Turning on his heel, Dax strode out of the office.
Willa stood in frozen horror, then bolted after him. “Don’t do this, Dax.”
Dax shook his head. “Lance needs to know he can’t—”
“If you do this, the only one you’ll hurt is me,” Willa implored, putting up her hand to stop him.
Kate discretely left her office. Clay came to stand beside Willa.
I’ve kept it secret this long. Please, help me find the words to stop this. “I know you care about me, Dax. But you need to respect me, too. I’m asking you to stay out of it.” She turned pleading eyes to Clay. “You, too. This is a game to you, but it’s my life. Please.”
Clay grimaced. “It was a game at first, but not now. Now I feel like an ass.”
With anger still burning in his eyes, Dax said, “If he hurts you again, I’ll kill him. Even if he is Kenzi’s brother.”
“It wasn’t what you think, Dax. Lance would never do that. I can’t say more than that.” Willa let out a shaky breath. “Please keep this between us.”
A curt nod was Dax’s concession.
Tears of gratitude poured down Willa’s cheeks. Dax pulled her to his chest and gave her a brotherly hug. When Willa composed herself, he handed her a tissue from Kate’s desk.
Clay held out his arms, but Willa didn’t step into them. He made a face at her. “Really? Oh, I see how it is. I’ll keep your damn secret, too, but that hurt.”
Willa shook her head ruefully then hugged him. There was no attraction, no zing with Clay, and the hug was just as non-sexual as Dax’s had been. The man had layers. Who knew?
Over her head he asked, “I’ve always wanted a little sister. Can I have her?”
Willa stepped out of his arms. His comment made her smile even though her emotions were still all over the place. “It doesn’t work that way.”
Dax looked relieved that the emotional storm had passed. He joked to Clay, “We’ll share her.”
There was a knock on the outside door of the office. Kate popped her head in. “Mr. Barrington’s secretary called and would like to know what time to expect Mr. Landon this afternoon.”
Clay waved a hand in her direction. “I’m not able to make the meeting. My schedule is booked.”
Willa swallowed and shot Clay a grateful look.
Kate looked back and forth at the people in the room. “Do you want me to call—?”
Dax shook his head curtly. “We’re all set.”
Kate ducked back out and closed the door behind her.
The room was awkwardly quiet for a long moment. Willa cleared her throat and said, “Thank you.”
Clay arched an eyebrow. “If that’s all settled, can we move along to my problem?”
Dax rolled his eyes skyward as if asking for strength. “And that is?”
“What the hell does a personal assistant do?” Clay asked with a straight face, then he smiled. “’Cause I have no fucking idea.”
Willa found herself smiling along with him. “I don’t either.”
A corner of Dax’s mouth twitched as if he were amused but not giving in to it. “Willa is not working for you, Clay. She’ll work here. Willa, ask Kate what she needs help with.”
Yes, Dax was still talking about her as if she couldn’t make decisions for herself, but now that Willa knew he genuinely did care about her, she could forgive his Neanderthal side. Somehow it made her feel safe the way she had when her parents had been alive. She’d thought she wanted to escape the situation in Boston, but no matter where she went, the past would still be there.
It had been a very long day and the idea of working with Kate was a welcome one. Willa didn’t want to play twenty questions every day with a boss who didn’t actually need an employee.
Her next question was an awkward one to ask, but she’d promised Lexi she would help with the bills. Whether they continued to live together or if she moved out, Willa still needed a job that would support her. “Will I still get paid?”
Clay nodded authoritatively. “Absolutely. In fact, I believe your salary should be doubled. Isn’t that right, Dax?” He quoted a monthly amount that was equal to what had once been Willa’s annual salary.
Dax shot Clay a skeptical look. “For an assistant to my secretary?”
“Little sisters are expensive.” Clay shrugged. “She could always still work for me.”
Dax pinned Willa down with a serious look. “Don’t say a word to Kate about your salary.”
“I won’t,” Willa promised. “But you don’t need to pay me that much. I’m okay with whatever the regular rate for someone in that position would be.”
Clay smiled proudly. “Isn’t she the cutest?” His expression darkened. “I still want to punch Lance.”
“You can’t,” Willa interjected quickly. If there was one sure-fire way of bringing the past into the forefront, that would be it.
“He won’t,” Dax said in a tone that delivered a warning to his friend as well.
That evening, Lance parked his car outside the proposed Capitol Complex site. He found a bench near it and watched people move through the area in front of it and between the side buildings. His head was churning with questions. He visually calculated the space, cataloguing permanent structures as well as those that could be removed to improve the flow. It calmed him. He did his clearest thinking when he distracted himself with mathematics. Things that appeared random made sense. Events could be predicted.
Some architects were artists. They envisioned something and then sought practical methods to make them possible. Lance started with a solid foundation and worked his way up. He was often brought in on projects as the voice of reason. Some called him the Dream Crusher.
His office building had been his sole creation and represented his preferred style. Its structural strength, though, and how he’d designed the building to be able to withstand almost anything in nature, hadn’t impressed Willa. She’d said it lacked warmth, which from a business point of view had never been important to him. His buildings were in demand because they were brilliantly designed.
But they don’t connect with people enough that they want to return to them?
Is that how she sees me?
Clay had canceled their meeting without explanation. If the reason had been Clay’s, Lance was reasonably certain he would have told him. Even if only to stir up trouble. The excuse about being too busy was bullshit.
Why would Clay bother with an excuse?
Did Willa say she didn’t want to see me?
Is she with him now?
His phone rang. He checked the caller ID. Ian. Shit. Thursday. I forgot about family game night. He let it go through to his voice service.
He checked through his text messages. There was nothing from Willa.
He rummaged through his computer bag for a moment and pulled out the leather journal he’d intended to give her that morning. His aunt had never done anything for his family while she was alive; it made sense that her journal wouldn’t either.
He opened the top cover and the black card fell onto his lap. He turned it between his fingers. The woman who’d left the card had expressed disappointment in his lack of curiosity. His team didn’t know who she was, but he should find out. Historically, at least where family shit was concerned, the Barringtons didn’t ask questions. Personal topics were minefields that were best avoided completely.
He used to agree with that philosophy, but that was a roadblock that had stopped him from forcing the truth out of Willa earlier. I would have done so many things differently had I known Lexi was the reason for the switch. I would have never called her immature or dismissed what she felt for me. I thought it was a childish prank and my pride had been hurt.
I should have made the truth a priority. My body knew it wasn’t her that day, I should have known that Willa wouldn’t have lied to me.
A part of me knew, but pushing Willa for answers risked bringing the wrath of my family down on me and I hadn’t been willi
ng to do that back then.
Because peace must be maintained.
Fuck peace.
He turned to the page of the journal and began to read with a somewhat defiant interest. If there is something here I’ll find it. By the time he was halfway through the entries he was certain of one thing—the planet was better off without his aunt. The pages overflowed with bitterness, paranoia, and cold decisions to make people pay for betraying her. Strings of numbers, possibly phone numbers, were written with no explanation in the margins. None of it was written in the linear fashion of a sane person. Some numbers appeared scattered, seeming to start on one page and continue on another. There were also several references to his mother being pregnant with twins, then pages had been torn out. He now saw why Emily had wanted to ask his mother about her sister. The animosity his aunt had had for his mother was disturbing. Had that played a role in his mother’s breakdown?
Two nine seven. Was it an area code? He looked it up on his smartphone. It was the country code for the island of Aruba. That was where Kenzi was born. And Kent, her twin, who had died. He read the entries before the torn-out pages again then the ones that followed.
His aunt might have needed phone numbers in Aruba to call and see how Sophie was. After all, his mother had been admitted to the hospital for almost a week when Kenzi and Kent had been premature.
Patrice didn’t sound like someone who would call to comfort her sister.
Lance read the entire journal again, this time earmarking pages that referenced his family. When the streetlights came on and it became difficult to read, Lance closed the book, returned it to his computer bag, and got back into his car. He’d have someone look into those numbers. They were probably nothing, but he couldn’t shelve the journal until he knew for sure. No, he didn’t have the type of security Dax and Asher required, but he had people.
He drove home, stripped, and took a quick shower before flopping on his bed in his lounge pants. Only because he couldn’t not do it, he texted Willa.
I’m sorry I upset you.
When there was no immediate answer, he tossed the phone onto the bed beside him. She’d asked him to stay away, but he couldn’t. He had to know she was okay.
His phone beeped to announce a new message. Willa. I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have left the way I did.
He answered, I’m not sorry I kissed you.
Silence.
He added, I can’t pretend I don’t want you. That’s how I know the difference between you and your sister. You’re the one who reduces me to a bumbling idiot.
Her answer tore at his heart. I can’t do this. I got your flowers. Don’t wait for me, Lance. I won’t change my mind.
He sighed. If she hadn’t kissed him the way she had, he would have been able to accept the finality of her words. She’d clung to him like a returning lover who’d built up a hunger as deep as his for her. There had to be a way to reach her. He almost texted her again, but instead called her.
“Lance—” she said in a panicked voice.
“Willa, don’t hang up. When I look back I see a hundred ways I screwed up with you. The biggest mistake I made was rushing you. I hurt you, and I can’t change that. I can promise it’ll be different this time. If you give us a chance, we’ll go as slowly as you want to.”
“I can’t . . .”
“Tell me what you need, Willa, and we’ll start there.”
For a long moment all he heard was her shaky breathing. “I want to be happy, Lance. I don’t know if I can do that if I open a door to the past.”
“Then we start fresh today.”
“You say that like it’s possible.”
“Anything is possible, Willa, if you want it enough. Do you? Want this?”
He held his breath.
“Yes,” she said softly. “And no. Oh, God, I don’t know. It’s been a long day. I can’t think.”
If he were beside her, his arms would be around her. He used what calmed him to reassure her. “When I start a new project, I don’t design it in one day. I know what I want to build, but creating it takes time. I focus on one element before addressing the next. In the end, my structures surpass safety standards. In earthquakes, other buildings fall, but mine stand. The strength is in the details.”
“And what do you want to build with me?” Willa asked just above a whisper.
“If you’re asking me where this will go, Willa, I don’t know. What I do know is, whatever we have is too damn real to walk away from. That’s where I want to start. I simply want to be with you.”
“I don’t know, Lance. There’s so much—”
“There isn’t, Willa, because I met you for the first time today. Remember? I was the hot guy you bumped into on the street. We took one look at each other, and it was instant lust. I kissed you. I couldn’t help myself. You slapped me and told me I was out of line.”
Lance was rewarded with a chuckle. “You’re crazy.”
“I sent you flowers. You spent the day thinking about how gorgeous I am . . .”
“In my fantasy you’re a little more humble.”
“Your fantasy.” Lance sighed. Finally. “Tell me your version.”
After a quiet moment, Willa said, “We met on the street next to the capitol building. I didn’t know you were the one who had been awarded the contract. You asked me what I thought about the project. I said something that you found so amazing you wrote it down. You said something that made me laugh. We found a coffee shop and talked until it closed . . .” Her voice trailed away.
“What time?” he asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“What time do you want to meet at the capitol building? I’ll bring a notebook and polish my joke-telling skills.”
“I have a job now.”
With Clay. Lance held his tongue. Willa was close to saying yes. “I’ll be on a bench in front of the building at six. Come meet me for the first time, Willa.” He hung up because he had a feeling she needed time before she decided.
Chapter Nine
At five fifty-five, Willa stepped out of a cab and froze just before turning onto the street where Lance said he would be sitting, waiting for her. She leaned back against the cornerstone of a building and took several calming breaths.
Will he be there?
And, if he is, can we really move forward without looking back?
Am I a fool to think it’s possible?
The memory of how good his mouth felt on hers, how much pleasure merely being in his presence brought her, surged through her, but was it worth the risk?
It wasn’t that she was lonely, but that only one man had ever made her feel scandalously impulsive. That man was waiting for her a few hundred feet away. As soon as she stepped from behind the building, she was agreeing to give him a second chance.
“Are you okay?” a beautiful, tall, brunette with more piercings and tattoos than clothing asked.
Willa straightened off the building. “Yes. No.” She chuckled with self-deprecation. “I’m not really sure.”
“You need help?”
Since the other woman probably thought Willa was crazy, Willa didn’t see that she had much to lose by confirming her first impression. “Could you see if there is a man with dark brown hair sitting on a bench just round the corner?”
With an amused expression, the woman stepped away from the building and peered down the street. “There is, and he’s looking around for someone.” The woman smiled and waved. “Yes, I’m waving at you, Mr. Hunk-in-a-Suit. He doesn’t know what to do. How adorable. He just looked away. He’s still looking around. Yep, I’m still here waving at you, Mr. Hot Stuff.” The woman laughed. “He just gave me the I’m not interested cold shoulder. Is he waiting for you?”
If Willa hadn’t been an internal nervous wreck she would have laughed at the playful way the woman had handled the odd request. “Yes.”
The woman gave Willa a long once-over then sized up Lance again. “Is he a cop?”
“No, he�
�s an architect.”
“So why are you hiding?”
Because I’m a coward. Willa straightened her shoulders and adjusted her purse beneath her arm. Correction, I was a coward. Life is about moving forward and growing. If I stay here, or worse turn and leave, what does it say about who I am? I will never be more than the devastated girl I once was. I will have allowed one event to define me. “I’m not,” Willa said firmly and stepped from behind the building. “Not anymore.”
Lance stood as soon as he saw her and the smile on his face brought an answering one to Willa’s. They met halfway and stood for a long moment simply staring into each other’s eyes. Willa broke the silence first. “I hear this whole area will be renovated soon; at least that’s what the papers say.”
“I heard the same. A project like that could have a large impact on the community.”
Without looking away from Lance’s near-black, beautiful eyes, Willa said breathlessly, “There’s so much history here already. I hope they don’t change it as much as they celebrate it. It’s a place where people can and should be heard, but also where they could gather to hear music. I’d love to see the side road closed off and the parking lot made into a park with trees.”
“I’d write that down, but I doubt I’ll forget a word you say to me today,” Lance said with such intensity that Willa believed him. He held out his hand in greeting as if they were meeting for the first time. “My name is Lance.”
Willa shook his hand, loving how his enveloped hers. “Willa.”
“Will-ah you go for coffee with me?” Lance asked with a straight face.
It took a moment for the joke to sink in but when it did Willa laughed and shook her head. “You had all night to come up with a joke and that’s what you chose?” She was smiling, though.
He turned and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and they started walking together down the street. “I hoped it would make you smile, and it did.”
Willa laughed again. How could being with Lance feel so . . . right? Because this is today, not yesterday. And we’re starting again. Being with Lance felt right. They strolled to a café and chose an outside table. Lance held out a chair for her then took the one across from her. They ordered sandwiches and lattes that arrived almost instantly.
Trade It All (The Barrington Billionaires Book 3) Page 10
