, and every day of the week changed, including Sundays. Now, the couple of hours he spent with his father and grandfather every other week were more interrogation and battle than anything else.
“Stress is a silent killer, Nicholas. Get more sleep,” John Chandler advised, his normally boisterous voice somewhat muted by speakers. His face grew larger on the large computer monitor placed on the table as he leaned in to see them better. Nicholas’s grandfather’s hair was a messy shock of white, and he wore his usual plaid shirt. This was the second time this month that his grandfather had chosen to call into the meeting instead of coming to the office, citing fatigue.
Nicholas had no doubt his grandfather would have been happy to step down as CEO and retire entirely to play in his garden, were it not for the barely concealed decade-long power struggle he was engaged in against his son. “I will, Grandpa. Don’t worry about me.” To prove how okay he was, he choked down a cherry tomato, wishing it was an actual cherry. He could do with something sweet, and the untouched cookies on the platter in the center of the table looked way too tempting.
“Now that we’ve analyzed your sleeping habits, are you capable of answering the question?” Brendan checked his watch. Life had etched deep lines on Brendan’s face, but his father had otherwise aged gracefully, his hair a distinguished gray, his body still fit. Nicholas imagined he’d look much like this in thirty years.
Like father, like son. He’d heard some variation of that his entire life. It never failed to make him feel slightly ill.
Nicholas set his fork down, trying to concentrate. Dealing with his father and grandfather was hard enough when Nicholas was in peak condition. “The question. Yes.” What could they have been talking about? “I’ll consider the matter and get back to you.”
His father’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll consider whether you have a status update on the protest?”
Oh Jesus. The protest.
“I didn’t realize the company was being protested. Did something happen?” Eve’s brow furrowed.
Brendan scowled at Eve. “It’s all over the news.”
“It’s not all over the news,” Nicholas corrected his father. “It’s been reported on one local news station. There were a few picketers at a Pennsylvania location yesterday. Activists claiming a couple of products we sell there are the byproduct of a prison-work program.”
“A prison-work program?”
“Honey made from bees raised by a place that employs prison labor, that sort of thing. And no, Dad, I don’t have a status update yet. We’re checking the source on those products right now.”
Eve looked between him and their dad. “But this is only at one store?”
“So far. I say we don’t wait to see what the report says, we cull whatever products they’ve indicated and make sure we’re not using such suppliers. If someone isn’t being paid a fair living wage for a day’s work, then their labor isn’t voluntary,” John said sternly. “And we shouldn’t be subsidizing that. It’s antithetical to our company’s values. People. Quality. Fairness.”
Three words Nicholas had had pounded into his skull from the time he was a baby. John and Sam Oka, Livvy’s late grandfather, would have been considered progressive employers and businessmen by contemporary standards, let alone over half a century ago when they’d founded the company.
Brendan’s lip curled. “I know the motto as well as you, Father. But we have eighty stores now, not eighteen. We can’t personally check the provenance of every item we sell.”
The words were both a reminder of their size and a reminder of Brendan’s role in increasing it. If Nicholas were truly a dick, he’d remind his father that he was behind their recent boom of expansion in the past couple of years. But that would create more friction, and his main role here was to mitigate that.
Which was why he couldn’t close his eyes, ignore their squabbling, and obsess over Livvy. He also couldn’t scream about how this was a relatively minor issue that he could handle with his eyes closed.
The company had grown quickly, and sometimes Nicholas couldn’t tell if the two equal shareholders of Chandler’s really were micromanagers or if they were actively looking for ways to find every tiny detail to fight over. The latter, he assumed.
The company had once thrived under the control of dual CEOs, but Sam Oka and John Chandler had essentially been of one mind. After Sam had died, his shares had passed to his daughter, Tani. Livvy’s mother had no interest in running things, but her husband, Robert, had been smart, eager, and charming, a vice-president in the company already, and had stepped into the vacated co-CEO position in proxy for his wife.
When Robert had died, though, and Brendan “acquired” the Oka-Kane shares, the strife had begun. The boardroom became the war room, the company a pawn in Brendan and John’s battle for control.
Nicholas was aware every decision he made had to straddle two lines—pleasing his grandfather and his father. Following tradition while chasing expansion.
People. Quality. Fairness.
Money.
If he failed to maneuver and his dad and grandfather deadlocked, it wasn’t just what was left of his family that suffered. It was every single person that owed their livelihood to them, a number that grew every time they broke ground on another store. All those managers and farmers and checkout clerks and chefs and bag boys and and and . . .
Every day, he had his assistant refresh the list of every person who worked for Chandler’s in every capacity, no matter how small, and place it on his desk, in plain sight. A visible, tangible reminder of the small universe of people who were relying on him.
“I’m well aware of how many stores we have, boy,” John sniped. “I’m old, but I can still read a spreadsheet.”
Nicholas placed his hands on the table, making his tone firm. “We’ve issued a statement that we stand by our rigorous quality standards for all our suppliers and we’ll investigate the charges. If it comes up that this is accurate, we can discuss how we’ll proceed.”
Brendan leaned forward, frowning. “That implies we’ll correct any so-called abuses. We shouldn’t commit to that until—”
“For crying out loud, Brendan, we’ll be fine even if we have to cut a fish or honey supplier. Don’t nickel-and-dime on this tiny shit.”
“It’s—”
“Enough,” Nicholas said. He regulated his voice when he caught the sharp glance his father gave him. “I can handle this.”
John harrumphed, but he subsided. “Is there anything more for us to discuss? I need fresh air.”
“No, we’re done.” Nicholas placed his napkin on his barely eaten plate.
“Excellent. Eve, you’re still coming over tomorrow? I need some more help going through your grandmother’s letters.”
“Yes, Grandpa.”
John’s blue eyes softened. “Good, good. Thank you.”
The screen went blank and Nicholas turned the computer off. Brendan shoved his chair back. “Nicholas, I have a meeting in ten minutes. Email me that site survey on the new location in Connecticut.”
Eve cleared her throat. “Actually, I have some news.”
Nicholas looked at his sister, surprised but ready to encourage his usually quiet sibling. Technically, Eve wasn’t employed by the corporation. Since she’d graduated college two years ago, she’d worked for The Maria Chandler Foundation, a nonprofit established by their mother to fund scholarships for underprivileged youth.
Eve had recently joined these meetings at his father’s demand. At first, Nicholas had had some hope his dad had softened his rigid, dismissive attitude toward his only daughter and wanted to pull her into the business. But she rarely spoke, and when she did, their father wasn’t exactly supportive. Nicholas had decided Brendan only wanted her there because she had a softening effect on John.
Always ready to use any tool in his arsenal. Even if those tools were human. That was his dad.
“Is this about the gala?” Brendan snorted. “Isn’t it enough for me to write a big check every year? Do we have to discuss what linens are being used?”
Eve drew back. Nicholas bared his teeth at their father, ready to bodily defend his sister from the man. “The gala is a huge event and not an easy undertaking.”
“Oh yes. Party planning is quite the full-time job.”
“It’s not about the gala, and it’s not about linens. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Grandpa because I didn’t want to upset him, but . . .” Eve licked her lips. “I heard something, and I thought I ought to bring it to your attention.”
Brendan stood, irritation creasing his face. “I don’t have time to hear about who’s cheating on who at the country club, Evangeline. Gossip with your girlfriends, not us.”
Before Nicholas could intervene, Eve lifted her chin and met her father’s gaze. “Olivia Kane is home, it seems.”
Their father completely stilled. “What did you say?”
Shit, shit, shit, shit. Nicholas tensed, his brain clicking into high gear. He’d silenced the cousin who had come running to him but he’d known this was a possibility.
“Livvy.” Eve swallowed, but she maintained eye contact with their father. Later, when Nicholas wasn’t worried about all of this, he’d be proud of her. “I . . . heard it from a fairly good source, that she’s settling in, and even has a job. I thought it may be better you know.” Eve’s dark gaze slid to Nicholas, and there was concern there. She’d only been thirteen when everything had fallen apart, but she knew how he’d once felt about Livvy. “Instead of discovering about it from gossips.”
“People are gossiping about it?” Brendan’s words were measured and slow, but it felt like the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees, as it always did when their father heard the Kane name. Their father had done his best to eradicate all mention of Livvy’s family.
Cold swept over Nicholas, and he’d never welcomed the iciness more. Feel nothing. Reveal nothing. “When do people not gossip about us?” He kept his tone cool and mild. “This is no different.”
Eve’s hand clenched into a small fist, worry making her lips pucker. “I’m sorry I blurted it out so abruptly, Nicholas. I know you two were once very close—”
“That was a long time ago,” he interrupted her. “Don’t stress. This doesn’t affect me at all.” He came to his feet. “It doesn’t affect any of us.”
“I—”
“This is none of your concern,” Brendan barked at Eve. She jumped. Nicholas could see the instant she emotionally withdrew, her face becoming placid and pale. He’d seen that look on his own face in the mirror.
Christ, this fucking dysfunctional family. “Don’t speak to her that way,” he said, and made sure his voice carried the threat of what would happen if Brendan did.
He and his father had settled into an uneasy balance of power. Brendan needed him—for his brain, his reputation for fair dealing, his ability to get along with people in a way Brendan could not. Nicholas was aware his father resented that need. It meant Nicholas could flex his muscles now in ways he hadn’t been able to when he was a kid.
Nicholas still didn’t have ownership interest in the company, though. There was only so far he could push, but he’d push to that point.
Brendan drew back. “Leave me and Nicholas alone. We need to talk.”
Eve faltered, but Nicholas gave her a single nod to signal his approval. It was better for Eve to not be in the room if things got ugly. There were things she didn’t need to see.
Her footsteps were barely audible, the open and shut of the door a whisper. Nicholas didn’t have to wait long.
Brendan picked up his water glass and flung it against the wall. Nicholas didn’t flinch at the crash of glass against wood paneling. Someone might have heard it, but he’d clean it up before anyone saw anything more than a damp spot.
Brendan’s shoulders heaved and he started to pace the floor. “Goddamn it. One member of that family leaves, and another one crops up.”
Feel nothing. Still, his hand curled into a fist by his side. “Paul died, he didn’t leave,” Nicholas pointed out.
Brendan shrugged. He fucking shrugged at the reminder of the death of a young man who had half-lived in his home since he was a baby, who had been his son’s best friend.
Nicholas’s other hand curled. He wasn’t sure if his father had always been an asshole, or if his wife’s death and the ensuing speculation had eradicated the portion of him that had given a fuck, but he assumed the former.
Nicholas didn’t take his gaze off his father, because you kept your eyes on snakes.
“Did you know?”
A chill ran down Nicholas’s spine. “I’m too busy running this company to swing by the water cooler.” Nicholas wished he could ask his dad if he was aware Tani had broken her hip. Like Nicholas’s generation, Brendan and Tani had grown up together, side by side on neighboring plots of land. They’d seemed like friends.
Until Brendan had invited a grief-stricken, widowed Tani Oka-Kane over to their house after the accident. When she’d left, she walked away from her half of the company, compensated with a dollar amount even the most conservative economist would have said was too low. Bought or stolen, that was the question the world had split on. Nicholas had his own opinion, but he couldn’t bear to think about it too much. The bad taste would never wash out of his mouth.
Brendan’s lip curled. “Is she back for good?”
“I told you. I didn’t know she was back.”
“I want her gone.”
“That will be difficult, sir.”
“How hard would it be to get her fired?”
Nicholas wanted to laugh, even though it wasn’t funny. Get her fired? It probably wasn’t by design, but Livvy’d picked an employer no Chandler would be able to sway. He had lost touch with Gabe over the years, but the Kanes’ former housekeeper’s son wasn’t going to be in any hurry to take his side. “This isn’t a soap opera. Contrary to what you believe, we do not own this town. She has every right to be here, and us interfering in that is only going to cause more talk.”
That stymied his dad, as Nicholas knew it would.
Brendan stopped pacing. “I don’t want any drama.”
“I know.” Drama was Brendan’s mortal enemy.
“You’re not to see her.”
Nicholas swiftly suppressed the flare of rage. “I hadn’t planned on it,” he lied. “But I’m not a child anymore. I can make my own decisions.”
“Not if those decisions would adversely affect this company.” Brendan paused. “Or this family.”
Nicholas’s lip curled. Yeah, he knew why Brendan didn’t want him to see Livvy and it had nothing to do with the company or family, and everything to do with him.
Tongues would wag about the corporate takeover and the fire Livvy’s twin had been accused of starting. But most importantly, people would talk about the accident. And how Maria Chandler and Robert Kane had been driving up to the Chandlers’ lake house when they’d died, at a time when they were both allegedly out of town, separately, seeing to company and foundation business.
They’d talk about how Maria and Robert had dated in high school, and how strange it had been they hadn’t ended up together, because they were fun and normal and relatable, unlike their distant, wealthy spouses.
They’d whisper about an affair.
Suddenly he was twenty-three again, standing in front of his father, the man destroying the softest part of his heart. Be realistic, Nicholas. If you can’t do this for your mother’s memory, then do it for the rest of your family. Family first.
“Think of the family,” Brendan said now, and Nicholas knew exactly what he was really saying. My threat from ten years ago still stands, and you know it.
Young Nicholas had looked into his father’s eyes and fully believed that the man was capable of anything in his blind quest for revenge against the dead man who had wronged him. Including cheating that dead man’s widow, a woman he’d grown up with. Including blackmailing his one and only son.
Older Nicholas still believed it.
He tightened his fist so much that pain shot through him. You are a realist. This should not hurt. Do not let it hurt.
He slowly released his hand. “I always do.”
“Good.” Brusque now, mission accomplished, Brendan stalked to the door. “Get me that site survey.”
Nicholas listened to the echo of the door as it closed behind his father. Ice cold. The chill had settled in his chest and spread to his arms and legs, the animation Livvy had cranked into him halted.
He had a mountain of work on his desk, dozens of people waiting for him to make some sort of decision on a million different subjects. He’d go and handle all of that. He’d keep busy.
He moved over to the corner and crouched down next to the broken glass and picked up the pieces, putting the tinier ones inside the bigger base. Then he paused for a second. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, calling up his messages.
Can I help you?
Quit creeping.
If you want a tattoo, you’ll have to come inside.
Three texts. One number at the top.
If you want to talk to me, text me.
Only he’d never done that. Texting her would be out of character, out of the pattern.
He watched the cursor in the empty reply box blink. He could send her a message, warning her about his father, but he didn’t think Brendan would actually do anything to her. Brendan had railed about Tani and Paul remaining in what he viewed as his town, but as far as Nicholas knew, the old man had never actually confronted them.
He swiped his thumb over the conversation and stared at the Delete box. He should do it. Remove the temptation of even having her number. He accepted the deletion, an odd sense of loss moving through him at erasing his link to her.
It’s still in the cloud.
Technology. It ensured no ex was ever truly gone.
He tucked the phone back into his pocket and finished cleaning up the glass. As he was leaving the room, he grabbed the untouched tray of cookies to deliver to his staff.
He picked up a chocolate chip cookie. The dough was soft, depressing under his fingertips, the chocolate smearing over his thumb. He lifted it to his mouth and took a tiny bite, the bittersweet chocolate exploding on his tongue.
Not healthy.
He licked his thumb and dropped the cookie in the trashcan on the way out. The wind-up man was back in his case, and there he would stay.
There was no other choice, not for him. Or Livvy.