In the Heir

by Ruth Cardello

  “I believe that was covered by my earlier promise.” As usual his mother didn’t laugh, so he added, “I won’t say anything to her.”

  She lowered her voice. “I think he’s only marrying Alisha to get his inheritance.”

  “Does she know that?” he asked, relieved that his mother shared his opinion. And confused by his own reaction.

  “I don’t know, and that worries me. Alisha has always been a bit of a lost soul. She wants to belong so badly, and I’m afraid that’s why she agreed. I hope Spencer is being honest with her. I’ve tried to talk to both of them, but they say they’re in love. I don’t want to see her hurt. Is there anything you could say to him that would encourage him to go slower? I feel like if they have more time, they’d both realize that this isn’t what they want.”

  Brett paced the living room of his penthouse long after he hung up with his mother. He hadn’t agreed to talk to Spencer about pushing his wedding date back, because he was sure he shouldn’t be the one to question how Spencer felt about Alisha. Objectivity was impossible when one had a vested interest in the outcome.

  And despite how Brett tried to deny it, Alisha was becoming an obsession. His nights were lost to imagining her beside him. His ability to concentrate on work was constantly threatened by thoughts of where she might be and a need to know she was okay. He not only spent an insane amount of time thinking about her, but she was also affecting him in ways he hadn’t expected.

  In all the years he’d known about his mother’s infidelity, he’d never asked her about it. Her cheating had joined a long list of things he’d never questioned—along with why she hadn’t fought for him to go with her.

  Why had it been so easy to leave him behind? Did Dad force her to? Did he need to groom me to take over Westerly Corp.? He’d always assumed she hadn’t wanted him enough to fight for him, but how much choice had either of them had? Twenty years of anger . . .

  Talking to his mother had answered some of Brett’s questions. She still loved my father. Had never stopped. I knew why he had pulled away from her, how he had effectively sacrificed his marriage, his family, to save the business. A business . . . over family. Something he still held fast to. But Brett still had more questions, and he wasn’t sure where that left him.

  What kind of man am I?

  I don’t want to be like my father. Rich. Bitter.

  Alone.

  Unlike Spencer. If he marries Alisha.

  Fucking Alisha.

  How do I get her out of my head?

  Chapter Six

  “Hello? Spencer?” Alisha knocked on the door to Spencer’s brownstone apartment a second time. “I know you’re in there. Open the door.” His lights were on. His car was on the street. Why wasn’t he answering? This is ridiculous. She knocked harder. Since speaking to Spencer briefly on Tuesday, he’d gone MIA. The last thing he’d said was that they needed to get a marriage license, and that might delay their plans another week. He’d suggested they go together to get it on Thursday or Friday, but she hadn’t heard from him since. No text. No phone call. Nothing. If he’d changed his mind about marrying her that was certainly not a reason to hide. She’d be relieved. Which he would know if he wasn’t avoiding me. She raised her voice. “I am not leaving until you talk to me, so you might as well open the door.”

  His door finally opened, and Spencer stood there dripping wet with a sheepish smile on his face, wearing nothing more than a towel. Another woman might have found him irresistible like that, but Alisha felt nothing beyond irritation. “Sorry, Alisha. Would you believe I was on a business call?”

  She rolled her eyes. “In the shower?”

  His grin widened. “You got me. Hey, I don’t mean to be rude, but can we talk later?”

  She put her hands on her hips and mimicked his voice, “Hey, I don’t mean to be rude, either, but no.” She stepped by him and into the entrance of his apartment. “What happened? Why aren’t you answering my calls?”

  He reluctantly closed the door. “I needed some time to think. Last weekend was a lot to process.”

  “Spencer, are you coming back or should I turn the shower off?” a female voice called out from up the stairs.

  Alisha shook her head. Spencer had always been popular with women, and she was under no illusion about the nature of their engagement. Still, finding him with a woman when he was telling the world he wanted to marry her was insulting. She gave him a long, measured look that she hoped conveyed her feelings.

  He shrugged like a child caught in the act of something he knew he shouldn’t do, but would also do again without hesitation. “Monica is a friend of mine from California. I forgot she was coming. We get together whenever she has a conference in Boston.” He studied Alisha’s expression again. “You’re not upset, are you?”

  “About her? No.”

  “I figured that once we get married, I should at least try to not be with other women, out of respect for you. But we could be married a while. That’s a long time to go without—” He stopped, then cocked his head to one side. “Because we would never . . . You’re not expecting to . . .”

  “No.”

  “Thank God,” Spencer said, then made a pained face. “I don’t mean that the way it sounds. You are completely fuckable; it would just feel wrong.”

  Alisha sighed. Fuckable? I’m fuckable? Not pretty, gorgeous . . . fuckable. She knew what he meant. Still, not an ego builder.

  “Spencer?” Monica called from halfway down the stairs. She froze when she saw Alisha, then smiled and purred, “Is this what you were trying to tell me earlier? Oh, I’m in. She’s beautiful.”

  Alisha took a quick step back. “I’m not here for—”

  Spencer laughed. “You should see your face, Alisha. Who knew you were such a prude?”

  Alisha swatted at Spencer and took another step toward the door. “I’m flattered and completely accepting of other people’s preferences, but I came by to ask Spencer a question.”

  The woman dropped her towel and ran a hand across her ample breasts. “Are you sure? I haven’t been with a woman in a while, but I know we’d have fun.”

  After a quick fumble with the door, Alisha escaped through it. Spencer followed her, looking over his shoulder and then back at Alisha apologetically. “See why I couldn’t say no? She doesn’t care that I’m engaged. This is guilt-free. Like one last ice-cream cone before cutting out sugar.”

  Alisha was on the bottom of the steps, looking up at him. “At least I know why you weren’t taking my calls.”

  A hand snaked around his shoulder and across his bare chest as he stood there, and his towel began to tent. “I meant to. Time flies when you’re having fun. She leaves on Sunday night. I’ll call you then.”

  “Fine,” Alisha said as she turned away.

  “Alisha,” Spencer called out.

  Alisha glanced over her shoulder in his direction but refused to actually look at him. “What?”

  “Thanks for understanding.”

  “No problem,” she answered automatically.

  “Hey, I told you, you were fuckable. Monica is disappointed.” His tone was the teasing one they often used with each other.

  Facing forward again, Alisha shot her middle finger back at him. The past couple of weeks had been emotional, and she’d begun to worry that they’d overwhelmed Spencer.

  Apparently, he was fine.

  I’m going to be, too. When Spencer surfaces from—that—we’ll talk. I’ll tell him the concerns I have about how little we’ve thought through this marriage-and-divorce thing. How I don’t want to lie to his mother or to anyone else.

  And we’ll figure out where we go from there.

  The more she thought about it, the more relieved she was at the reason Spencer hadn’t been calling her. He looked happy and confident, and that was what mattered most to Alisha.

  She smiled. And Monica thinks I’m hot.

  So at least I know the yoga is working.

  After telling himself
all week that he wouldn’t, Brett parked his car in front of Spencer’s brownstone and planned what he would say to his brother. It was Friday, and no one had heard from Spencer all week.

  He better not already be married.

  Or?

  Or I’ll be forced to be happy for him.

  I don’t know if I can do that.

  Brett rang the doorbell, but there was no answer. He searched the street for Spencer’s car. Shit. He was preparing to leave when Spencer’s car pulled up. His gut twisted painfully when he saw Spencer lean over and kiss Alisha. He’d never respected a man who lusted after another man’s woman, but there he was, suffering from a full-blown case of jealousy over a woman he barely knew.

  Spencer exited and walked around to let Alisha out. It was only then that Brett realized the woman who wrapped herself about Spencer was a brunette. Anger replaced jealousy as Brett strode toward them.

  “Spencer,” Brett growled his brother’s name.

  “Brett.” Spencer’s eyes rounded. “Monica, this is my brother, Brett. Brett, meet Monica.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Brett demanded.

  Monica brought a hand to her chin. Her eyes danced with mischief. “Do you really want to know? Maybe watch?”

  Spencer frowned at the woman. “Monica, that’s my brother. And you shouldn’t joke like that. He’ll think we’re more than friends.”

  Monica shrugged. “I’m confused. Other women can know about me, but you don’t want your brother to?”

  “Other women?” This is too much. “Excuse us, Monica. I need a moment with Spencer.”

  Spencer looked uncertain. “Monica, I’ll get you the notes later. Wait in my car.”

  “Sure.” Monica laughed. “Whatever.” She slid into the car, but before the door closed, she said, “When you’re married, would you mind if he and I—”

  Spencer shut the door before she finished. He leaned against the side of the car and folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve never come here, Brett. What do you want?”

  “You could start with an explanation.”

  The look he gave Brett was cold and steely. “The thing is, I don’t owe you one. How I live my life is none of your business.”

  Brett counted to ten and pocketed his hands. Spencer was stonewalling him on a personal level, so Brett shifted automatically to handling it as he would any difficult negotiation: he plowed ahead. “Are you still getting married this weekend?”

  After a brief pause, Spencer shook his head. “The paperwork is more time-consuming than we had anticipated. We’re putting it off for a couple of weeks.”

  Thank God. He almost called Spencer out on what he was actually spending his time on, or rather who, but he didn’t. He was willing to keep some thoughts to himself if it got him what he wanted in the end. And what he wanted was for Spencer to see that Alisha deserved to be treated better. “I may not have been receptive to the idea of Alisha when you first said you were marrying her, but if you’re going to do this, you should do it right.”

  “Relationship advice from you? Am I supposed to take this seriously?”

  “You’re supposed to be the kind of man who gives a shit about his fiancée.”

  Spencer straightened. “You don’t know anything about me or Alisha. I don’t need your money or your advice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, this conversation is over.”

  Brett stepped closer to him until they were in a nose-to-nose standoff. The truth was obvious, but Brett wanted to hear it voiced. “You’re better than this, Spencer. You know it, and so do I. What you’re doing today shows a lack of respect for whatever you have with Alisha. You’re not fucking invisible. People see what you do. Those same people will go back and say things to her. Ask yourself how that will be for her. You say you love her, but then you do something that is guaranteed to hurt her. If her feelings don’t matter, why the hell are you marrying her?”

  Spencer looked away first, and Brett knew he had been heard. That’s all he could do. He wouldn’t tell Spencer not to marry her. He sure as hell wasn’t going to encourage him to do it, either. Hopefully, what he said woke his brother up to the fact that actions had consequences.

  Brett started to walk away, but stopped and turned back. How could he cheat on Alisha? Monica was pretty, but Alisha . . . she was the real deal. Beautiful inside and out. If he started comparing the two, Brett was certain his feelings for Alisha would quickly become apparent. And he made a valid point earlier. “This shouldn’t have been my first time here. I should have gone with you when you were house hunting.”

  A funny expression spread across Spencer’s face. “Are you okay?”

  In the past, Brett would have assured him that he was. Westerlys didn’t talk about their feelings. His mother’s words came back to him, though. If Spencer’s goal really was to emulate him, he needed to know that it wasn’t all gold coins and roses. How different might everyone’s life have been had his father let his mother in instead of walling her out. Perceived impossibilities. They were simply obstacles he smashed through in business. The distance between us appears insurmountable.

  But is it?

  One systemic policy modification can change the course of a company.

  He’d often told his directors that clear goals are the most powerful. Vision inspires effort. Focused vision inspires focused effort, which produces success.

  Our family has unhealthy patterns.

  They stop now.

  No walls. No lies.

  “You asked me why I came. I’m here because I care about you. I want things to work out for you and for your company. And if you need help, I’m always only a phone call away.” He expelled a harsh breath. “But you need to know that Alisha is an amazing woman. She’s intelligent, caring, and beautiful. If you don’t treat her well, you’ll lose her to someone who will. Dad learned that the hard way.”

  With that, Brett walked away. He’d said his piece. What happened next was up to Spencer.

  Chapter Seven

  On Saturday morning, Alisha put the thermometer on the counter near the bathroom sink and looked at herself in the mirror. This is what I get for lying about being sick. Taking her temperature hadn’t been necessary. She shivered with cold, her face flushed, and her eyes glazed from fever.

  She downed a couple of Tylenol and dragged her feet back to bed.

  I’ll sleep it off and be fine by Monday morning.

  Her phone beeped with a text. She groaned and rolled over to read it. Spencer wanted to talk. She dropped the phone beside her without answering him. He was fine not talking last week. He can wait another day.

  Still on top of her bedsheets, she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep. Her phone beeped again. Rachelle wanted to know if she wanted to go to breakfast. Alisha typed back that she was sick.

  Again?!? I’m worried about you. I’m coming over.

  Alisha swore. She felt miserable. If Rachelle came over, Alisha would have to get up and try to look less like she wanted to die. Not because Rachelle wouldn’t allow her friend to wallow, but because Alisha wouldn’t want to put the weight of how she felt onto her.

  Alisha had learned at a young age to hide her pain, smile when she wanted to cry, and put her feelings aside for others. She didn’t want to do that today. All she wanted to do was stay in her pajamas, leave her bed only to use the bathroom, and not think or worry about another person until Monday. She texted back. Please don’t. I just want to crash and sleep it off.

  If Rachelle was put off by her blunt response, Alisha was prepared to apologize for it. Monday. She closed her eyes and instantly fell back asleep.

  She woke to a pounding headache and the sound of her doorbell ringing over and over. At first she pulled a pillow over her head, but the ringing didn’t stop. Swearing, she stumbled out of bed to answer it. She felt cold and hated whoever had ended the reprieve she’d found in sleep. She looked out the peephole in the front door.

  There, in a gray polo shirt and dark slacks was—Bre
tt?

  Shit.

  If I don’t answer the door, will he go away?

  “Alisha, open the door.”

  “I can’t,” she said lamely. “I’m contagious. I don’t want to give it to anyone.”

  “If you’re actually ill this time, you need to open the door. How sick are you?”

  Alisha raised a hand to her throbbing forehead. Too sick for this. “Thank you for checking on me, but I’m fine.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Go away, Brett.”

  “Show me how sick you are, and I will.”

  Alisha straightened. “Oh, for God’s sake.” If seeing her in her full germ-infested glory would get him to leave, then fine. Let him look. She swung the door open and put an arm up. “I’m fine. See?”

  He looked her over from head to toe and frowned. “You look awful.”

  She would have glared at him if she’d had the energy. “That’s sweet, but there’s no need to heap on the compliments.”

  He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “I’m serious. You’re definitely sick.”

  She waved a hand at him. “Thank you, Doctor Obvious.”

  He raised a hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up.”

  “I’m aware of that, too.” She pushed his hand away. “Which is why I’m home sleeping it off.”

  “Alone?”

  Irritated that he wouldn’t leave, she snapped, “Yes, my therapeutic orgy ended an hour ago, and they all went home.”

  His smile didn’t help her mood. “I’ll have to try that the next time I’m sick.” His smile faded. “I thought Spencer might be here. Does he know you’re sick?”

  Alisha shook her head and turned away. Pretending was beyond her at the moment. “I can’t do this right now. Could you let yourself out and lock the door behind you, please?” She trudged back to her bed and collapsed, facedown, on top of it.

  A few minutes later, Brett’s voice pulled her back awake. “Roll over.”

  Alisha did and opened her eyes. The glass of water he held out to her was the solution to the dry mouth she hadn’t realized she was suffering from. She pushed herself up to a seated position and sipped it. “Thanks.”