You Never Know

by Mary Calmes

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t blame Mitch for—”

  “Oh no,” I assured her, taking hold of her hand. “No, no, no, all those choices were mine, all mine.”

  “But what—I mean, I don’t know what happened to you. Not exactly.”

  “That’s a story for another time, but I will tell you that I have pins and a titanium rod in my right leg,” I said, pretending to cry. “I’ll never dance again.”

  She grabbed a pillow and whacked the hell out of me, and it was even more funny because neither of us could make a sound since we didn’t want to wake the kids. Silent pillow fights were a brand-new thing.

  Once she went to bed, I got my ticket for LA.

  Chapter Eleven

  I HAD to fly from the airport in Brookings to Portland and then from Portland into Los Angeles. The whole trip took me three hours, and I was there after one in the afternoon. I had texted Ash on the fly so I was surprised when I came through security and out into the main terminal to find a guy there with my name on a piece of cardboard.

  “Hey,” I greeted the handsome man in a black suit that fit him better than anything I owned fit me. Clearly it had been made just for his compact, muscular frame. “I’m Hagen Wylie.”

  His smile was stunning, showing off even white teeth and deep, flashing dimples. The perfectly styled white-blond hair and big blue eyes were, I was guessing, an asset in any business. “Awesome. Welcome to Los Angeles, Mr. Wylie, I’m Theo Reeves, Mr. Lennox’s personal assistant. May I take your bag?”

  But the duffel wasn’t heavy and my laptop bag was a cross-body strap I didn’t want to deal with taking off. “No, I’m good.”

  “Okay, great. Well, I’m to drive you downtown, if you’re up to it, for a late lunch with Mr. Lennox,” he said cheerfully, steering me toward the door.

  “That sounds great.”

  “He asked for you to call him.”

  “Sure,” I agreed quickly.

  Calling his number, I walked beside Theo as we maneuvered though the crowds outside to the curb.

  “Are you here?” Ash asked instead of greeting me.

  “I am.”

  “Oh thank God. I thought you were going to bail on me.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I just—Mitch Thayer, right? That’s a lot to compete with.”

  “Most people would think of it as being the other way around.”

  “Yeah, but most people don’t know you have history with the man.”

  “Well, anyway. I’m here with Theo, so where are you taking me to eat?”

  “That’s what I wanted to know. Do you feel like sushi or steaks, Italian, or something else? You tell me where and I’ll make it happen.”

  I covered the phone and looked at Theo. “Where do I wanna eat?”

  He took a step back and looked at my clothes. I was in khaki cargo pants and my work boots, a light gray T-shirt, and a navy blue cardigan. I was the epitome of underdressed. “You can do Spago. I think you can get away with it because of the cardigan. Tell him you want to sit out on the patio.”

  I nodded. “Okay, so Theo says I can get away with Spago if we sit out on the patio.”

  He chuckled. “Excellent choice, I’ll meet you there.”

  “All right,” I told Theo. “That’s a go.”

  “Beverly Hills it is,” he said, grinning at me. “And may I say, I already like you better than the doctor.”

  “The doctor?” I asked as a sleek BMW sedan pulled up beside us and Theo opened the door for me at the same time as he held his hand out for my duffel. Passing it to him, I got into the car. A man in a black suit and classic tortoiseshell Ray Bans sat at the steering wheel.

  “Hi,” I greeted him.

  “Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Los Angeles.”

  “Thank you.”

  The trunk opened and closed, and then Theo came around the car and got in. The second his seat belt was fastened, the driver eased us smoothly away from the curb.

  “So tell me about the doctor,” I asked Theo.

  “He’s Mr. Lennox’s friend who visits from Manhattan when he’s here in Los Angeles.”

  I smiled. “Lemme get this straight. He has a boyfriend who lives in New York?”

  “Not a boyfriend, just a friend,” Theo insisted. “Like you.”

  Like me. “And are there many of these friends?” I wanted to know because, even though it didn’t matter anymore—anything romantic was well and off the table—it still felt odd. How many men was Ash juggling at once?

  He looked pained and he caught the driver’s eye in the rearview mirror.

  “It’s okay,” I told them, turning in my seat to face Theo. “We’re not exclusive. I live in Oregon, yeah? I’m not moving here, he’s not moving there—”

  Theo couldn’t stifle his laughter. “Well, no, of course not. He’s an actor. They live on a coast—LA or New York, period.”

  “Or abroad,” the driver chimed in.

  “Yes, either Paris or London, as well,” Theo assured me.

  I was sure many household name stars lived wherever they damn well wanted to, but his point was well made. If an actor were young and hungry, he lived on the coasts. Ash was—I knew then and I knew now—talking out of his ass.

  “Ash’s home in Benson is lovely,” I told Theo, to change the subject because my stomach was starting to twist into knots. “Did you ever go up and see it?”

  He laughed. “You’re kidding, right? You’re talking about that shack I rented for him.”

  “Rented?” This was news.

  “Oh please.” He snickered. “My boss would never have bought that place. It’s so far under his standards. You should have heard the bitching!”

  “Really?” I asked, amused. Holy crap, had I been right. It wasn’t often that things worked out where I could know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I’d nailed something.

  “But it was the best that little podunk town had to offer.”

  “Was it.” I felt my skin prickle with cold even though I was sure my face had flushed with heat. “And the inn he’s renovating?”

  Theo looked confused. “You don’t live there in Benson, do you?”

  “Oh no,” I lied, because clearly Ash had. “I live in Portland. Benson’s too small a town to live in, just like you said.”

  “Oh thank God. You scared me for a second,” he gasped, clutching his heart. “Did he drive you up there to see the money pit?”

  “He did.”

  “Ohmygod, wasn’t it awful? Thank goodness he sold it this morning to that builder—Chatwood, Chatin—what was”—he was snapping his fingers trying to remember—“Cha—”

  “Chastain,” I said, giving him the answer, disgusted with myself for ever buying a drop of Ash’s bullshit.

  “Yes,” he sighed, relieved, patting my arm. “Chastain. Jeremy Chastain. Apparently he’d wanted it for years, but the town—get this—had blocked the purchase because he’s not supposed to actually own commercial property after some lawsuits or something.”

  I nodded, pulling out my phone. “Yeah,” I said, grinning at him. “Do me a favor, huh? Find me a really good place to eat and drop me off there.”

  “What?” Theo’s face suddenly drained of color—the tan gotten, I was sure, by hours in a bed—paling to a sickly gray in an instant. “I don’t—”

  I put up my hand and leaned forward, putting a hand on the driver’s shoulder. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “It’s Marvin,” he answered, glancing sideways so he could see my face.

  “Nice to meet you, Marvin,” I said, shaking the hand he offered me. “Since I doubt I can just turn around and get back on a plane, and since I’m pretty much starving, if you could take me someplace great that I don’t have to have a reservation for or wear a suit at, I’d appreciate it. If you can’t do that, I understand, but I’ll need you to stop the car anyway, so I can get out.”

  “Oh, no, Mr.—”

  “Just Hagen,”
I corrected.

  “Hagen,” he repeated, smiling at me. “May I suggest that you go to Mr. Lennox’s home and wait for him there if you’re not up to a fancy lunch?”

  “Thanks, but no,” I told him. “Can you hook me up with some good food?”

  He thought a moment. “Is Korean good?”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  “Okay,” he said, changing lanes.

  “Perfect,” I sighed, leaning back and glancing at a stricken Theo as I pulled up my contacts list. “You’re fine, everything’s fine. I’m one of many, it’s no big deal, and besides, if you knew where Ash and I really were, you’d know that this—him and me—is so not worth losing any sleep over.”

  He shivered. “I—”

  “If I’m special to him, and he didn’t tell you—what does that say about us that he wouldn’t share that information with you?”

  “You—”

  “And if I’m not, then this is for the best, right? Either way, you’re covered.” I hit the Call button and listened to it ring.

  His eyes got bigger, rounder. “You’re not the treehouse guy, are you?”

  I snorted out a laugh. “Oh, I love that moniker.”

  He caught his breath. “You—”

  “Hold that thought,” I directed as the call connected. “Hey.”

  “This is so lazy of you,” Preston Garber told me, but I could hear the laughter in his voice. “You couldn’t just drive over and see me?”

  “I could.”

  He made a sound, a tsk and grunt together. “And I can’t believe you haven’t brought your ex’s kids over here to ride the horses yet.”

  “I’ll do that when I get back if their dad is still talking to me.”

  “Why ever would he not?”

  “I made a mistake, but I’m about to fix at least one part of it.”

  “Oh?” He was quiet a minute. “Darling, where are you?”

  “I’m in LA, but I need you to fix something right now.”

  “Yes, tell me, whatever it is.”

  “Apparently Ashford Lennox sold the Emerson house to Chastain, and I’m thinking Chastain bought it with one of his dummy corporations,” I explained, the grim satisfaction of knowing that I was, at this very moment, fucking up a deal for Jeremy Chastain drawing a happy sigh from my chest.

  Silence.

  “Pres?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

  I didn’t think I had ever heard him hit that decibel level, but it made sense. Jeremy Chastain had nearly killed his partner, Malachi Harel, and the joy of his partner’s life, his thoroughbred Arabian stallions. Preston was also one of the foremost financial attorneys in the country and the managing partner at Garber, Bondurant, & Farrier with offices in New York and London. He went in, Malachi had once told me, twice a month to check on the status of the offices. He was, I’d been told, somewhat terrifying.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear.”

  “I will bury him.”

  “Good, do that. People will die if he builds that inn.”

  “Consider it done. But how did you find out about this?”

  I glanced at Theo, who was starting to hyperventilate. “A little bird told me.”

  “I like the bird,” he assured me. “When are you coming back?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Excellent. LA’s no place for you.”

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  “Thank you for calling.”

  “Who else would I call?”

  “I’ll give Mal your love.”

  “Yeah, do that.”

  He hung up then, and I turned to look at Theo, who was having a full-blown panic attack. I could tell. I used to have them daily.

  I took his phone and iPad from him, set them beside him on the seat, and then drew him forward into my arms. It was like holding a bird, and even though I wasn’t big and burly, I felt like it in comparison to him. I rubbed circles on his back and told him that absolutely everything happened for a reason.

  “And if you get fired for being truthful,” I soothed him. “I can offer you a fantastic new start at my friend’s law firm. You just have to move to New York.”

  He was still shivering, but his arms wrapped tight around my waist as he had his breakdown.

  “You’re very kind,” Marvin remarked from the front seat.

  “One tries,” I said, grinning.

  Thinking about Ash now, I was glad that I’d ended us romantically before I made the trip. Even though I was disappointed in him, our relationship was still salvageable if there were never any more lies between us. We were friends; I didn’t have a horse in the race for his heart.

  It took Theo a while to breathe again, and I appreciated Marvin playing tour guide while his colleague soaked up the human contact I was offering. Marvin explained where we were, pointed things out, and explained when we were driving through Santa Monica. Once I was sure Theo was okay, I called Ash.

  “This is unexpected,” he said jovially. I could hear conversation in the background. “Are you almost here?”

  “No, I changed my mind,” I informed him, looking out the window at the ocean. “I’m gonna have Korean food with Marvin and Theo, and then I’m going home.”

  “You—what?”

  “Korean food,” I reiterated. “One of my faves. We’re going to—where are we going?” I asked Marvin.

  “BCD Tofu on Wilshire.”

  “Didja hear that?” I asked him.

  “No, that’s not—no.”

  “No?”

  “Why would you change plans? I have people here waiting to meet you.”

  “Waiting to meet me for what?”

  “To see what else you could do besides construction!” he informed me, his voice flat and cold, angrier than I thought he would be.

  “Oh, well, I’m sorry you went to all the trouble, but that was dumb, right? You know I’m not leaving Benson,” I reminded him. “We’ve had that talk.”

  “Hagen—”

  “And while we’re on the subject of Benson,” I said, and I could hear the gravel in my voice, “I really wish you would have told me that the house there was only a rental, and that you sold the Emerson property to Chastain.”

  “I— Are you kidding me?” he roared. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him!”

  “No, no, no, don’t blame Theo. Chastain called him when I was in the car, about some last-minute closing fees.”

  “But that deal was finalized days ago. We were just waiting to close!”

  Insult to injury, that’s what that was. He’d not only lied, but had been since he’d mentioned the inn to me on Saturday. “Well, Chastain’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

  He took an audible breath. “So you’re thinking, what, then, that I didn’t mean any of what I said?”

  “I think if something’s important to you, you care and tell the truth about it. But if you don’t care, if it means so little, a lie is no big deal.”

  “So I lied about the rental and selling the inn, but about you I was being truthful.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m choosing to believe.”

  “Which is good because that’s exactly it.”

  “Okay,” I huffed. “Don’t ever do it again or we’re done.”

  “I won’t,” he promised. “I’m so sorry, Hagen.”

  “I forgive you, and, so you know, Chastain will never get that property, so if he paid you, I hope you didn’t do anything with the money.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Good, ’cause you’re gonna hafta give it back.”

  “It’s not a problem. I’d rather keep you than the money.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  He exhaled sharply. “So what now?”

  “Now I’m having Korean, and after that I’m going home, so you can either stay there and network—which I know you should—or come eat with me and Theo and Marvin. Your choice. Either way it’s fine, you can talk to me when you get back from Paris.
”

  “So if I don’t get to you, then we’re done?”

  “Until you get back, yeah.”

  “Hagen—”

  “Like I said, I’m going home after I eat.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “No, it’s a statement of fact,” I explained to him. “I’m not trying to push you or test you or anything. Just telling you what’s up.”

  “Fine,” he said and hung up. It was odd; I’d never known him to get mad so fast. But maybe that was how he was in LA.

  “Hey,” I said to Marvin after a few minutes of watching the scenery go by as he drove us down La Cienega Boulevard. “I’m sorry for changing plans on you.”

  “It’s no trouble,” he replied kindly, his voice soft and kind for such a big man.

  When my phone rang a moment later, I answered it. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry, all right? I just—a lot of my friends were here and… I wanted you to meet them, and I was embarrassed.”

  “I’m sorry about that, truly. I would never humiliate you on purpose.”

  “I know,” he sighed.

  “Okay, so you stay there with your people, and if you want, call me when you’re done with your movie and we’ll sort out all this stuff.”

  “Hagen—”

  “And if we can always be honest with each other from here on out, I think we can be really good friends.”

  “No—please, Hagen, you’re right here. Just stay overnight, somewhere, and let me come see you. I can get you a room at the—”

  “I don’t need you to get me a room,” I said, putting him on speaker so I could get into my bag because I could feel the headache starting. I never drank enough water when I wasn’t home, and that combined with the lack of food was starting to take its toll on me.

  “Jesus, Hagen, please, let me make amends. I’ll call Chastain right this second and fix that problem if you just please… please stay the night and let me see you.”

  I really did not want to get right back on a plane.

  “How about the Casa Del Mar? It’s in Santa Monica, and it’s seriously right on the beach,” he explained. “Come on, baby, please.”

  No. He couldn’t call me that, couldn’t use that, it was only for Mitch. I’d always been Mitch’s baby, and no one else’s. It didn’t work coming from any other man. “Don’t call me—”