by R. R. Banks
“There's just this energy about Alice that's infectious,” my mother goes on. “She's a free spirit, that's for sure. She's also very strong willed. She's a girl with some strong opinions. I like that about her actually. I like that a lot. She's not a pushover.”
I sip my coffee and nod. That's the impression I got as well, so I'm glad my perception isn't that far off when it comes to her. That only strengthens my belief that something isn't quite right here.
“So, you don't see anything – wrong here?” I ask.
Mom looks at me with an expression of confusion her face. “Wrong?” she asks. “What do you mean, wrong?”
I shrug. “I don't know, really. It's not something I can put my finger on,” I say. “Something just seems – off.”
“Off? What do you mean, Miles?”
“Just – I mean, she's great, don't get me wrong,” I say. “But, she's just so different than anybody Christopher's dated before –”
“Sometimes, people have a way of transcending our usual types, Miles,” she says, giving me a mischievous smile. “If they didn't, chances are none of you boys would have ever been born. Christopher probably feels the same way about Alice. She's a lovely girl and has such a spirit about her. In a lot of ways, she might be just what he needs.”
“How so?”
She takes another sip of her coffee and seems to be weighing her words carefully before speaking. And when she finally does, her eyes latch onto mine and holds them fast.
“Your brother works hard. Very hard. He's a lot like your father in that way. Workaholics, the both of them,” she says, her gaze very pointed. “It seems to be something of a trend among the Churchill men.”
“You and Dad instilled a strong work ethic in us,” I say. “There's nothing wrong with that.”
“No, of course there isn't. A strong work ethic is a good thing to have,” she says. “But, another thing about the Churchill men is that they're so driven and motivated that they forget how to lighten up and have fun sometimes. Somewhere along the line, they forget how to enjoy the life they're working so hard to build.”
“What? That's not true,” I say. “I can't speak for Christopher, but I have a lot of fun. I'm enjoying my life.”
“Oh?” she asks. “When was the last time you went on a date? When was your last relationship?”
“Having a girlfriend isn't necessarily indicative of how much I'm enjoying my life.”
“No, but companionship can certainly enhance it,” she says, then holds her hand up to cut me off. “And as much as I like Nate, it’s not the same, and you know it.”
I chuckle and take a drink of my coffee. I hate to admit it, but she’s right. She usually is. It’s been… a while since my last relationship – since my last date, actually. Things didn't end well with the last woman I was seeing. Since then, I've thrown myself into my career and building my reputation, forsaking everything else.
“Tell me, Miles,” my mother says. “What's the thing you enjoy most about your life right now?”
A wry grin touches my lips. “Winning a big case,” I say. “Destroying another high-priced law firm and putting another notch on my belt. I can't tell you how satisfying...”
I let my words taper off as she stares at me, an enigmatic smile curling the corners of her mouth upward. What she just walked me into suddenly hits me – and I kick myself for not seeing it before. As a lawyer, I'm always on guard and very careful with my thoughts and words. Everything I do or say is deliberate. Around my family though, I tend to let my guard down a bit more.
“Fine. Point taken,” I say. “I will still argue that I'm doing just fine on my own.”
“I'm sure you are, dear,” she says. “But you, like your brother, need to lighten up. Go dancing. Take a vacation. Do something – unexpected. Find a woman with a light heart and a free spirit and make her yours. We only get one chance at this life, you know. You really should make the most of it.”
“I think I am, though,” I say. “I'm building something. A legacy. Eventually, I plan on getting married and having a family of my own and I want to be able to pass something on to them.”
“The way you talk about it sounds so – clinical,” my mother says. “Like it’s another item on your to-do list.”
I give her a rueful smile. “Isn't that what it is?”
She shakes her head vigorously. “Absolutely not,” she says. “It's about love, Miles. Love and happiness. It's about being fulfilled and satisfied. It's about your heart being content and at peace.”
I chuckle. “I'm not sure those things are in the cards for me.”
She laughs, her eyes sparkling. “You sound exactly like your father right now. At least, when he was younger,” she says.
“I guess that's another thing about the Churchill men,” I say. “Except for Neal. He's always taken after you a bit more than Dad.”
She nods. “That he has,” she replies. “He's a sensitive soul.”
“Which is probably why he's having a hard time deciding what to do with his life.”
“It could be,” she says. “I think he's trying to find his place in this world right now.”
“Yeah well, he's twenty-eight, he better figure that out pretty quick,” I say.
My mother sighs, but smiles. “The point in all of this is, that I like this Alice,” she says. “She's got a bit of that gypsy spirit in her and I think it will be good for your brother. I think it will help loosen him up and teach him to enjoy life a little more. Maybe, God forbid, she can even teach him to be happy for a change.”
“Maybe so,” I say.
“You know, like I said, you would do well to find a girl like Alice,” she says. “You and your brother are cut from the same cloth and I think you need a good woman to teach you how to be free and happy, and to enjoy the short time we have on this earth every bit as much as he does.”
“Please. Christopher and I have nothing in common.”
“You have a lot more in common than you think. Or at least, more than you'll admit to,” she says. “Personality-wise, you are both carbon copies of your father. Which means, you're also carbon copies of each other.”
I sip my coffee, not really having an answer to that. I know that I'm quite a bit like my father – it's how we were raised and something I take pride in. My father was a great man. I guess I never really stopped to think that because of how we were raised though, that Christopher and I are a lot alike as well. I've been so focused on my own goals and desires for so long, I never really stopped to think about it.
“Speaking of which,” my mother goes on, “I have a girlfriend on one of the boards I sit on who has a niece who's a lovely girl, and she –”
I hold up my hand, laughing. “Here we go,” I say. “I knew it would be my turn now. Let me just stop you there. No, thank you. When I'm ready, I can find my own girlfriends.”
“And when do you think that will be?” she asks. “When will you be ready?”
I check my watch pointedly. “Well, I think I can pencil in a search next Tuesday between three and three-thirty.”
“Sarcasm has never been your strong suit, dear.”
“I would have to disagree with you on that,” I reply, giving her a grin. “It makes the women swoon.”
“I'm pretty sure nothing about you makes the women swoon,” Neal says as he enters the kitchen. “Run away screaming in horror, maybe. But never swoon. I mean hell, does anyone actually swoon these days?”
“And there he is, the infamous freeloading youngest son,” I say. “Still trying to find yourself, little brother?”
“Miles,” my mother scolds me.
“And there is my big brother, pseudo-champion of the common man,” he says as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “The cold, heartless wolf in sheep's clothing who does nothing but step on the huddled, unwashed masses to get ahead in life.”
“Neal,” my mother scolds him.
Neal and I both laugh together. Mom still doesn't quite get o
ur humor. Cutting each other down is a foundation of our relationship – a fraternal bonding thing. He and I actually get along very well. Much better than I get on with Christopher, all things considered.
Neal is twenty-eight and still trying to figure out what he wants to do with his life. He's almost resigned himself to working for the family business, but like me, he doesn't know if his heart is truly in it. Christopher is pressuring him to keep working for the company in a position subordinate to him, of course. There can only be one king of the castle, he says. And since he's the oldest, he wears the crown.
As I think about it now, that’s probably one reason I was never into working at Churchill Tech – the idea of working for Christopher just never sat right with me. I mean, we don't hate each other. That's not it at all. We get along fine – we just don't quite understand each other. And because I'm so naturally argumentative and a born debater, that would have eventually led to a lot of friction that might have resulted in the company being torn apart. We both knew it, so he let me go with his blessing. Not that I needed his stupid blessing.
Of the three of us, Neal takes after our mother most closely. Ironically, our mother is a bit like Alice. She has a free, untamed spirit about her. She's more into the artistic side of things and believes in sucking the marrow out of life. Which is exactly how I read Alice.
Neal is very much the same way but feels conflicted because some small piece of him feels obligated to help run the family business. To help grow and expand it. I've tried to encourage him to blaze his own trail – it's what our father would have wanted for us. And I know my mother has been in his ear, telling him the same thing. The pressure Christopher puts on him though, isn't doing him any favors.
Yet he still remains undecided – vacillating between what he thinks he should do and what he actually wants to do.
“I ran into Christopher's girl upstairs,” he says. “Wow. She's pretty hot.”
“Neal,” my mother scolds him again. “That’s your brother's girlfriend.”
“Just making an observation, Mom.”
“A rather sexist one,” she says. “If you spent any time talking to her, you'd notice that she's quite intelligent and has a wicked sense of humor.”
“Yeah, I could tell all that just from the yoga pants she's wearing,” he says and laughs.
My mother slaps him playfully in the arm, shaking her head. He knows she doesn't like it when he objectifies women like that – which is why he does it. He loves messing with her just as much as she loves retaliating. Her relationship with Neal is a lot like my relationship with him – just toned down and less crude.
“So, what were you two talking about all secret-like in here?” Neal asks.
“Nothing secret about it,” she says. “We were just talking about Alice's free spirit and how I think it will rub off on your brother in a positive way.”
“Yeah well, I wish she'd rub off on me, I can tell you that,” Neal says.
My mother looks aghast yet slightly amused. “I will not stand for this,” she chides. “I have to get to a meeting. We're deciding on the theme for this year's gala.”
“I vote for hot chicks in yoga pants,” Neal says.
“I second that,” I reply. “I'll even cut a check if it helps.”
“You are both incorrigible,” she says and walks out of the kitchen.
She does her best to look disapproving, but her laughter echoes down the hallway as she goes. I hear muffled voices out in the foyer – Harold is probably driving her today. Which is good. I don't like the idea of my mom out there on the roads. She's not quite at that age where I have to worry just yet, but I want her to get used to the idea of having a driver. It makes me feel a lot better when I'm not here.
“Tell me I'm wrong about Alice,” Neal says.
I shake my head. “You're really not wrong.”
He gives me a high five, then pulls me into a tight embrace. “Good to have you home, Miles.”
“Good to see you too, little brother.”
“Listen,” he says as he disengages. “I have to run. I have a meeting to get to myself, but I'll be back soon. We'll catch up then.”
“I'll be here.”
And with that, Neal bounds out of the kitchen, leaving a half-full cup of coffee in his wake. As I'm setting the mugs in the sink, my cell phone rings. Slipping it out of my pocket, I look at the caller ID, expecting it to be a client who's getting twitchy about their pending case and needs me to hold their damn hand.
I'm surprised though, to see Christopher's name pop up. I'd been waiting for him to call back, but I didn't expect to hear from him until later. I connect the call and press the phone up to my ear.
“What's up, big brother?” I ask.
“I'm really sorry, man,” he says. “I didn't know until it was too late.”
I cock my head, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Alice,” he says. “I got her message late – I was in a meeting and couldn't take the call right off.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I say. “What are you talking about?”
He sighs, frustrated that I'm not understanding what he's saying. I don't quite understand it, but the warning bells in my head are starting to clang even louder than before. I glance at the doorway that leads to the rest of the house and feel a cold finger of suspicion slide down the back of my neck. Not wanting to be overheard, I head for the glass doors that lead from the kitchen to the back grounds.
“Hang on a second,” I say as I step outside and close the door behind me.
I walk away from the house toward the gazebo, the phone still pressed to my ear. From there, I'll have a private view of everything around me, so I'll know if anyone is sneaking up on me to eavesdrop – I can see out, but they can't see me.
“Okay, go ahead,” I say. “What do you mean about you not knowing?”
“Alice,” he says. “She called and said she'd missed her flight. Some work thing, but she's stuck in Boston and isn't going to be able to make it home in time.”
“Wait, she's stuck in Boston?”
“Yeah, what are you, deaf?” he asks. “Anyway, I wanted to apologize for wasting your time. I know how much you hate that, but I didn't know until –”
“No, no, it's fine,” I say. “Don't worry about it. It's fine.”
There's silence on the other end of the phone for a long moment. In the background I can hear announcements being made over the loudspeakers and the buzz of a crowd.
“You at Heathrow now?” I ask.
“Yeah, I'm about to board. I was able to slip away a little early,” he says. “I'll be home in the morning. You sure you're okay and you're not totally pissed?”
“It's fine, Christopher. Really.”
“You're not just saying that and when I get home –”
“Dude, it's fine,” I snap. “Seriously. If I was pissed, I'd tell you. You know me better than that. I don't play stupid mind games.”
“Okay, okay,” he says. “Anyway, they're calling my gate. I'll see you in the morning.”
“Yeah, see you then.”
I disconnect the call and drop the phone back into my pocket. As usual, my instincts were right on the money. I knew there was something off about her. I just knew it.
Damn, it's hard being right all the time.
I step out of the gazebo and walk the grounds, my hands in my pockets, my mind whirling at a million miles a minute. Okay, so what do I know? I know that she's not Alice Donnelly, my older brother’s girlfriend. So then, who is she? Well, I guess that's the million-dollar question.
I don't get the idea that she's dangerous. All things considered, I think my mystery woman actually seems kind of sweet. Well, as sweet as a little conniving con-artist can be. Was she just looking for a place to crash for a few days? I would have given that to her had she asked. It's not like we don't have the room or enough to eat here.
What’s her endgame in this situation? She had to know that sooner or later tha
t she'd be found out. She had to know that impersonating my brother's girlfriend wasn't a long-term, sustainable plan. So, why did she do it in the first place? What’s her rationale?
I should be pissed off. Honestly, I should probably call the cops and have her lying ass hauled off. But, something inside me prevents me from doing it. I'm curious about her. She's definitely piqued my interest – even more now than before. There's something about her that intrigues me, and I'd like to figure out what it is.
So, for now, I'm going to let this game of hers play itself out. I want to see where it all leads. I have a feeling once she knows Christopher will be home in the morning, she'll have to put her exit strategy into motion. And I'm more than a bit curious to see what she does.
For the moment, I think I’m just going to let this be my little secret.
Chapter Eight
I don't know how long I've been in this shower, but I don't ever want to get out. The warm water cascades down from a ceiling-mounted nozzle like a gentle, soothing rain. I lean my head back, turning my face up in the water and let its warmth run all over my body.
God, this feels amazing. I'm living a dream, but I know it's one that's not going to last. Honestly, I can't believe it's lasted this long. I'm sort of shocked that no one has blown the whistle yet.
Whatever it is, I'll take it. A couple of days living the high life sure beats anything else I have going on in my world right now.
As the water rains down on me, I can't keep Miles off my mind. The man is stuck in my head like a splinter beneath my skin – a constant irritation. Not that he's irritating. I mean, he is arrogant and does come off as kind of condescending, when he's not acting all aloof.
I get the sense, though, that there's more going on than meets the eye when it comes to Miles Churchill. He acts tough, but something tells me that he's a lot more sensitive and caring than he otherwise lets on. I can see it.
Oh, he wears a mask of cold indifference like protective armor. To look at him, you'd think that he is just that – coldly indifferent. But every once in a while, if you look close enough, you can see behind the mask. You can hear the truth of what he's saying if you read closely enough between the lines of
