by Meghan March
Now I know exactly what he’s thinking about—Riscoff Holdings. Probably because that’s been the focus of most of his life.
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. This isn’t about you and your family, Lincoln. This is about my life and my choices. For the first time in maybe ever, I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks is right for me. I’m making my own decisions, and I won’t let you change my mind.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, and I wonder how much it’s costing him not to take over. Part of me expects him to try to bulldoze me, and I wonder if in my newfound confidence that I have enough backbone to stand up for myself. I brace myself, ready to try.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Whatever you want to do, I’ll help any way I can.”
I blink twice, thinking I must have imagined the words that came out of his mouth, but he continues.
“I’ll always think it’s bullshit that he took advantage of you, though.”
Something warm wells up in my chest, and the sense of power I felt gains force.
“I let him take advantage of me,” I reply, owning the decision I made. “But not anymore. I’m done letting people take advantage of me.”
Lincoln studies me, and even though his hazel gaze is intense, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. “I can respect that.”
For the first time in our entire history, I feel like the balance has shifted so we’re on equal ground.
21
Lincoln
It takes everything I have to stop myself from acting on instinct—to push Whitney to pursue the copyrights and get what she’s entitled to.
Rango used her for a decade and fucked her over in so many ways that if he weren’t already dead, I would destroy him.
But it’s not my choice. It’s Whitney’s choice.
And when I said I can respect it, I meant it.
Now, as much as I want to drag out our lunch for the rest of the day, I know it’s not a good idea. One step at a time.
I gather the leftovers of our taco feast and head for the door, but I can’t stop myself from pausing before it. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? I can bring more tacos.”
Her cheeks flush, and my fingers curl around the doorknob to keep from crossing the room to pull her against me and end this afternoon the way I really want to.
“I was planning a family dinner tonight to celebrate my aunt’s new job, so I’m technically busy.”
“Rain check?”
Whitney’s teeth close over her bottom lip, and there’s nothing I want to do more than tug it free with my own.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Maybe . . . maybe we should leave the past in the past.”
The note of uncertainty in her tone gives me hope. I release the handle and step toward her.
“Is that what you really want, Blue?”
The shake of her head is infinitesimal, but it’s all I need. I drop the bag of tacos on the floor and close the distance between us.
I stop six inches away, my heart kicking against my chest, because what happens in the next sixty seconds can change the course of the future I’ve always wanted.
“We both know I don’t deserve another chance to hurt you, just like you said. If you give me one more opportunity, I vow on my father’s grave that I won’t make the same mistakes I did before. I can be the man you need me to be.”
Her lashes lift, and her blue gaze is still uncertain. “Magnus told me I need to make different mistakes this time around. I don’t know if this is what he meant, though.”
She reaches out with both hands and clutches my shoulders, pulling me toward her until my lips crush against hers. I let her take what she needs from me, meeting her halfway, but don’t steal control of the kiss. Blood roars in my head before diving straight to my crotch.
No woman has ever affected me like Whitney Gable. Not before. Not since.
Through it all, I keep my hands at my sides, because a single movement from me would end with us both naked on every flat surface in this room.
She finally pulls away. “You can take me to dinner later this week, but only if Cricket and her fiancé can come too.”
I force my expression to stay neutral instead of grinning. Maybe other men would be annoyed, but I’m not. I’ll take small victories whenever I can get them.
Whitney not wanting to be alone with me? That’s all the proof I need to know that she’s no more ready to leave us in the past than I am.
“I’ll talk to Hunter.”
Whitney inclines her head with a regal nod, and I return to the door, pick up the bag I dropped, and let myself out.
22
Whitney
As soon as the door closes, I take two steps toward the sofa and plop on the luxurious cushions. My head drops back, and I stare at the ornate coffered ceiling.
I kissed him.
I kissed him and held on to my pride and my dignity and the upper hand.
A smile tugs at my mouth.
I even gave him an order.
That knocks free a little giggle and a burst of pride.
Trying to manage a man like Lincoln is like sneaking up on a mountain lion out in the woods, tweaking his tail, and jumping back, hoping you don’t get mauled.
Totally stupid. Definitely crazy. But completely exhilarating.
My better judgment has already rendered its opinion—stay far, far away. But the rest of me can’t abide by that decision.
My head flops sideways, and my attention catches on the stack of hotel stationery on the desk.
I still can’t believe I told him I wrote Ricky’s songs. Telling someone not related to me by blood felt good. The fact that Lincoln now knows that whatever Ricky told him before he threw me out of the cabin ten years ago was bullshit feels even better.
And seeing the rage on his face when he realized how badly Ricky had screwed me over? That was gratifying too.
I’ve never had someone in my life who was willing to go to war for me, other than my brother, and even then, he picked the battles. He didn’t let me have a say.
Lincoln actually reined himself in because I told him to. I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t interested in trying to challenge Ricky’s legacy. It would be a bloodbath, and it’s not worth the cost right now.
The last thing I need is more death threats like the ones I got in LA. And with the press already in Gable and targeting my family? Not a chance in hell.
I spend another hour wandering the rooms of the suite, stopping with every rotation to jot down lines on my last blank sheet of paper. When I run out of space, I replace the pen in the holder and stare at the phone.
On a whim, I punch the button for the spa. Within two minutes, I have an appointment to see Gabi in the next hour.
“You came back,” Gabi says as she wraps me in a hug. “I heard you were staying here, but I wasn’t sure if you’d come see me again.”
“I promised I would.”
She releases me with a crooked grin. “You should know, I heard that Lincoln Riscoff not only brought tacos to the front desk break room a little while ago, but word on the street is that he was joking and laughing. Pretty much everyone was speculating on his good mood.”
“Oh Lord. I’m sure the rumor mill is hard at work.”
“Honey, it’s been working overtime since you walked into town. Follow me, and I’ll catch you right up while I work on you.”
As she leads me to the treatment room, I tell her, “To be honest, I kind of thought if I made an appointment, we could just catch up. I really don’t need another facial. It’s only been a couple days.”
“Psh.” Gabi waves a hand. “Don’t say that. I’ve been excited about this since I came out of my last appointment.”
“But I didn’t come down here to make you work. I wanted to get out of my room and see a friendly face.”
She pauses at the doorway. “Here’s the deal—I’ll feel guilty getting paid if I don’t do it, and I prefe
r to talk and work at the same time.”
I step inside the room, inhaling the lavender-scented air. “Only if you’re sure.”
“Positive. I’ll have your skin glowing by the time we’re done.”
As soon as I’m settled under the blanket, she starts to talk.
“The first thing I gotta tell you is that Maren Higgins is on the books today with an appointment.”
I tense. “Oh, really?”
“Mm-hmm. I’m guessing she heard Lincoln put your whole family up—on top of Ms. Riscoff promoting your aunt—and rushed to get the first open appointment so she’d have a chance to get a look at the competition.”
“Lord, the rumor mill in this town really does work even faster than the press.”
“And they’re probably more accurate too,” Gabi says as she places cucumber slices over my eyes. “I’ve heard what the news said yesterday, and there’s no way in hell your husband was a Riscoff. There’s not enough money or liquor in the world to make me believe that.”
I find it comforting that she doesn’t actually ask me whether it’s true.
“Anyhoo, enough of that and back to Maren. She’s way more fun to gossip about. Although, I wouldn’t want to face her without armor. Especially not when she thinks you’re trespassing on her property.”
“He’s a man. Not land.”
“And yet Maren will probably happily piss all over him.”
I cringe. “Gross.”
“Just saying, she’s the kind of woman who’d do anything to secure her spot when it comes with a billion dollars attached.”
“My cousin Cricket calls her Cuntcake McWhoreson.”
Gabi bursts out laughing. “I knew I liked her.”
An hour and a half later, my face is glowing, and I give Gabi a hug. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but I’ll try to come back down at least one more time.”
“I’m going to hold you to it, Whit. It’s such a treat.”
She leads me down the hallway, and I hear familiar giggles coming from a doorway up ahead. I pause when I see Karma and the girls all seated in pedicure chairs.
“Are you guys having fun?” I ask my little cousins, and the girls squeal their excitement. “What color did you pick?”
“I got pink!”
“Mine are purple.”
They hold out their fingernails, and I move closer to inspect them.
“They look so pretty.” I glance at Karma, and of course her resting bitch face is on point. “I hope you’re all having a nice afternoon.”
“We’re trying,” my cousin replies.
“I’m sure you’ll take full advantage of the amenities while we’re here.”
“My kids are missing school, but at least they’re finally getting what they deserve.”
I give her a tight smile and leave the room as quickly as I entered.
As soon as we’re out of earshot, Gabi asks, “What is her problem? She’s always been such a bitch.”
“I have no idea. But I’m not going to let her ruin my day.” Karma’s attitude is definitely what Magnus would consider a stormy cloud.
Gabi leaves me at the entrance to the women’s lounge, and I open the door to the locker room and run smack into a blonde. I bounce back.
“I’m sorry—”
“Oh. You.”
Her tone and the look on her face give me the clues I need to figure out exactly who she is.
Maren Higgins.
23
Lincoln
Ever since I left the resort this afternoon, I’ve been trying to find time to listen to Ricky Rango’s songs, but the universe seems to be conspiring against me.
First, one of our logging crews had an accident, and I spent a few hours in the hospital making sure the guy who got hit by a snapped cable wasn’t going to lose his hand. Thankfully, we have great doctors and surgeons on staff, and they all said he’d make a full recovery after surgery.
I hurried back to the office, just in time for legal to let me know that one of our customers has filed suit on a supply contract dispute.
And then, through it all, my mother left message after message.
When I finally have five minutes to myself, I return her call. It’s either that or risk having her show up at my door, and that’s the last thing I want to deal with.
“What did you tell them?” she says in lieu of a greeting, her tone sharp.
I know exactly what she’s talking about, but playing dumb is obviously the best choice. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Mother. Who did I tell what?”
“The household staff is acting strangely, my mobile phone has disappeared, and the internet is out. Your sister won’t answer my calls, and your brother told me to ask you for an explanation.”
Part of me is actually shocked that Harrison didn’t take the opportunity to fill my mother in on every little detail. But then again, he’s always been a coward, and he’s probably afraid she’ll kill the messenger. No doubt that’s why he sent her to me. There’s nothing my brother would love more than to give my mother another reason to despise me.
Unfortunately for Harrison, he’s not going to get his way this time, because I’m going to kick the can down the road exactly the same way he did. Commodore is the one who’s been withholding this information from us all for months, and he’s going to be the one to break the news to my mother.
“Has Commodore been over?”
“Of course not,” she snaps out. “You know that old man avoids coming here at all costs.”
I don’t respond to her comment because she’s correct. Commodore moved out of the estate when he started feeling unwell . . . but not until he accused my mother of poisoning his morning coffee. Now, when he comes to the estate, he refuses to eat or drink anything he didn’t personally bring with him. Obviously, I come by my trust issues genetically.
“I would expect him to stop by sometime tonight or tomorrow. Information has come to light that he’ll need to share with you. And I’m sure your cell phone will show up and the internet will be fixed soon.”
“What information? I want to know right now. I’m not waiting for that old dictator.”
“I’m sorry, Mother. Commodore’s orders.”
“But—”
I disconnect the call and feel a twinge of guilt for all of two seconds that I hung up on my mother. I’ve already admitted I’m a shitty son, so it’s not surprising. I’ve lost too many hours of my life to her tirades, and they never actually solve anything.
Letting Commodore take the role of explaining may seem like the coward’s way out, but I’m not taking responsibility for the consequences of him sitting on the information for months. This could have been resolved easily enough if he had made different choices.
I rise from my chair and tuck my hands into my pockets as I walk toward the windows. The frothing water churns over the rocks, and I finally let myself ask the question I’ve been avoiding since yesterday morning.
Was Ricky Rango my half brother?
The very idea seems ludicrous.
I stride back to my computer and lean over it to type his name into the search bar.
Dozens of images pop up immediately. Rango onstage. Rango walking the red carpet. Rango on late-night shows, standing in front of exotic cars, signing autographs, and taking pictures with his arms slung around the shoulders of adoring fans.
I forget to look at his face for any kind of resemblance, because I’m too struck by one similarity all of the pictures share—Whitney isn’t next to him in any of them.
I scan the screen, scrolling further down the page. Finally, at the bottom, I spot a photo where she’s partially visible. It’s another red carpet. Maybe some kind of awards show? She stares at the ground, a smile on her face that even I can tell is forced.
She married him, but she was never happy with him.
I’ve spent ten years assuming she was off living the high life as the wife of a rock star, but I’ve never been more wrong abou
t anything.
No more assumptions when it comes to Whitney. None.
I lower myself into my chair and reach for my phone to listen to the songs she wrote, but it vibrates with a call as soon as I touch it.
Commodore.
“Yes, sir?”
“Meet me at the cemetery. Now.”
24
Whitney
“Excuse me. So sorry.”
The blonde steps back. Her look of surprise is impossible to miss, as is the sharp knowledge in her gaze. She says nothing as she looks me up and down.
“They were right. You’re here.”
I decide that this is one of those times where it would behoove me to play dumb. “I’m sorry? Do I know you?”
Maren takes a step forward and gets a little too close for comfort, but I’m not about to step away. Women like her are the predators of the female gender, assessing potential prey for signs of weakness to determine who will be the easiest to attack. It’s a behavior I may as well have a master’s degree in after watching it so often around Ricky and his bandmates. When it comes to snagging rich and powerful men, women can be absolutely terrifying in their determination to win.
“Do you know me? Really, Whitney?” Her snide tone drips with condescension.
Instinct makes me straighten my shoulders and stand taller. I’m not the weak one here today, I remind myself. I’m confident and strong.
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Ms. . . .”
“Higgins. Maren Higgins.”
I keep my politely confused expression in place as I shake my head. Ricky wasn’t the only good liar. I can pull it off when needed.
“I’m afraid I have no idea who you are. Which is strange . . . considering you seem to think you know exactly who I am. If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else I need to be, and you’re blocking the door.”
