Chapter Three
“What do you mean no?”
“It’s a simple word, Meg. I know you weren’t accustomed to it, especially from me, but I am not going to just walk away and leave you to whatever this destructive game is that you’re playing with your life.”
“See, right there, it’s my life.”
The waitress arrived with two steaming plates of food just as Megan was looking about the table for cutlery to filet him with. He was the most infuriating man. As the waitress moved to set Brandon’s plate of pasta in front of him, Megan grinned and reached out.
“Actually, that’s for me.” Without batting a false eyelash, the waitress set the cream laden pasta in front of Megan, serving Brandon the grilled meat and vegetables. How he hated vegetables.
Megan quickly twirled her fork into the fettuccini, feeling better than she had all day. In her previous life, she’d been too concerned about calories and carbs to indulge in something so decadent. Let Brandon be good with the zucchini and peppers, she was going to comfort herself with scallops and parmesan.
“Could you bring a bottle of sauvignon blanc?” She named her favorite Napa valley vintage and only wondered for two seconds about the price. “One glass. He’s driving.”
“Sure thing.” The waitress was only gone long enough for Megan to get through her first bite before returning with the wine. Megan swirled the wine in her glass and breathed in the fresh scent of passion fruit and lime. One sip and she reveled in the zesty citrus taste. She loved how wine could encompass so many flavors at once.
“That wine goes with your lunch,” Brandon looking longingly at the plate of pasta.
“It really does.” Megan smiled and took another sip, glad Brandon got to be the one to want something he couldn’t have for once. “Are you going to tell me what you know about my sister now?”
He used his fork to play with the vegetables, and then seemed to give up and lay it aside. “Ava is in New York.”
Megan blinked slowly. “You’re kidding.”
“She’s starting her own business.”
Maybe there was something to Wendy’s reality-television theory. Megan looked around for cameras, because the only thing Ava was driven to do was the chauffer.
“It seems like she and Sullivan are pretty serious.”
“Sullivan?”
“Jack Sullivan? Quiet guy, designed those computer games for that social networking site and made a mint.”
Megan pulled her shoulders back and wondered what kind of alternative universe her sister had walked into, and where she might find the door. “She stopped going out with him because he never tried to sleep with her, and you know how every guy wants to get with Ava. She thought he was using her as some kind of beard.”
“He’s a pretty stand-up guy. She looks as if what went down is the best thing that ever happened to her. Well, except she’s worried about you since you haven’t returned her calls or emails.”
Megan closed her eyes and shook her head, wishing she’d been able to get the phone working by now. Ava seemed to have taken her idea to find a guy willing to support her until she was back on her feet all the way to the bank. But more than that, if what Brandon was saying were true, Ava might just have grown up, at least a little. She looked over at Brandon and a wave of sadness washed over her again. When she needed him most, he’d been face-first in another woman. She prayed Jack Sullivan really did ride in on a white horse.
“Your sister is worried about the fight you two had the last time she saw you.”
“Did you tell her that I’m fine and how to find me?”
“You haven’t been taking her calls or emails, so I assumed you didn’t want her to know about your current…situation.”
“I don’t have an email address except the one I use for fundraising for the shelter. She hasn’t sent anything there. Maybe she signed me up for one to go along with that ridiculously expensive phone she gave me. It’s been dead since before we fought, and a new charger costs more than I’ve been able to pull together.”
“A cell-phone charger is like twenty bucks. I have a drawer full of them.”
Megan shook her head. “Ava had to have these phones that charge using a power pad. There is nowhere to plug anything into the phone, so they look sleek, but unless you have your little power phone mat, you’re sunk.”
“She bought one of those?”
“She bought three. She’s always looking to get the next thing before everyone else.” Megan tucked into the pasta again. “What kind of business is she starting?”
“Some online thing renting purses. It doesn’t make much sense to me but she’s excited about it and Sullivan thinks it will float. She’s already done a test market.”
The food and wine weren’t helping. She was supposed to be the savvy Carlton sister. Ava was sexy, Briana was smart, and yet the savvy one had a GED and an apartment on the wrong side of Pasadena. Somewhere along the way she’d miscalculated and her high road had taken her very low.
Brandon continued to pepper the silence with random bits about her sisters’ new lives. Briana’s classes at the university and internship at boutique hotel, Ava writing a business plan, and a few things about the weather that showed how uncomfortable he was with the silence. “You can use my phone to call her.”
Megan shook her head and poured another glass of wine. She was too embarrassed to tell her sisters how her righteous indignation had turned out. She was learning to take care of herself, but she was also learning how impossibly hard it was to be completely on your own.
If she’d had the same opportunities as her sisters, she might have veered from her path and taken another. But the only man she’d ever slept with was sitting across the table and she couldn’t leave southern California for her cat-loving aunt’s home.
Self-pity felt like quicksand, so Megan grabbed on to the edge of what she could to pull herself out. “Why were you in New York? Stalking my sister, too?”
A slow grin spread across his handsome face. “If I was stalking you, you would have been prey long ago. I was researching a textile firm we were thinking of acquiring, so I tracked down Ava while I was there.”
“I’m sure you were disappointed to find she didn’t need rescuing. Were you hoping for some of her infamous gratitude?” The problem with having a secret affair was that no one would know they were hurting you by sleeping with your ex. She was even more grateful for Jack Sullivan than before.
“She’s your sister.”
Megan shrugged. “Your scruples aren’t so exacting, and she doesn’t know we ever had anything going on. It could happen.”
“No.”
Megan drank the wine, but it had lost its flavor. She just wanted a hole she could crawl into and hide until her mind thought of a way out. The only option she could think of to protect herself from Brandon and her father was a time machine, but even if they made an app for that, she couldn’t afford it. She set down her empty glass and rubbed the back of her neck. The wine was making her melodramatic.
It also made her want revenge. She wanted her father to have to try to sleep someplace he knew he wasn’t altogether safe instead of in some beach bungalow, and she wanted Brandon’s heart to bleed when he realized what he thought was his never was. She didn’t have the first clue where her father might be, and she doubted Brandon cared enough about his current lover to be hurt by her and vice versa. The peroxide junkie rolled through hunky underwear models at a speed that rivaled Ava’s collection of former bedmates.
If you don’t care, you can’t get hurt.
Why hadn’t she learned that lesson sooner? Her mind was in overdrive and she couldn’t help the answer. Because she’d thought that Brandon truly cared for her. She knew better, but hope had tricked her into feeling safe when she’d never been in more danger.
The waitress came by with the dessert menu, but Megan was no longer tempted. When Brandon handed over a slew of cash without even looking at the bill, remorse flooded her. The high road might have brought her to a dark place, but she didn’t want to derail. If she kept moving, maybe she’d be out of this hell before the devil got his due.
“I’ll pay for my half.” She took out her wallet and began fingering the bills, hating that they were all singles.
“We talked hotels, so it’s a business expense. It’s not my money or your money. Does that make you feel better?”
She shook her head and zipped her handbag closed. “Seeing you seems to make me feel worse. Go ahead, take it personally.” Her eyes felt heavy but she wouldn’t let him see her break, wouldn’t let him see how what he’d done made her feel terminally stupid.
“You can’t blame yourself for what’s happened.”
“Oh, I don’t. I blame you completely.” She was trying to at least. If what Brandon was saying had even a modicum of truth, she might have played a part in her father’s downfall. If not for her, Brandon might not have ever bothered to examine what was going on at Carlton hotels, her father might never have decided to take everything and run.
Megan stood and the room spun. She grabbed the back of her chair as her gaze snagged on the empty wine bottle. She could add lush to her impressive résumé now.
Brandon took her arm. If he noticed that she’d had too much to drink he didn’t let on as he guided her out of the restaurant and into the Escalade. She held herself close to the door and stared out the window, needing to be behind the locked door of her apartment so she could release the ugly emotions churning within her.
Brandon started the engine, his hands gripping at the steering wheel. “I am sorry about all this, Meg.”
“I doubt you know how to be sorry.” She leaned her head against the cool glass of the window and promised herself that someday he would be very, very sorry.
…
He was either glutton for punishment or completely in love. Brandon tucked the blanket around Megan and crawled back out of the SUV. He’d reclined the seat, but he figured if he moved her she’d wake up as mad as a skunked dog.
Instead, he stood in his garage like some kind of lunatic and watched her sleep. He’d missed that terribly. Megan was a spitfire during her waking hours, but when she dreamed she looked like an angel. She was strong and delicate and idealistic to a fault, with honest convictions about the rights of the less fortunate. He missed all those things about her, but most of all he ached for the way she used to look up at him.
Her gaze had held nothing but anger and hurt as of late, and he missed the excited joy, the teasing admiration of just a few months ago. Where had that woman gone, and was she too lost to let him bring her back?
He watched her through the windshield, knowing she’d be angrier than ever when she woke up. He hadn’t planned on taking her here, but when she’d fallen asleep while he was driving, he took advantage of the opportunity and made it all the way to his Malibu house. There was more to her anger than she was sharing, more than Ava had been able to clue him into, and he wasn’t about to let her out of his sight until he figured out what that was.
Not having Megan in his life had driven him to the edge. He’d never considered having a woman watched the way he had her under surveillance, or absconding with her while she slept, but he’d run out of options. Desperation did crazy things to a man. He had to take care of her, needed to make sure she was protected and comfortable. She had no choice but to let him. Going back to the way things had been was no longer an option.
…
Megan stretched her arms and twisted her head, trying to find a more comfortable position. Her fingers touched leather and her eyes shot open, the inside of Brandon’s SUV greeting her through the fog of sleep. Her brain began the slow process of connecting the dots of where she was.
In the waning evening light coming through windows on one side of the garage, she looked around to get her bearings—a three-car garage with a golf cart on one side of the SUV and on the other a Bentley convertible.
Neptune blue. She clenched her teeth as she bolted up and stared closer at the car.
Her car, or it had been before everything had gone down.
She tossed aside the blanket Brandon must have put on her and scrambled out of the SUV, barely taking the time to snatch her handbag from the floor. She ran her hand along the sleek exterior as she stepped to the passenger side and then said a silent prayer that Brandon hadn’t set the alarm. She reached inside and flipped open the glove box, a tiny thrill shooting through her when she saw the charging mat she’d left there.
Everything else was there too—the driving moccasins she changed to if her heels were too high, her ebook reader, the braided leather leash, a bag of dog treats and a roll of pooch poop bags. Her heart clenched.
A small sob escaped her before she could rein it in. She quickly schooled her emotions, biting the inside of her cheek, forcing steady breaths. She took her things from the glove box because they were hers. If she’d realized how serious things were with her finances, she would have cleaned out the car before it was towed out of the hotel parking lot. Their cars being seized is what had tipped off the hotel staff, sending them into homelessness.
She looked around the garage again, a sense of familiarity starting to bloom. The Malibu house, right on the beach and perfect for parties. She’d come to one of his infamous parties with Ava when she was much too young to be there, and had set her sights on him then. He was fresh out of military school, eager to make up for all the fun he hadn’t been having. His enthusiasm had been as magnetic as his cocksure grin. Every time he turned her down, it made her want him more, so much so that she lost all interest in the boys at school.
Megan’s heart squeezed for that naive girl who thought she could change the world without it changing her. If she’d known, she might have been able to convince herself Brandon Knight wasn’t the man for her. He’d told her as much back then.
She really needed to learn to listen.
Hitching her handbag on her shoulder, she made her way into the house. She couldn’t pick a fight with Brandon now. Malibu was at least an hour from Pasadena. There wasn’t a way to bus it, she’d have to get a cab, and the entire ride back to the apartment she’d be calculating how many hours she’d have to work to pay for it.
In the laundry room that separated the garage from the house, she slipped off her sneakers and finger combed her hair, hoping she didn’t look as exhausted as she felt. She didn’t want to show him any more weakness than she already had by falling asleep.
It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t been able to sleep for more than an hour without being jolted awake by some sound that terrified her. It was just the way things were right now, but not for much longer. Soon she’d have the money to take some computer classes, and then she’d find a job doing administrative work for someone who did fundraising, and eventually she’d be able to direct people with too much money towards the causes she believed in.
It had seemed so much better when she didn’t know her sister was an entrepreneur. Sleeping your way to security might not be altogether ethical, but it was damned effective.
Megan pushed open the door to the kitchen, smiling to herself as she took in the empty room. This was a beach house for the Knight family, so it wasn’t as done up as their home in Beverly Hills or as modern as Brandon’s penthouse. The russet-tinged paint gave the cool granite countertops a cozy feel, the butcher-block island holding the obligatory fruit bowl. The room was women’s-magazine perfect, but not designer. She’d always felt comfortable here, probably because over the years she and Brandon had managed to have sex in every room of the house. Usually while there was a party going on. He loved the thrill of being caught, got turned on by seeing her act as if nothing had happened.
It was probably those little thrills that had kept him interested for as long as he had been. As long as she stayed a fantasy, he could escape reality. Once she actually needed him, he wasn’t interested and started looking for his excitement elsewhere.
She hoped. It nauseated her to think he’d been sleeping with Gemma while they were together.
She carefully set her bag by the door and cleared her throat. Before she could call out to Brandon, the hollow sound of dog nails scrambling for purchase and tap dancing across the hardwoods thundered down the hall as he ran full bore into the kitchen. She knelt down in anticipation of Money, Brandon’s boxer.
He was there all right, trying to climb all over her, but Megan barely noticed. Her entire world had narrowed to one black bundle of fur. She caught Cash, the cockapoo Brandon had given her for her twenty-first birthday, as he leapt for her.
Every wall she’d built to keep herself moving forward crumbled in that instant. She was crying and laughing at the same time, Cash yipping his approval of her return to him. Megan felt every inch of her dog, forever a puppy, making sure he was as perfect as the day she’d left him with Kimberly. It took a while for the excitement of the reunion to calm enough for Megan to notice Brandon too had joined the fray, sitting across from her with Money stretched across his lap.
“Thank you.” She clutched her dog to her chest and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “It will be hell to give him back to Kimberly.”
Brandon leveled his gaze at her. “Kimberly didn’t have him.”
Megan knit her brow. “She gave him to you? But how did she know—”
“She left him at the kennel last month and headed to Paris. When your credit card was rejected they tried to call you, but you were having your cell-phone issue. They scanned the chip in his ear for another way to find you and found me instead.”
She rubbed the soft fur of Cash’s ear. “How?”
“I bought him, Megan.”
“For me.” She held him tighter, panic seizing her. He couldn’t possibly want her dog. It was too much, beyond anything else he’d already ripped from her. Her money, her hope, her pride were all his, but she wouldn’t let him separate her from the one thing that truly loved her back. Everyone else only cared for her as it suited them, present company included. She and Cash had formed a mutual admiration society since she’d first set eyes on him.
“Be glad I didn’t make a distinction between what was mine and what was yours. They might have sold him to someone who can take care of him.”
“I can take care of him.” She wiped at her eyes again, hating the tremor in her voice.
He reached out, laying a hand on her knee. She jerked away, wondering just what she’d do to keep the dog. Probably more than she’d do to actually be able to rewind time like she dreamed about.
“Relax, Meg. I’m not going to let anyone take Cash.”
She nodded and squeezed her eyes shut, immediately wishing tears hadn’t rolled down her cheeks. She clutched Cash tighter, but he’d had his fill and wriggled away. With reluctance, she let him go. He didn’t go far, just into the living room to return with his favorite ball. At least Kimberly had left his things with him when she’d abandoned him.
No, it wasn’t her fault. She had a life, one as lacking in responsibility as Megan’s had been. She couldn’t stay in town just because she had another dog to look after. God, life was unfair sometimes. Megan pulled her knees to her chest and gave herself a good squeeze.
Cash changed everything. It was one thing to surrender Brandon to Gemma Ryan, it was quite another to think of the tramp with her hands on her dog, too. Brandon had made his choice, and in the end she wasn’t surprised he couldn’t keep it in his pants. Hurt and wrecked and angry and devastated, sure.
Surprised, not so much.
She sat up straighter as her mind wove its way around a new plan, and a slow grin spread across her face. Curling up into a ball of depression and drowning in the quicksand of self-pity wasn’t an option. These were the cards she was dealt, and better to play them than fold.
The only way to win the game was to play. She’d judged Ava too harshly in her survival tactics. They’d worked out well for her, so Megan steadied herself to take a page out of her sisters’ playbook. After all, it was the only surefire way to get rid of Gemma Ryan once and for all.