“What can I say?” he asked, doing that thing again where he disdainfully took in my attire. “I’ve got certain standards to maintain. The real question is, how much are you willing to pay to keep your girlfriend safe?
“Safe?” I croaked, swallowing down the sudden feeling of dread that had lodged in my windpipe. Rosalie had said Blake wasn’t violent, but …
“Half a million dollars, and I walk away from Rose forever.”
I swallowed again, my dread doubling. I didn’t have five hundred thousand dollars. “What if I don’t have access to that kind of cash?” I asked, already fearing his response.
He tsked as he moved toward his car. “Your dad is worth nearly a billion dollars, and you can’t come up with a fraction of that? You’re lucky I didn’t ask for more.” He stopped and turned to me, rubbing the point of his chin between his thumb and index finger with exaggerated slowness. “Hmm. Maybe I should skip all this and just go straight to Daddy Kelly. I bet he’d pay handsomely to keep his family’s name out of the papers.”
I snorted. “You’re insane.”
“Am I?” he drawled. “Or are you in love with a little fire bug?”
“Do you even hear yourself right now?” I huffed with exasperation. “You’re speaking in riddles.”
“I assure you, when I go to the police with evidence that Rosalie started the fire at the gallery it’ll be quite clear what I’m saying.”
“What evidence?”
“Video,” he smirked. “Of your lover walking out of the gallery as flames shattered the windows.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged. “You don’t have to. The question is, will the police?”
My hands started to shake and my ears rang as a jolt of adrenaline shot straight through my body. Anyone else and I’d think they were bluffing, but Blake had managed to skirt the law at every turn somehow. If he’d successfully managed to convince a notary that Rosalie’s signature was valid, what else was he capable of?
“Has this been your goal all along?” I asked, wondering how long this had been in the works.
“Honestly? No. But when Gloria told me all about you, my plans shifted.”
“Gloria?” I swallowed.
He chuckled, the sound almost fond. “That crazy old bat called me a couple of weeks ago, begging me to let Rose move on. She absolutely adores you, by the way. Always hated me, I’m afraid. The question is, will she still love you when she finds out you could have saved her daughter from jail but chose not to?”
When he crouched down to drop into his seat, I found myself suddenly blurting, “Give me a week.”
He smiled like the cat who’d caught the canary and reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. Passing me a business card, he said, “I’ll be in Burlington for the next three days. After that, I tell the cops what I know.”
I stood there absolutely dumbfounded, unable to form a reply.
“Seventy-two hours,” he warned, yanking the door closed and driving off
I stood in the yard for a long time after he left, feeling blindsided, outmatched, and sick to my stomach.
29
Preston
How far would you go for the woman you loved? That was the question I’d been mulling for the last hour. I wanted nothing more than to see Rosalie safe and happy, which meant she needed Blake out of her life as soon as possible.
Theoretically, I had the power to make that happen.
All I had to do was ask my dad to release the money he’d placed in a revocable trust for each of his kids the first time he’d landed on one of those “richest men in Massachusetts” lists he was so proud of. Colton was eighteen at the time and had thrown an absolute fit when we’d learned the trust would be managed by a custodian until each of our thirty-fifth birthdays—a tactic usually reserved for minors.
Given that I was mere months away from that seminal date, I couldn’t see an issue with him granting access to the funds early … except, of course, for the fact that I’d all but turned my back on my family.
I groaned and dropped my head forward into my palms. The only thing I wanted less in life than to grovel at my dad’s feet was to see Rosalie framed for a crime that I knew deep in my gut she didn’t commit. And Blake, that diabolical asshole, somehow knew it.
With a sigh of resignation, I pushed back from the table and climbed the stairs to shower. Whether I liked it or not, this called for an in-person conversation.
On my way out the door, I called Rosalie. Not that I expected to reach her. Since starting her job as the events manager at Speakeasy the week before, she’d been coming home later and later every night. When the call went to voicemail, I left a message letting let her know that a family emergency had come up that required me to head down to Boston for a couple of days. I promised to be back as soon as possible.
What was the protocol for entering the house you were raised in but hadn’t set foot inside of since you’d thrown your entire Easter dinner—fine bone china plate included—into the garbage and stormed out? Did you knock, ring the doorbell, or just wander in unannounced?
Standing on the front stoop, I didn’t have to wonder for long. As I raised my hand to knock, the door opened, and my mother stepped out, gasping when she saw me. “Preston!” She set her palm to her chest.
“Hi, Ma.” She tossed a worried glance over her shoulder. “It’s okay,” I said. “I already saw his car.”
She pulled the door closed. “You’re not here to cause any trouble, are you? Margaux is …” Tears filled her eyes, and her chin wobbled. “Her pregnancy has been difficult. She can barely keep any food down.”
I hadn’t known that. There was obviously no love lost between us, but I would never wish something like that on her or my bastard brother. I wasn’t a monster. Briefly, I realized my mom wasn’t so sure about that. Clearly, she’d been worried I might cause a scene. Had I really been that awful? No, I thought. My parents’ reaction had been the truly awful part of all of this. Still, I was here with my cap in hand, so I needed to park my anger and resentment. It wouldn’t help my cause to point any of this out to her.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. I felt vaguely terrible for Colton and Margaux the way I would for anyone in their situation, but I had bigger worries than whether or not she spent every morning barfing up her breakfast. Although, I couldn’t remember a time when she’d actually ever eaten breakfast in front of me. “And for what it’s worth, I’m not here to cause problems. I just need to talk with Dad about something pretty important. Is he around?”
She sighed. “No. He’s at the club with Randall.”
“Ah,” I hummed. She didn’t need to tell me what that meant. My dad did more business at his country club than he did in his actual office.
“Mackenna is beside herself,” my mom confided in a whisper.
Of course she was. I understood all too well what it was like to find out your father had strung you along for years with no intention of making good on his promises. The realization had stung like a motherfucker. “So it’s a done deal then? Dad’s naming Randall CEO?”
She sighed even more dramatically. “Yes. And I haven’t heard the end of it since he told your sister last week.”
“I imagine not,” I mused, the conversation tapering off. We stood there looking at one another expectantly for a couple of long, quiet seconds. “Anyway,” I said, breaking the silence. “Do you know what time he’ll be back?”
She lifted her arm to check the gold Rolex watch that circled her wrist. “Probably not for another couple of hours,” she said, dropping her hand back down. “Magda is roasting a salmon for dinner tonight. Should I have her set a place for you at the table?”
I backed down the brick steps. “No, that’s okay. I have plans already. Can you tell Dad I stopped by and need to talk with him?”
“Sure,” she said, her head cocked to the side. “Should I tell him what it’s about?”
“Nah,” I answered, continuing to take backw
ard steps down the brick-lined path to the driveway. “Have him call me?”
My mom nodded, her brow scrunching with concern. Well, trying to scrunch at any rate. She’d had a lot of Botox over the years, so she mostly looked constipated at moments like this. “Where are you staying?” she called out suddenly.
“I’m at the Kimpton.”
Her lips pursed with distaste. She was old money Boston and not a fan of anything described as hip or fresh. “You could always stay here, you know,” she offered.
I shook my head and smiled sadly. “No I can’t, Ma.”
She blew out a breath. “Well, I offered.”
I nodded once and then jogged the rest of the way down the long brick driveway to the street and climbed up into my truck. “Fuck,” I muttered, gripping the steering wheel and dropping my forehead down to rest against it.
I wasn’t going to be able to head back to Colebury today after all. I’d wasted too much time trying to track my dad down. I needed to speak with him, and soon. And not just because I hated being here. The seventy-two hours Blake had given me to come up with the cash were quickly ticking down to zero.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket to let Rosalie know I’d be here one more day. I hoped I wasn’t wrong.
I slid my keycard back into my wallet and pushed the door to my hotel room open with my back, my arms laden with heavy shopping bags. With nothing to do but kill time, I’d headed out to Dorchester to stock up on new work boots from my favorite shop, and now I was just waiting for my dad to call.
Ten minutes later, my phone finally rang. I took a deep breath. Asking your parent for money was never easy, but this situation was made all the more difficult by the fact that he was definitely going to ask why I couldn’t just wait a few more months. I’d gone round and round all day long, testing out one made-up reason after the other, but in the end, none sounded sufficiently dire enough. I had absolutely no fucking idea how I was supposed to explain this to him.
I hit the green button and raised my phone to my ear. “Hi, Dad.”
“Preston,” he answered curtly. “Your mother said it was important. What can I do for you?”
My heart galloped uncontrollably against my breastbone. “I need access to my trust.”
There was a brief silence before he asked why—just that one solitary word.
“I’m …” I blew out a breath. “A friend’s in trouble.”
“A friend?” he asked disbelievingly. “You mean Mikey, don’t you?”
It was no secret how my dad felt about my best friend. When Mikey’s mom, a beautiful young waitress from the wrong part of Boston, had gotten knocked up by the rich, younger son of one of the city’s most prominent politicians, he’d done right by her. Unfortunately, the folks in his circle—including my parents—had never accepted her as one of their own. They’d been especially put out anytime her rough and tumble brothers had come for a visit.
When Mikey’s parents divorced, his mom had moved back to Southie to be closer to her family, taking her rebellious, mouthy teenaged son with her. Every parent in the neighborhood had breathed a sigh of relief. My dad had never gotten over the fact that Mikey and I continued to be friends, and he blamed every sign of my own rebellion on his influence.
“No, Dad. It’s not Mikey. It’s … a woman I’m seeing,” I admitted, wincing at how utterly lame and not at all important that made our relationship sound. “Actually, it’s my girlfriend. Her name’s Rosalie.”
“And what kind of a woman needs ten million dollars?” he barked.
“It’s not like that,” I tried to explain. “I just need a couple hundred thousand to pay off her ex.” I winced again. That sounded equally terrible.
He snorted derisively. “Sure, you do. And what happens when that woman gets her grubby little hands on your fortune and runs straight back to him? Are you really that stupid, Preston?”
“That’s not going to happen,” I countered hotly, my pulse thrumming wildly against my neck. This was going even worse than I’d feared.
“Riiiiight,” he sneered, drawing the word out. “What happened to all the money from when you sold your house?”
“I put it back into my business.”
He hummed thoughtfully, as though I’d finally said something he couldn’t find fault with. “Mikey introduced you, didn’t he? I’ve always said—”
“Don’t say it,” I seethed, cutting him off before he could spout more nonsense. I’d call it racist garbage, but as an Irish Catholic himself, my dad’s views on “Mikey’s people” were really just your basic, run-of-the-mill classism made all the more disgusting by the fact that when Seamus Kelly and Colm O’Leary had emigrated from Ireland, they’d arrived with only the clothes on their backs and a few personal belongings. As far as I could discern, the only significant differences between the two men was that my great grandfather had gotten lucky, whereas Mikey’s hadn’t. “Fine,” he acquiesced. “But you know—”
“Yes, I know,” I sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Look, I love Rosalie and I’m going to marry her someday. Hopefully sooner rather than later. You giving me access to that money a couple of months early will help make it sooner.”
“How can you be sure that she—”
“I’m sure, Dad. Trust me.”
He blew out a long breath. “And you absolutely cannot wait six months?”
“I can’t wait six hours,” I said, feeling the proverbial noose tightening around my neck. I had less than twenty-four hours to get the money to Blake. I wasn’t going to make it.
Even if my dad signed off on releasing the funds, I’d have to jump through a ton of bureaucratic red tape to actually access them. Not to mention the time it would take for the bank to receive the cash and then allow me to withdraw what I needed. Briefly, I wondered how Blake felt about a payment plan, because right now, that was the only way I saw this working out. Assuming, of course, I could get my hands on the cash at all. It was looking less and less likely the longer this conversation went on.
“This wouldn’t be happening, you know, if you dated a woman of your own station. Men like us can never be too careful of gold diggers.”
I bit back a curse. He knew absolutely nothing about Rosalie; he’d just assumed that she was beneath me. No, beneath him. Meanwhile, he was a serial cheater who treated his family like yesterday’s trash. But he was rich as Croesus, so I guessed that was all that mattered in his opinion.
“You might recall that I was engaged to a woman of my supposed station, and she went and fucked my brother when his trust paid out. So forgive me if I’m not buying into your classist garbage.”
“How dare you!” he sputtered. “After everything I’ve done for you. Everything I’ve sacrificed.”
“What, exactly, have you sacrificed?” I shouted back, losing every last semblance of cool that I’d been clinging to. “Growing up, you were never home for dinner. The only time you actually ate meals with us was at holidays; every other day of the year, you’d rather spend your time with your cronies down at the country club or out schmoozing suppliers. You never visited me at college, and you missed my graduation. When I asked if I could take on projects at work that really mattered to me, you gave them to someone else. And when my fucking fiancée cheated on me, you took her side! So forgive me, but you’ve sacrificed absolutely nothing for me.” My chest sawed in and out with angry, emotional breaths.
On the other end of the line, my dad cleared his throat. “Are you finished?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice shallow.
“Good, because so am I. You’ll get your money, and then we’re through.”
He hung up before I could say another word.
30
Rosalie
“Okay, just one more thing.” I checked off the last box on my list and slid my pen into its holder on my clipboard. “We only have a handful of tickets left for our Roaring Twenties New Year’s Eve party, so if your friends or family are planning to attend, make sure they buy their
tickets sooner rather than later. We have a really great night planned, including a special set from our very own Sasha Soul, and a champagne toast and balloon drop at midnight.” As the staff began to disperse, I added a quick, “If you have any questions, I’m here until three today!”
With Preston returning from Boston later tonight, I planned to head out early so I could stop at Gossamer, the fancy new lingerie shop on the town green, to pick up something extra special to welcome him home. He’d only been gone a couple of days, but I missed him like crazy—especially since we hadn’t spoken much while he’d been away.
I was still kind of fuzzy on why he’d had to go down to Boston in the first place, but I didn’t want to stress him out any more than he already was by asking a bunch of questions. Clearly, whatever the reason for his visit, it weighed heavily on his shoulders.
I pushed open the door to my office and stepped inside. And by office, I meant a large, unused supply closet Alec had said was mine for the taking. Given that I’d need a private, dedicated space to meet with potential clients looking to book us for their event, I’d spent my first day on the job giving it a thorough deep cleaning. From there, I’d added a petite, wooden desk my mom had found on the side of the road that I’d painted black and two wooden chairs I’d picked up at a second-hand store for guests to sit in since all of the restaurant’s chairs were otherwise in use. For decor, I’d hung a multi-paned mirror that looked enough like a window that it might trick me into thinking I wasn’t holed up in a closet, some artsy black and white pictures I’d taken around the property, and a plant that was probably going to die given the aforementioned lack of sunlight. It felt … homey. Cute. But most of all, it felt like mine.
For the next hour or so, I returned a handful of emails, including an inquiry from a movie scout interested in viewing both Speakeasy and The Gin Mill as possible filming locations for a movie set to begin shooting after the new year. As I was wrapping up my note to Alec, Griffin, Otto, and Lyle containing all the pertinent details, a knock sounded at my door.
Homecoming (Speakeasy) Page 20
