The salad was done, and now Eric was just standing there, staring at the big wooden bowl that had once been their mom’s. He could vividly remember her passing the bowl around the table, chiding her husband to stop making faces at the vegetables.
“I’m an Irishman,” Michael Donovan would say. “The only vegetables we eat are potatoes and cabbage.”
“You’re an American,” Eric’s mom would counter. “You eat salad.”
But Eric would always try to push his salad aside with his fork, wanting to be just as Irish as Michael Donovan. Then his dad would wink and take a big bite of salad. “We’d better do what she wants, son. We’ve got to teach your baby brother to eat healthy, even if it makes us feel like rabbits.”
Christ, Michael Donovan had been a good man. The best. And when he’d died, Eric had tried his damnedest to step into those shoes. Apparently, he’d failed miserably.
Eric cleared his throat and wiped his hands on a towel. “Jamie,” he said, tossing the towel on the counter and turning toward his brother. “I’ve been thinking.”
Jamie’s eyes narrowed as if that were a threat.
“You’re busy now with all the restaurant planning. You’ve got your hands full. So why don’t I take over the trade show circuit?”
“What do you mean?” he growled.
“I mean you won’t have the time to travel for a while. With all the hiring and training and the marketing push. It’s going to be crazy.”
“You hate the shows,” Jamie said.
Yeah, he did. But he’d do it for his little brother. Eric shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I know you’re sort of the face of the company, but—”
“But you’d be happy to take that over?”
Eric frowned at the edge in his brother’s voice. “I wouldn’t say happy, but we obviously need to shift—”
Jamie laughed. “I can’t believe this. I finally get a little more responsibility, and now you want to start chipping away at my public role?”
“That’s not it at all. I’m trying to help. I’m trying to be supportive.” He sneered the word even though he didn’t mean to, but Jamie was starting to piss him off.
“Oh, yeah?” Jamie scoffed. “Since when?”
“Guys,” Tessa warned.
Eric ignored her and took a step forward. “Since when? Since I got behind this restaurant idea in the first place. Since I told you to go ahead and turn our brewery into something else.”
Tessa held up both hands. “We are not supposed to talk about work on Sundays. That’s the rule.”
Jamie ignored her, just as Eric had. He crossed his arms and offered that tight smile again. “Something else, huh? Something not as good as your ideas for the brewery, is that what you’re saying? Is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time?”
“Something just like every other goddamned brewpub in the state!” Eric shouted.
Now even Olivia seemed alarmed. She got up from her chair and put her hand on Jamie’s arm. “Why don’t we go watch TV? Is it still baseball season?”
“Don’t worry,” Jamie said. “This is nothing unusual. I’m used to always being the one in the wrong.”
“That’s not what I said,” Eric interrupted. “I’m trying to help.”
“Really? Because you seem to manage just fine with balancing all your work at the brewery and still making the trade show trips.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Eric snapped. “This is all new for you. It’ll take you time to adjust.”
“I think it’s taking you time to adjust, Eric. And I think you don’t want me at trade shows, talking up all the changes we’re making, because you don’t approve.”
“Screw you,” Eric responded. “This discussion is over.”
“Good!” Tessa yelped.
But Jamie shook his head. “No, you don’t get to start a fight and pretend you didn’t. Not after this week.”
“Don’t,” Eric warned.
“Don’t what? Don’t bring up what you did?”
Tessa said, “Jamie!” but he ignored her and stepped toward Eric.
Eric met him in the middle of the kitchen.
Jamie let all his disgust show in a sneer. “Don’t bring up that you completely betrayed me just to get a piece of ass?”
“That is not what happened.”
“You used my name. You used the reputation you’ve spent years sneering at. All because some random chick was putting out and you wanted a sample?”
“Watch it,” Eric growled, fury eating up every crumb of guilt that still clung to him. “Don’t talk about her.”
“Her? Because she meant so much to you? That stranger you fucked with my name?”
“Jamie!” both women shouted at once, but Jamie just smiled.
“Let me ask you something, brother….”
Eric felt his fists float up slowly, as if they were raised by someone else’s arms.
“What name did she call you when—?”
Eric punched his brother. He punched Jamie. The moment his fist connected, Eric was already sorry. The regret crashed into him even as furious momentum kept his arm moving forward.
He heard the women scream, heard Jamie grunt, but, thankfully, Eric had been standing too close to get good leverage, and Jamie stumbled back but didn’t fall. Nothing broke. Nothing bled. But Eric was sure he heard a momentous split crack through the room.
“Eric!” Tessa screamed. “Eric, stop!”
But it wasn’t Eric that needed stopping now. Jamie touched his jaw, eyes blank with surprise, but it took no more than a second for those eyes to flatten into rage. He jumped forward and Eric stepped back.
Jamie’s first swing slid so closely past Eric’s nose that the breeze danced over his skin. But Jamie’s second blow landed square in Eric’s stomach. Eric grabbed for him, trying to catch his breath as he wrestled Jamie backward. Jamie punched him in the stomach again, but Eric’s stomach was already numb, so he hardly felt it.
He shoved Jamie off and raised his fists again, ready for the next round, but a hand closed over the back of Eric’s neck and pulled him back.
“That’s enough!” Luke Asher’s cop voice was damned effective. Eric froze automatically, as if he had to worry that Luke would draw his gun. Jamie didn’t stop quickly enough, and Luke dropped his hold on Eric and lunged forward to grab Jamie by the shoulders. “I said, that’s enough! You two can punch each other around as much as you like in private. But you won’t do it in front of Tessa.”
“You idiots!” she yelled, and Eric could hear the tears in her voice. He winced and dropped his head.
“I’m sorry,” he said, pressing a hand to his stomach. It was no longer numb. “I don’t know what happened.”
“You hit me, you dumb shit,” Jamie growled. “That’s what happened.” Olivia clung to his arm, watching Eric with wary eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. His muscles screamed with adrenaline.
Tessa pointed at Jamie. “You were being cruel. You should apologize, too.”
“He hit me,” Jamie insisted.
“Well, you almost deserved it,” Tessa said.
Luke stepped warily back, keeping an eye on both men.
Tessa wiped tears from her cheeks. “You two are getting ridiculous. You’re worse than you were ten years ago. What’s going on?”
Eric wanted to blame it on Jamie. After all, Jamie was the one who’d caused trouble in the past. But Jamie wasn’t doing anything wrong now. He’d settled down. He’d changed. And now Eric was the one swinging in the breeze. He’d actually punched his brother in the face, and despite all the screaming, yelling, pushing fights they’d had in the past, neither of them had ever hit each other before today. “I’m sorry,” Eric said again. “I’ll go.”
He started for the front door, leaving chaos behind him. Tessa was ordering him to stay. Jamie was threatening to leave if Eric didn’t. And Olivia made sympathetic noises and urged Jamie to calm down.
For the first time i
n Eric’s life, he walked away from his family. And as the old oak door shut behind him and silenced all the noise, he didn’t know whether he felt sad or just…relieved.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BETH TRIED NOT TO LET HER stage fright over tonight’s class ruin the whole day. A shipment from their highest-end lingerie line was in, and one of Beth’s favorite tasks was unpacking box after box of gorgeous silk. It felt like Christmas to her: exciting and surprising and she always ended up spending a lot of her own money.
The gorgeous silk was even enough to distract her from her thoughts about the Kendalls, but it still weighed heavily at the back of her mind. Monica hadn’t responded to the email, and for all Beth knew she didn’t even use that email address anymore.
Beth had hit Google again, first thing this morning, but she’d found nothing more than the day before. It was as if no one else cared about this story except her. But the Donovans must care. They’d apparently been robbed and defrauded and violated. Did Eric blame Beth? Surely not. He’d been determined to do business with the Kendall Group. Beth had just facilitated that. And she clearly owed him nothing, regardless.
Beth hung up the last of her favorite baby-doll nightgowns and headed back to her office with a sigh. If she could just find out what had happened with the Kendalls and then get through tonight’s class, everything would be fine. For a couple of weeks. Until it was time for the next evening class.
Determined to take control of at least one part of her life, Beth looked up Monica’s company, High West Air, and called the main number.
“Ms. Kendall isn’t in the office today,” the receptionist said with a weary edge to the words, as if she’d spoken them a thousand times over in the past few weeks.
“Can I leave a message? Please tell her that Beth Cantrell called. I truly need to speak with her about a personal issue.”
The receptionist promised to deliver the message, but Beth wasn’t hopeful. The family had to be in lock-down mode. To her surprise, her cell phone rang a few seconds later. “Hello?”
“Beth? It’s Monica Kendall.”
It had been years, but the cool voice was immediately familiar. Beth blinked in surprise. “Monica! How are you?”
“Oh, things are crazy. Just awful. I guess that’s what you were calling about.”
“It was, yes.”
She sighed. “I saw your email. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to respond.”
“It’s okay. I know you must be overwhelmed.”
“I am!”
She waited a few beats, but when Monica didn’t continue, Beth decided to just jump right into it. “I don’t really know how to say this, so I’ll just be honest. I know someone who works at the brewery—one of the Donovans, actually—but I wanted to call you to find out what had happened.”
“One of the Donovans, huh? I bet it’s that little slut, Jamie, isn’t it?”
Beth actually gasped. She didn’t know why. She didn’t even know the man, but Monica’s offhand insult sent a jolt of shock through her body. “I…”
“He’s the one who got me pulled into this bullshit,” Monica snapped.
“Oh. I thought your brother was the one in trouble. The news said he’d left the country.” Fled the country was more like it, but Beth tried the diplomatic route.
“This is all Graham’s mess. All of it. I had nothing to do with it, despite what Jamie Donovan says.”
“Nothing to do with what? I still have no idea what’s going on.”
Monica sighed in that exact same irritated way she’d used to whenever Beth had been unwilling to sleep in the TV room of the dorm so that Monica could be alone with her boyfriend of the week. “It’s unbelievable. Graham got himself into deep shit in Vegas. Gambling. Coke parties. Hookers. What a complete loser. He fell into debt and started dealing with some contacts overseas. You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know,” Beth said patiently. Was this some sort of rich people talk?
“Eastern Europeans. The Chinese. There’s plenty of money to be made if you’re selling the right goods.”
“What goods?”
Monica laughed, the sound dripping with condescension. “Social Security numbers, credit card numbers. Very popular items in the emerging markets.”
What Beth wanted to say was, “You sound awfully high-and-mighty for a woman whose family is under investigation for criminal activity,” but she bit her tongue and waited for the urge to pass. She’d done a lot of tongue biting during her freshman year of college, and it was a little like riding a bike. She still knew how to work Monica Kendall. “But how did you get dragged into this, Monica?”
Monica sighed again, the sound fraught with self-pity and martyrdom. “My first mistake was having sex with Jamie Donovan.”
The words stabbed straight into Beth’s gut before her brain could kick in. Jealousy rolled through on a horrible, sickening wave, even as Beth told herself it wasn’t true. Or actually, it might be true, but it had nothing to do with Beth. Monica’s Jamie Donovan was a different man. A different mouth. Different hands. He hadn’t touched icy Monica Kendall after he’d touched Beth.
Unless, of course, he made a habit of lying about his name.
“Jamie Donovan?” she finally managed to croak.
“Your friend?” Monica drawled.
“No, I… Is he the bartender? Blond hair?”
“Ha. I’d describe it as more a washed-out brown, but, yeah. That’s him. I can’t believe I let him talk his way into my bed. And then when I wasn’t interested in seeing him again, he told the police I had something to do with the robbery.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Can you believe it? What a loser.”
Jamie Donovan hadn’t struck Beth as any kind of loser at all. He’d been handsome and confident, and even in that brief interaction, his natural charisma had been obvious. “So you’re under investigation, too? It’s not just Graham?”
“It’s so unfair. Me! I keep thinking it’s got to be some sort of awful joke.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“I knew you’d understand, Beth. You’ve known me longer than almost anyone.”
That was a bit of an exaggeration. Monica had plenty of friends from high school, where she’d been the queen bee. And known wasn’t exactly the right word, either. Beth and Monica were, at best, acquaintances at this point.
“Beth, do you think you could do me a little favor?”
“Um…” Beth stared warily at her desk. “What kind of favor?”
“If the police were to get in touch with you, maybe you could mention that we had this conversation.”
“What conversation?”
“About Jamie Donovan. About how he’s trying to fuck me over because I wouldn’t let him fuck me sideways.” She laughed as if she were delighted with herself.
“Monica—”
“You have no idea what he’s like. You know the type—a woman’s never said no to him, so he can’t accept it when one does. He’s spoiled.”
Spoiled? Beth took the phone from her ear and stared at it in disbelief. If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black… “How can this possibly matter?” she finally asked. “Why would the police ever call me?”
“Well, they call me often enough, believe me. So if I happen to mention that you and I had this conversation…”
“Yes, we had this conversation. That won’t mean anything to them if they already suspect you, Monica.”
“So maybe you could tell them we had this conversation six months ago.”
Monica had shocked the hell out of her again. Beth shook her head and kept shaking it. “I’m not going to lie to the police for you.”
“It’s not really a lie. I mean, don’t you believe what I’m telling you? Jamie and I were supposed to be having a business meeting, and instead he got me drunk on that crappy beer, took me home and took advantage of me. And then when I—”
“He took advantage of you? That’s not quite how you sa
id it.”
“Listen to me,” Monica hissed. “I’m not going down for my idiot brother. I don’t have a gambling problem. I don’t spend too much money on coke and whores. They can throw him in prison for fifty years for all I care, but I didn’t do anything wrong. And you…” She took a deep breath as if she were gearing up for a scream. “You,” she ground out. “After everything my family did for you, the least you can do is back me up.”
“Excuse me? What did your family ever do for me?”
“The dinners, the introductions, the trips to Aspen…”
“There was one trip to Aspen, and the dinners and everything else were for your benefit.”
“My benefit? What the hell are you talking about?”
Beth didn’t want to say this. Monica might be a bitch, but it wasn’t easy for Beth to deliberately hurt someone’s feelings. Still, there was another condescending laugh lurking just beneath the surface of Monica’s voice. Beth could hear it. “Your dad thought I was a good influence on you. He wanted me around because he didn’t like those snobby girls you were always hanging around with.”
“My sorority sisters? How dare you!”
“Talk to your father,” Beth interrupted.
For a moment, Monica sounded as if she couldn’t get any words out of her throat, but she finally managed, with a vengeance. “Look, you little slut. My father let you latch on to us because he felt sorry for you. You were poor and quiet and always carrying around about thirty too many pounds. You owe us, so you’d better back me up if the police get in touch. Understand?”
Beth hung up. There was nothing left to say. Not to Monica, anyway. She waited, shoulders tense and hands clutched together, but the phone didn’t ring again. Silly that it could hurt to hear those things from someone she neither liked nor respected, but it stung. She had been poor and shy back then, and she hadn’t known how to dress for her figure. Oversize shirts and baggy jeans had been a mistake.
She managed a smile at that understatement. A mistake didn’t begin to cover her fashion choices back then. She’d been hiding. But she’d learned. So screw Monica. College was supposed to be the place where you discovered who you truly were deep inside. Beth had made big strides in college and afterward. Monica hadn’t changed at all.
Real Men Will Page 8
