“How do I know you’ll keep your word and won’t turn us all out the second you decide I’m somehow to blame for this?” I pause, deducing how he must have known I was here. “Or did Commodore tell you everything already?”
Lincoln’s gaze narrows. “I knew the second you walked out my door that I made a big fucking mistake. I’m trying to fix it. Please, let me protect you the best way I know how.”
Dealing with the paparazzi in LA was the worst part of my life for the last ten years. And then when they turned feral after Ricky’s death? It was straight out of a nightmare.
While I’m not going to trust Lincoln blindly, the smartest thing I can do right now is take the protection he offers and keep him at a distance. I don’t want to subject Jackie and Cricket or Karma and her kids to the aggression I’ve endured with the media, and this may be the only way to avoid it.
I lift my chin. “Fine, but I’m only doing this for my family.”
He nods. “I understand. Thank you for letting me help.”
* * *
If you would have told me two hours ago that I’d be driving through the front gates of The Gables with Lincoln Riscoff to stay for an extended period of time, I would have asked where the crack you were smoking came from. But here I am, and Jackie, Karma, and the twins will be here shortly too.
The last two times I was here, things didn’t exactly work out well. Maybe there’s some truth to the saying that the third time’s a charm? I’m keeping a healthy dose of skepticism close regardless.
A bellhop comes running when Lincoln pulls his Range Rover under the massive covered entrance to the hotel.
“Mr. Riscoff, welcome. We’ve been expecting you, sir. We have suites prepared for your guests.” He hands Lincoln a white-and-gold envelope. “Here are your keys.”
“Thank you. Make sure you have the day manager show Jackie Gable and her daughter to their suite when they arrive.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve already been briefed. We’ll do everything in our power to make sure they have an excellent stay and all their needs are met.”
Lincoln thanks him and then helps me out of the car.
Part of me is grateful for the lengths Lincoln is going to in order to make sure my family is shielded, but I can’t shake the feeling that everyone is watching us as we walk through the lobby of the hotel.
Quit looking for the bad, Whitney. Let’s be positive for a single day.
I can do this. I’m not the same girl who felt completely out of place here ten years ago. I’ve had dinner at the White House. Met the queen of England. Flown in private jets. I may never have felt like I belonged at Ricky Rango’s side, but I sure learned how to fake it. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do now.
“Looks like you’ve done a lot with the place.” I inject humor into my tone as I scan the decor, because it’s clear the gilded interior hasn’t changed, although it doesn’t look like it’s aged either.
Lincoln’s lips quirk with a smile as we step into the elevator. “You know how Riscoffs are. We don’t handle change well.”
I look sideways at him, intending to make some kind of snarky comment, but instead I see him wave a card across the reader and push an unmarked button.
“Do I need to be worried that you’re taking me to the dungeon?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
The elevator starts to rise, and I shrug. “Well, we’re not going down, so I guess that answers my question.”
“We’re going to the top floor of this tower. It’s reserved for VIPs . . . celebrities, foreign dignitaries, politicians.”
“We don’t need that.” Apprehension coils in my chest. “We don’t want special treatment.”
Lincoln studies my face for several moments before he replies. “You deserve it, and you’re getting it. I’m not going to argue about it.”
I don’t give a shit that he doesn’t want to argue about it. I open my mouth to object, but he keeps going.
“Any employee or guest can access the other floors, but not this one. Access is very limited because we host people who require the utmost privacy, and McKinley is absolutely rigid with security. It’s the one place where I’m confident the press can’t get to you, which makes it the best place for you.”
I think of Jackie facing screaming reporters like I did. Oh Lord, if they got their microphones in Karma’s face . . .
The thought of what my cousin would say if given the chance is the deciding factor.
“Fine, but only because I don’t want my family to deal with the things I’ve had to.”
Lincoln’s mouth, already open no doubt to deliver another reason why I should agree, snaps shut.
I like seeing surprise on his face instead of feeling it on mine. Maybe keeping him off-balance should be my new goal, because it’s the best shot I have at a level playing field.
Why would I want a level playing field if I’m not giving him another chance?
“I’m sorry you had to deal with any of it.” Lincoln sounds sincere, and something that looks like protectiveness flickers to life in his hazel eyes. “If it’s within my power, I’ll make sure you never have to again.”
I want to believe him, but I remind myself that I’m no longer taking Lincoln at his word. I’m going to trust as little as he does. It may not be what Magnus meant when he said try something new, but it’s the only strategy I have right now.
My decision quells my rising tendrils of anxiety, and I paste a polite smile on my face. “I guess we’ll see.”
I pull my shoulders back just in time for the doors to slide open, and it takes everything I have not to gape.
If I thought the lobby, restaurant, and spa at The Gables were opulent, I hadn’t seen anything yet. This floor puts even the nicest hotels I’ve ever set foot in to shame. Even the fresh, crisp scent of the air is more exclusive than what I was used to in my old life.
I step out onto white marble floors shot with gold and silver, waxed to a shine so high that I can see my own reflection.
“The lounge area is to the right. There’s a fully stocked bar with a bartender available twenty-four hours a day.”
He waves to the gleaming white, gold, and silver slab of marble that curves around the side of the huge space filled with white leather seating arrangements and marble tables. The windows beyond the bar almost overshadow the space, however, because the view from up here is absolutely incredible.
I wander toward the wall of windows. One section slides apart as we approach, revealing the shimmering blue waters of a pool and white padded lounge chairs. Not a single person is outside, despite the gorgeous sunny day.
“No one uses this?”
Lincoln pauses. “Rarely. We only have two guests on the floor right now.”
My gaze trails along the intricate molding, taking in the details. “I don’t even want to know what this costs for a night, do I?”
“Does it matter?”
It may not matter to Lincoln, but I don’t like the beholden feeling I’m already letting creep in. No. I will not feel guilty about this.
“I guess not,” I say, trying to keep my tone blasé.
“Let me show you to your room. Unless you want a drink first?” He inclines his head toward the bartender.
The last thing I need right now is alcohol to muddy my decision-making abilities when Lincoln is being so accommodating.
“The room, please.”
I try to ignore his smile when he waves his hand toward the hallway. “If you’d follow me this way, I’ll show you to your suite, Ms. Gable.”
Maybe the room isn’t a safe choice either.
No, Whitney. Stop. You’re not going to be the one who goes back on your word immediately.
I follow him down to the last door on the right side of the hallway. Lincoln pulls the envelope the bellhop gave him from his suit pocket and waves it in front of the card reader, then opens the door.
Of course, I expected something opulent, and the living room o
f the suite doesn’t disappoint. It’s all white and gold and absolutely gorgeous. My gaze catches on the massive fireplace with a gold mantel along one wall and the cozy chaise near it. I can already picture myself curled up there with a journal.
“Will this work for you?” Lincoln asks.
I turn around, immediately thinking he must be making a joke about it, but his expression is completely serious. He really cares if this is okay.
“It’s perfect,” I reply honestly. I’m about to say something else when I hear excited little-girl squeals echoing down the hall.
The family has arrived.
“Oh my gosh, Mommy! Did you see?”
Lincoln and I step out of the room to see Jackie herding my cousin’s kids behind a man leading them to another room down the hall. Karma trails after them, her attention on her phone and not on her kids.
“Girls, please. Quiet. There are other people.” Of course, it’s my Aunt Jackie hushing them because Karma can’t be bothered.
I hurry toward them. “I’m so sorry, Jackie. I didn’t know—”
Karma looks up from her phone, her resting bitch face on point. “You didn’t know what? That reporters would be camped out on Mom’s front lawn trying to get my kids to talk to them?” Her tone is cutting. “Nice, Whit. Real nice.”
“Karma, not now,” Jackie says.
My cousin jerks her head to the right and glares at my aunt. “Then when, Mom? Because I had to pull my kids out of school because of her.”
“It’s not Whitney’s fault. I’m afraid that if there’s blame to be laid anywhere, it’s squarely on my family.”
Heat radiates off Lincoln’s body as he steps up behind me. It takes a few moments for my brain to recognize that he’s standing up for me.
But Karma can’t be so easily placated. “There’s a lot of things we could blame your family for today.”
“Karma!” My aunt snaps out her name, but Karma’s face is still screwed up with anger.
“Then again, if Whitney doesn’t care that her parents are dead, why should we?”
Grief slices at me, which is certainly her goal. She just had to bring that up.
Another voice joins the fray before I can reply.
“I think we all have reasons to be sad today. I’m sorry our family histories are connected with tragedy.” McKinley Riscoff’s soft tone is filled with strength and carries the slightest hint of rebuke aimed at Karma.
“I need a nap. I’m tired.” Karma grabs each of her daughters by the hand and disappears inside the suite.
We all stand in awkward silence for a moment before Lincoln’s hand brushes mine as he steps beside me and looks from me to my aunt.
“I think we can agree that we all wish many things involving both our families would’ve happened differently. And most recently, we need to apologize for our mother’s behavior. She was out of line.” He glances at McKinley.
“I have a written apology from her to you, Ms. Gable.” McKinley pulls a small envelope out of her suit jacket pocket.
Aunt Jackie’s eyebrows shoot up, and I’m sure my face mirrors hers. “Did you hold her at gunpoint?”
McKinley’s laugh cuts through the tension in the air. I swear, I can almost feel Lincoln relax a few degrees beside me.
No. I shouldn’t be so in tune with his reactions. I don’t care about him anymore. Although I remind myself of the facts, my brain and body seem to have stopped communicating.
Jackie opens the note and scans the contents. “Well, those are words I never expected to read.”
“I hope you’ll accept my offer to return. We would really like to have you come back and work here.”
Jackie stiffens, and she’s quiet for a moment. “I would like to say no. More than anything.” She pauses and swallows. “But that’s my pride speaking, and surely it cost your mother even more of hers to write this note.”
“You could say that,” McKinley replies.
“Then I think I can be the bigger person and accept your offer. I’ve never had a problem with you, Ms. Riscoff, and I truly enjoyed working here.”
“Then we would be pleased to have you rejoin us as assistant day manager.”
Jackie’s expression betrays only the smallest hint of her excitement. “If your mother’s not going to have another heart attack because of it, I would like that.”
“Wonderful.” McKinley Riscoff’s smile is genuine. “If you’d like to come down to my office later today, we can go over the details, and you can meet with your new immediate supervisor.”
“Thank you, Ms. Riscoff,” Jackie says with a nod. “I appreciate the opportunity.”
“You earned it.”
“I should be going too.” Lincoln steps toward his sister, and I curse the fact that my body immediately registers the new distance between us. “If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to press the majordomo call button on your phone. Each suite has been assigned someone, and you’ll be in good hands.”
“And feel free to call for room service, use the spa, pool, fitness center, or anything else we have to offer,” McKinley adds. “We want to make sure you’re truly comfortable.”
I meet Lincoln’s gaze and choose the simplest response possible. “Thank you.”
13
Whitney
I follow Aunt Jackie into the suite she’s sharing with Karma and the girls. A quick glance around the space tells me it has three bedrooms and must take up a quarter of the floor.
“Is this really going to be okay with you?” I ask her.
Jackie spins around to look at me. “Are you serious, Whit? Do you have any idea where we are? The rooms on this floor are some of the most expensive in the whole country. I might have to swallow some pride, but when the options are this or dodging reporters on my front lawn, I’m not about to say no to living in luxury for a while.”
“I’m so sorry about that—”
She holds up a hand. “Don’t start apologizing for more stuff you didn’t do.”
The fact that my aunt doesn’t even question what’s going on reminds me that she’s been on my side for my whole life in a way no one else has ever been.
Before tears can start burning my eyes, I change the subject. “And the job? Are you sure you’re okay with that too?”
“More money, better hours, and more authority? I think I can handle it just fine.”
I look at the closed door that Karma must be behind. “And what about Karma?”
Jackie’s lips press together into a flat line. “I don’t know what it is this time with her, but I’m going to figure it out. I swear, that girl just doesn’t know how to be happy. I don’t know where I went wrong with her, but I’m damn sure trying to do better with my grandbabies.”
The closed door flies open, and I don’t even know why I’m surprised. Karma is the queen of shitty timing.
“If you’re going to talk about me, at least make sure I can’t hear you.”
“Were you listening at the door?” I ask her. “Because I thought you were napping.”
“The bed’s uncomfortable.”
I stare up at the ceiling, needing some kind of divine patience and finding none. “Seriously, Karma, for one freaking second, can you stop being so damn negative about everything?”
Her glare intensifies. “Why should I? To make you feel better about the fact that all our lives revolve around you and always have? Am I supposed to be happy you finally get something for spreading your legs for Lincoln Riscoff?”
“Karma!” Aunt Jackie snaps out her name.
I take a long look at my cousin. Her blousy shirt is wrinkled and dark circles line her eyes.
“I’m sorry for whatever I did to you. I’m sorry that I’ve interrupted your life. I’m sorry that because of me you’re forced to stay in the nicest place you’ve ever seen.”
“You’re not sorry for anything, Whitney. But you will be someday.” She shuts the door in our faces and disappears inside.
“I do
n’t know what I did to make her hate me so much.” I release a long sigh.
Jackie’s expression turns rueful. “I think you got the life she wanted—out of this town, with a man who wrote you love songs. She’s bitter because she feels like she never got what she deserved.”
“Too bad she’s got it all backward,” I say with a shake of my head.
Karma and Jackie have no idea that I wrote all those love songs myself, wishing someone would actually feel that way about me. But they don’t need to know.
14
Whitney
The past
“Baby, please. I know it’ll help. I swear. You’ve been keeping everything bottled up, and that’s not healthy. You won’t even talk to me.”
There were a lot of reasons I hadn’t talked to Ricky, and while the biggest one was that I was drowning in my own grief, I was also still fucking pissed at him.
But if he hadn’t cheated, I wouldn’t have met Lincoln.
Immediately, I wanted to slap myself for the thought.
Stop, Whitney. That doesn’t matter. It’s over. It never should have happened to begin with.
“Come on, Whit.” Ricky held a pencil near my hand and pushed a spiral notebook toward me. “Just start writing down words like you used to when we’d drive around. It doesn’t have to make sense now. You’ll fix it later.”
When he wrapped my fingers around the pencil, I squeezed it so tightly I thought the wood would snap, but it didn’t.
Because it wasn’t a pencil. It was a pen.
That’s how out of it I was. I couldn’t see anything clearly through my haze.
“Baby, I’m worried about you. You just need to let it all pour out of you. Music is the best way to do it. You know that’s what I did when I thought I lost you.”
When I thought I lost you?
Like it was past tense. Like he already had me back.
Does he? No one had consulted me in that decision—or had I been too out of it to realize that had happened too?
Guilty As Sin Page 5
