by K. Webster
Me: You’re distracting me from my lunch date.
Ash: With Layla (said in the same voice Perry says Tate). Are you halfway to Vegas with your future Stepford wife?
Tate. I’m pretty sure I say it in my head in the same voice as Perry. Like it tastes like sour lemons or earwax or something equally cringe-worthy.
Me: Yes, I’ll send you a postcard from my honeymoon.
Ash: Just think of my mouth when she gives you a boring blowie so you’ll actually come.
Me: Awfully sure of your blowjob skills.
Ash: If you need a reminder, you know where the whore apartment is.
Me: You reek of desperation, Cinderelliott.
Ash: I know what makes you hot, Win.
She sends me a winky-face emoji. I send her back the middle finger.
“I really hope it works out for you,” Layla says. “I can tell you’re smitten.”
I shove the phone in my pocket and pull out my wallet, ignoring her assumption. “Lunch was nice. Let’s do it again sometime.”
“Bring the girlfriend next time.” She stands and offers me a smile. “I miss that kind of easy love. It’s refreshing to see again. That doesn’t always happen in our world.”
With those words, she leaves me dumfounded at the table.
Girlfriend. No.
Love. Not just no, but fuck no.
Then explain the stupid thumping in your chest from just a few playful texts from that crazy, beautiful girl.
I can’t explain it.
After dropping a wad of cash onto the table, I stride out of the restaurant. I’ve just made it outside when someone calls my name.
Meredith.
“I wanted to catch you alone,” she says, her paid-for tits bouncing as she rushes my way. “How are you doing? Really? The news is horrible.”
The predatory glint in her eyes says she’s waiting for me to show some sort of weakness so she can sink her teeth into it.
“I’ll live,” I clip out.
“If you ever need to talk,” she starts but then frowns at something behind me. Her face blanches and then she hugs me.
I try to crane my neck to see what it is she’s looking at but by the time she releases me, I don’t see anything but hurried people rushing by along the sidewalk.
“What is it?” I demand. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She drops her gaze to the concrete at our feet. “It’s, uh, a stalker. I’m so embarrassed.”
“You’re embarrassed about having a stalker,” I say slowly. “As though you have any control over that.”
But we both know she’s a liar.
I play along because that’s the name of the game.
“Want me to call your husband?” I offer, reaching into my pocket for my phone.
“Oh, God no,” she hisses, her face scrunching up in disgust. “He’s worthless. He’d probably sell me to my stalker if he thought he could turn a good profit.”
Poor, pitiful Meredith.
“Best run back inside where it’s safe, then.” I give her a nod of my head. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
I disappear into the crowd bustling by. On the way to where my driver will be waiting, I call Ulrich and put him on one more task.
“I need video footage in front of a restaurant. Can you get it for me?”
“I can get whatever you want, boss. All’s you gotta do is ask.”
Your secrets won’t be secrets for long, Meredith.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ash
We’re not broken.
Still fractured, but not broken.
I knew my Uber threat would get him. I’m a little smug at the fact I was able to distract him while on his lunch date. It was like the old Win was back—my Win.
He never returned from his lunch date. While it annoyed me, I didn’t let it bug me too much. Perry said Layla isn’t his type and that Win has an ulterior motive. I have to trust in that because the alternative hurts too much.
“What happened in Paris?” I ask, looking up from the file spread out in front of me to meet Perry’s tired stare.
“You’re all over the place today,” he replies, frowning.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Nothing good.”
“Still doesn’t answer it.”
I lift a brow, conveying I’m not going to let this go.
“Why do you care? Where is this even coming from?”
“I just noticed Halcyon does a lot of business in France. If Win had to jump on a plane to take care of something, I figured it must be important.”
“Everything my brother does is important.”
I try not to preen at the idea I’m considered important based on that logic.
Perry studies me for a beat as if he can see inside my mind to figure out where I’m going with all this. I’m not even sure, really. All I know is the files I’ve been poring over today are filled with French names just like the contracts I was looking over earlier this week with Nate.
“A big acquisition we were working on over there fell through at the last minute. Everything was good and then suddenly we were being steamrolled by another buyer.” He scowls. “No one outbids a Constantine.”
“And yet you lost it anyway?”
“Is that why Nate’s been digging so deep through all those foreign contracts?”
Perry’s brow furls and he opens his mouth to speak but a light tap at his door stops him. “It’s open,” he calls out, his voice filled with gruff authority that reminds me of his brother.
The door swings open and Caroline Constantine’s presence fills the office like a gust of icy air, freezing me to my marrow.
“Mom,” Perry says, rising to his feet, a bright smile on his face.
She thaws a little at his greeting and accepts the hug he gives her. I’ve never seen her anything less than frigid and poised, but with Perry, she’s a bit warmer than usual. He has that way about him.
“What’s up?” he asks her, pulling back to study her face with a glint of worry on his features. “Winny isn’t here. Lunch date with Layla and then who knows what after.”
The fact he now says Layla like he says Tate has me smothering a grin.
Like the perceptive woman she is, Caroline zeroes in on me. “Layla, hmm? Lovely woman.”
“Lovely Layla,” Perry deadpans.
“You know the name of her yacht.” Caroline’s lips twitch slightly as though she might smile, pleased with her son’s sleuthing skills.
“As do you,” I mutter, unable to keep quiet.
Her narrowed eyes find me and she peels me apart layer by layer. I have nothing to hide. Not now. Win knows I was dealing with stalker Leo and the whole damn world knows about our sex life.
“Just the woman I came to see,” Caroline says, her words chilly and borderline cruel. “Would it be possible to steal you away?”
That sounds ominous.
I’m about to tell her I’m busy helping Perry when he shoots me a pleased grin. “Take her. She’s making me work too hard anyway.”
“Can’t have that now, can we?” Caroline murmurs. “Your brother works hard enough the rest of you don’t have to.”
“But he does work hard,” I can’t help but defend. “Perry’s smart and dedicated like Win is. This isn’t some blow-off job he got because of his brother. He enjoys it and is really good at it.”
Perry rubs at the back of his neck like he’s both embarrassed and surprised. They should remind him of how important he is to their family. Just because he’s not ruthless like Win doesn’t mean he’s not a capable contributor.
“Let’s go, Miss Elliott. We have much to discuss.” Caroline turns to her son, pulling something off his lapel—a stray hair or piece of lint—before saying, “Don’t work too hard, son. I’m looking forward to brunch again soon with my children. Say you’ll make it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he agrees and I can tell he means it. “Go easy on her, Mom
.”
“Oh, you sweet, sweet boy,” Caroline says. “Nothing is easy in our world.”
* * *
Another awkward car ride with the matriarch of the Constantine empire. This one is only amplified by the fact she knows I’ve been up to some really naughty stuff with her eldest son. I try not to fidget in my seat, but it proves to be an impossible feat when Caroline’s hard eyes flay me where I sit.
“Where are we going?” I ask, unable to keep quiet any longer.
“Shopping.” Her lips thin out. “Then dinner. My treat.”
Most women would probably die to go shopping with a Constantine and then get treated to dinner by her. Not me. I want to run far, far away. But, if I plan on keeping Win for the long term, then that means I have to play nice with his scary mommy.
“What is it, dear? You look nervous.”
I bark out a slightly crazed laugh. “I’m wondering if ‘shopping’ is code for something sinister like strangulation and ‘dinner’ is code for dumping my body in the Hudson.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” she purrs, her blue eyes alight with mirth.
A joke.
She knows how to joke.
Who knew?
For some reason, this settles me a bit and I take to enjoying the hustling people on every sidewalk. Rather than taking me to some warehouse to off me, we pull up in front of Brookfield Place. The mall is one I’ve been to many times over the years but it doesn’t exactly strike me as the sort of place Caroline would visit.
“I’ll call you when we’re done,” she tells the driver when he opens her car door and offers his hand.
I follow her out, accepting his help, and then shoot Caroline an expectant look. She keeps her lips pursed. In a serious, businesslike way that reminds me of Win, she heads straight inside, making a beeline for the first store she wants to visit. Salvatore Ferragamo. I’m not in the market for a new purse or wallet, so I just stand nearby as she runs her finger along a leather handbag.
Since she’s not talking to me, I decide to text Win a selfie. His response is immediate.
Win: Handbag shopping with my mother. You’ve sunk to new lows, Cinderelliott.
Me: I thought we decided we leveled up. Playing the big game here. Remember?
Win: And here I thought the game was over…
Me: You ignore me for three days and thought I’d go away? It’s like you don’t even know me.
I send him a few heart-eye emojis since he loves them. Naturally, he doesn’t respond.
Caroline purchases a purse and then we’re off to the next store. I’m patient as I wait for her to get to the point of all this. I’m not stupid. She doesn’t drag someone like me along unless she has an agenda. Like Winston, she enjoys toying with her victim first. But, since I’m used to him, I let her get it out of her system.
We pass by a candy store and a disproving shake to her head has me skipping it. I nearly roll my eyes but then remember this is Caroline, not Win. That kind of disrespect might earn me more than a spanking. Swimming in the Hudson doesn’t sound like my idea of a fun time.
She ushers me into a furniture and décor store. Despite not being here to shop for myself, I manage to find a cute set of salt and pepper shakers shaped like pink birds. Her brow lifts at my purchase.
“Win will like them,” I explain. “It’ll remind him of Shrimp.”
Her features pinch as she tries to interpret my words. Finally, she gives up and points to the register. After I’ve paid and they’ve bagged it up, I follow her back out of the store to the busy mall. This goes on forever, but soon I grow used to her intense silence. It makes me miss my mom. If she were still here, we’d probably take mall shopping trips all the time.
Caroline, keen on everything around her including me, gestures to an upscale grille. “I’m famished. Will this place do?”
It’s a bit below a billionairess’s normal dining choice, but it smells good enough to make my stomach growl.
“Perfect,” I agree.
Once we’re seated by a window that overlooks the North Cove Marina, she orders a bottle of wine and then finally turns her intense gaze on me.
“So,” she says, her critical eye raking down my front, taking in every tiny detail about me. “You caused quite a stir for my son.”
“Quite.” I pin her with a fierce look.
She waits for a beat before smoothing her delicate palm over her linen napkin. “Your family must be horrified.”
“Not as much as me, I can assure you.”
“You’re ashamed.”
“Not of Win.”
Her brows furl, anger flashing in her eyes. “Of course not. I meant—”
“Of myself?” I scoff. “The things Win and I did were our business. I’m sure if you broadcast anyone’s sex life, it’d be humiliating.”
“What, then?”
“I was worried what his family would think.” What you would think.
“And why would you care?”
“You know why.”
“Spell it out for me, darling.”
“Because I like Win. Really, really, really like him.”
She grows impatient with my excessive use of really but I figure it’s more palatable than love. “Get to the point.”
“Team Constantine, remember?”
“Oh, yes, your silly ideations of becoming a part of my family.”
“Winston needs me.”
“Winston needs no one,” she spits out, words like acid.
“That’s not true. He needs his family. He needs people who have his back.”
“And that’s you?”
“Yes.”
She glares at me, waiting for me to elaborate or explain more. I don’t. That’s all there is to say. He needs me. Because I’m me and I get him in a way no one else does. Because I can make him lower his guard and be normal from time to time. Because I humanize him. I entertain him but I also give him an opportunity to be himself free of judgment or reparation.
“My dad told me recently that he and my mother gave up money for love. Not everything in this world has a monetary value. Some things are better when you don’t throw a black plastic credit card at them.”
“My AMEX is made of metal but that’s beside the point.”
“You loved your husband?”
“Of course,” she sneers. “What kind of odd question is that?”
“So many people in your, uh, social circle don’t always marry for love.”
“I loved Lane dearly.”
“If he were poor, would you still have loved him? If you were forced to give up the Italian leather handbags and personal drivers and metal credit cards with unlimited money attached to them? Would you still have chosen Lane?”
She doesn’t answer the question but I see the glimmer of love in her eyes. The flash of grief. She would have married him if he were poor. So she’s not the frigid ice queen she pretends to be. “That’s beside the point. Love doesn’t last.”
Or maybe she is a frigid ice queen. Something happened in her marriage. I don’t know what, but it made her this way. Jaded. “That’s sad,” I say, not disputing her words. It happened to her, but that doesn’t mean it will happen to me.
“You don’t love my son,” she says finally, “and he certainly can’t love you. I won’t allow it.”
“Why? Because of what Meredith did? No one is good enough for him or is it just me?”
“You’ve barely been in his life and look at all the drama you’ve caused.” She waves me off in dismissal. “He deserves better.”
“He deserves someone who cares about him. Someone who makes him happy. Someone who will fight him when he’s being an asshole. I’m going to take care of him whether you like it or not.”
“You?” She arches a beautiful, sculpted brow. “You have the means to take care of my son?”
“I’ll figure it out,” I tell her, shrugging my shoulders.
“That’s a childish view.”
“At l
east it’s not a cynical one. Winston takes care of everyone around him. He needs me to take care of him every once in a while.”
“Your tone is bordering on offensive and threatening. Constantines don’t take threats lightly.”
“He’s spent his entire life being rock-solid and impenetrable. The one time he softened, Meredith bit him in the ass.” I say her name a lot worse than I say Layla or how Perry says Tate. “He deserves to have tender moments and let his guard down.”
“And look how that’s turned out for him with you,” she sneers.
“Do you know what his favorite ice cream is?”
Her glare is chilly but I don’t let it bother me. “He doesn’t eat ice cream.”
“Cherry Garcia.” I give her a bitchy smile. “Did you also know when he’s still and not thinking about the weight of his empire, he toys with my hair in such a sweet, absent way that makes my heart ache?” My eyes water, just thinking about him. I’m tired of this distance between us. I miss him. “Lane wasn’t hard all of the time, was he? I bet behind closed doors and with his children, he was loving and tender.”
She turns her head, staring out at the marina. I admire her profile. Even with the sun shining in, highlighting her every detail, she’s young and vibrant and beautiful. I’m sure Lane was smitten with her. People don’t have that many kids and not enjoy each other immensely.
“I can make him happy,” I say softly. “Once he realizes that, nothing will stop us. Not even you.”
Her eyes cut over to me and she peels back my every layer as though seeing parts of me I don’t even know exist. I hold my chin high and meet her stare. My dad wouldn’t fight for me, but I’ll fight for Win. Even if that means going against his scary mother and his stubborn ego.
“Let’s order, darling. Time is getting away from us.”
* * *
Caroline conveniently takes a call just as we pull up in front of my apartment building. It’s such a Winston thing to do. Avoid an awkward goodbye by feigning being busy. But, because I’m me, I interrupt her conversation to thank her and give her a hug. She’s stiff and doesn’t return the hug. No surprise there. The driver opens the door for me and I exit. Once he retrieves my bag from the trunk, he opens the front door for me to usher me inside. I linger as I watch him return to the car.
