Escorting the Groom (The Escort Collection Book 4) (20 page)

A
fter I took two ibuprofen
, I texted my mother to let her know I was on my way. She just texted back a question mark. I wasn't sure what I was going to tell her.

My stomach sank as my cab drove into the section of Southie where we lived. South Boston had become home to many young professionals over the past decade, but there was no gentrification in our neighborhood. Faded baby-blue paint peeled in rolls from the exterior of our multi-family building. Weeds grew out of the cracks in the sidewalk out front, and empty cans of
Schlitz
littered our shared porch.

Home sweet home. I'd always hated it there, but it was worse now because I knew I was never getting out.

My mother was sitting on the couch, wrapped in an old afghan, with a bunch of crumpled tissues next to her.

I hugged her, pulling her close. "What's the matter?"

"Like you don't know." Her voice was wobbly.

I knelt down and grabbed her hands. "Know what?"

She pursed her lips, but her accusatory look faded, replaced by unshed tears. "You don't know about your sister?"

The headache from my hangover started to pound worse. "Is she okay?"

My mother grabbed another tissue and blew her nose loudly. "She's leaving town. Moving to New York, of all places. She's probably going to become a Yankees fan. I don't know where I went wrong with that girl. I tried to raise her right."

I sank down onto the couch next to her. "She's really going?"

My mother blew her nose again. "Yes. She said she ran into some good luck and finally had the money to move. She's going to acting school." She turned and looked at me. "I don't know where all this money came from. I didn't want to tell you this, but I'd lent her some money a couple of weeks ago. Actually, I opened a new credit card so she could get herself some things."

I stiffened. "You shouldn't have done that. You'll never get the money back."

My mother shook her head. "That's the crazy thing—she paid me back last night
.
"

"Huh?" My sister never paid anyone back. Not ever.

"You heard me. She paid me back two thousand dollars. In cash. And she wasn't even bothered by it." A suspicious look was back on my mom's face. "Did you do this? Did you give her the money to go away? I know she drives you crazy, and I wouldn't even blame you after what she did with Vince—"

"It wasn't me." I swallowed hard. "It was probably Lucas."

I could feel my mother staring at me. She was probably taking in my puffy eyes and the mascara still smudged on my face, that I hadn't bothered to wash off. "Speaking of Lucas, where is he? And whad're you doing here? I thought you weren't coming back until next summer."

I grabbed a tissue from her. "Can we not, please? Talk about him? Or anything to do with him?"

"Did he do something bad?"

"Yes." I blew my nose. "No. I don't know."

"Did he
hurt
you?"

"No," I said quickly. "He wouldn't do anything like that. He's not like that."

"Why would he give Chelsea money?" Her tone was now gentle, which pushed me dangerously close to tears.

"I don't k-know." My breath hitched. "It might be because she threatened to blackmail me. Or maybe she… did something for him." I wiped roughly at my tears. I didn't want to be crying, and I didn't want to be having this conversation.

"She tried to
blackmail
you?" My mother put her hand over her heart, as if I was finally doing her in.

I nodded. "She said if I didn't give her the money to go to New York, she was going to tell everybody that I'm an escort. If that happened, Lucas would lose his trust, which is worth billions of dollars."

"Just because you have to expect the worst from your sister doesn't mean you have to expect the worst from Lucas." She patted my hair. "Then
that's
why he gave her money, sweetie. Not because of whatever else you're worrying about."

I wanted to believe that was true. But that want—that piercing, yearning want—didn't make it true. "But I told him not to. I know she's your daughter, and she's my sister, but she's a Grade-A leech, Mom. If he gives her money, she'll never go away."

"Except that she's packing up to leave and do just that."

It seemed too good to be true, but I didn't want to say that to her.

"I saw her coming out of his office." My voice was low and hoarse. "She was wearing this skin-tight black dress. She strutted through the lobby like she owned it."

My mother put her arm around me. "Your sister always walks like that. She walks through Target like that. It doesn't mean Lucas did anything with her."

"Vince did."

"Vince is an idiot, and you know it."

I started crying, but then I laughed. "Vince
is
an idiot, and I
do
know it."

"Lucas shouldn't have to pay for what's happened in your past." Her voice was gentle again.

I shook my head. "You're right. He shouldn't. But it doesn't matter. What happened in my past has nothing to do with him. We don't have a future, anyway. He's my client." I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling as though I was physically wounded.

My mother looked at me and frowned. "If he's your client, and you're still on assignment, why are you home, crying into my afghan?"

I blew my nose again. "I'm not."

"Um, that's my Kleenex you're blowing your nose into. So yes, you are."

"Here. Take it back." I tried to hand her my rumpled tissue, and she swatted my hand away.

"Gross! You stop that right now, young lady!"

Then we were both laughing, then she hugged me, and then I started crying again. My mother patted my back. "Why don't you go back to bed for a little while, honey? I'll make you breakfast. I bet you'll feel a lot better after that."

I nodded and headed to my room, but I knew that sleep and food wouldn't make me better. Nothing could. I slid underneath my covers and looked out at the miserable view of the yellowing multi-family unit next door. I would call Lucas after breakfast. I would tell him I hadn't been feeling well the night before and that I'd gone home so I didn't get him sick. I would live with him for the rest of the year, per the terms of our contract. I would sleep in his bed, make love to him, and do whatever he asked.

But I wasn't going to let myself feel for him anymore. I couldn't. Last night had made it very clear to me—I had real feelings for my client, and no matter how much money he gave me, I couldn't afford them. I had to say good-bye to him today, at least in my heart. Otherwise, saying good-bye to him months from now would probably kill me.

I tried to sleep, but I kept thinking about him. I thought about the way his eyes had sparkled at our wedding, how he had carried me over the threshold, the first time we'd made love, and my world had been rocked forever.

I remembered the way he'd held me after I had a panic attack over that stupid barracuda. It was as though I was his most precious jewel, his favorite blanket, and the next technology app that was going to storm the market, all rolled into one. He wouldn't let me go. I'd felt something from him then… something real.

But I'd been fooling myself. Even if I
had
felt something from him, it was better this way. Nothing was ever going to happen between us in the long run. I was a hooker, and he was a billionaire technology magnate. He had hired me to solve a problem, because that was how he dealt with his problems, by paying them to go away.

Just like he'd done with my sister.

I would go back and perform my fake wifely duties in just a little while. For the moment, I let myself clutch my sides and cry.

M
y phone was ringing
. Still in a foul mood and facing a nasty hangover, I took it from my nightstand and threw it across the room.
Fuck off.

But then I sat up straight, because it could be
her
.

I found my phone and glared at it. The missed call was from Rupert Granger. I stalked out to the empty, quiet kitchen, made myself a coffee, and called him back. "Serena already called me," I said as a greeting.

"Jesus, she's fast," he said. "I wanted you to know that I'll be reviewing her attorney's research with my legal team. If I get the go-ahead from them, I'll be releasing the funds by the end of the week."

I felt hollowed out by the news. "That's fast."

"I know. I'll be happy to put my administrative duties to rest. Your sister's been driving me crazy about this."

I grabbed some Advil to go with my coffee. "She does that. A lot."

"I'll be in touch."

As soon as we hung up, my phone buzzed again. It was Elizabeth. I had no desire to talk to her, but I was immediately worried that something had happened to my father.

"Is everything okay?"

"Of course," she said smoothly. She sounded way too friendly for eight o'clock in the morning.

"Then why are you calling me?"

"Serena called last night. She told us about the trust. I wanted to call and say congratulations." Her tone was friendlier than it had been in years.

"Is my father there?"

"No. He's already at the club." Her voice was husky. "Are you in the office?"

"Not yet."

"How're things going with Blake?" she asked.

"Great," I lied. "Why the fuck are you asking?"

"Because I was just thinking… wouldn't it be fun if we had a little, you know… reunion?" Her tone was hot.

Of all the goddamned nerve.
"Seriously?"

"Seriously." She sounded so turned on. I could just picture her running her hands over her breasts. "It would be
naughty
. You're married now; I'm married—to your
father
. You're a newly minted multi-billionaire…"

Between Chelsea and Elizabeth, I was in proposition-central station.
Jesus, they were really coming out of the woodwork.

But I'd dealt with Chelsea. Maybe it was
finally
time to deal with Elizabeth.

"That sounds… that sounds naughty, Elizabeth. Really naughty." My tone was encouraging.

"You know I like it naughty. I promise I won't disappoint you. I never did before, did I?"

"Never," I lied agreeably. "I'd love to meet. Let's plan on this afternoon at the Four Seasons. I'll check in under a fake name—I'll text it to you later. In the meantime, to get primed, I want you to send me some pictures of you. Some
nasty
ones. You sound riled up right now. Go to your bed and take your clothes off. Pleasure yourself and take pictures. Send them to me. I want you to think of me while you're taking those pictures, baby, because I'll be thinking of you. I'm going to give it to you good and hard this afternoon. It's been too long."

"I can't wait." Her voice was breathy.

Me neither, you douche.
"See you later."

I called Ian as soon as I hung up with Elizabeth. "I need you to take me to South Boston. I'll be down in ten minutes. And this afternoon, I need you to do me another favor."

* * *

E
lena almost refused
to give me Blake's home address. True to form, I offered her an outrageous sum of money so that she would break her own confidentiality agreement and tell me where Blake lived.

Blake wouldn't approve, but also true to form, I was doing this for her own good.

And mine. Since I didn't know what she was thinking, maybe it was
just
mine.

Ian pulled up outside of a seedy-looking row house in a crumbling neighborhood.
Christ.
My wife and her mother couldn't live like this. Why didn't she tell me things were this bad?

I hit the buzzer, but there was no answer. Then I heard a voice from a window on the second floor. "What do you want?"

I looked up and saw an older, pretty woman who must have been Blake's mom. "I'm looking for Blake. It's Lucas Ford. Can I come up?"

"Hold on," she said. "I'll buzz you in."

The buzzer rang, and I went up the stairs, ignoring the stuffiness and the lingering smell of kimchi, which seemed incongruous at this hour of the morning. Blake's mother opened the door, tightening her lavender bathrobe around her. "Mrs. Maxwell. It's a pleasure. I'm sorry to come barging in first thing this morning."

"It's okay." She smiled at me and motioned me inside. "Have a seat. Would you like some coffee?"

"Sure." I sat down on the sagging couch, which was dotted with threadbare pillows.

"I'm sure our place isn't what you're used to," she called from the tiny kitchen.

Three potted violets sat on the windowsill, cutting through the dankness with some cheer.

"Your house is a lot cozier than mine. More personal touches." I accepted the coffee from her. "Is your daughter here? I need to speak with her."

She nodded and adjusted her robe again. "She's here, but I think she's pretty upset."

I set down the coffee. "I'm sure she is. I've been sort of a jerk."

Mrs. Maxwell crossed her arms against her chest. "Are you here for business?" She studied my face.

"Not if your daughter forgives me."

She smiled at me a little, looking pleased. "In that case, I will get her. And then I'll give you two some privacy. It was nice to meet you, though."

"The pleasure was mine." I bounced my knee nervously as I waited for Blake. I didn't know what I was going to say, but whatever it was, it had to be right, and it had to be fast.

Like Herman had said, a woman like Blake wasn't going to wait around forever.

She came out a minute later, wearing a T-shirt and sweats, and her hair was up in a messy bun. Her eyes were red and puffy, a fact that I registered physically as a sucker punch to the gut.
Christ.
I'd made her cry, and by the looks of it, I'd made her cry a lot.

"Babe." I stood up, but she warily kept her distance, circling me and standing near the kitchen.

"I was going to call you," she said. "I got sick last night, so I came here. I didn't want you to catch it."

That was a lie, and I knew it. The way her chin jutted toward me, her eyes glittering in defiance, didn't match her apologetic tone.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I was too sick. I just went to bed."

"Were you crying because you were sick?"

Blake frowned and wiped her eyes. "I wasn't crying."

I sighed and dropped back down on the couch.

"You should go.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I'll meet you at the apartment in a little while. You shouldn't be here."

"Why not?"

"Because our apartment's gross, and I'm ashamed to have you here." Tears shone in her eyes, but she stubbornly held them back.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of." I wanted to reach out and pull her to me, but I could tell by her stance that she wouldn't allow it.

"What about you, Lucas?" She wiped her eyes again. "Do you have anything to be ashamed of?"

"Are you talking about your sister?"

She gave an almost imperceptible nod. "I saw her last night, coming out of your office."

"Last night, right before you got sick?" I asked.

She nodded miserably.

"That's because she came to my office to try to extort money from me. And I gave it to her." I raked my hands through my hair. "But I also made her sign a contract that she'd stay out of our lives forever, and an airtight confidentiality agreement."

"I told you not to do that—she won't ever leave you alone."

I looked at her, silently pleading for her to forgive me. "I'm sorry that I gave her money, because I know that's not what you wanted. But I had to make a quick decision, and I chose to protect you, because I will
always
choose to protect you. Even if I've done a crappy job of showing you that thus far. I wanted her to leave us alone."

Now a tear slipped free, and she wiped it away roughly. "You said 'us.'"

I melted toward her. "Of course I did. Just because I'm an asshole doesn't mean I'm a
total
asshole."

"I told you, go home." She sniffed. "We don't even have to talk about this. It doesn't matter. We signed a contract, and I'm going to keep up my end—that is, if you want me to."

I yearned to pull her into my arms, but I had to tell her the truth. "The thing is you don't have to. The terms of the trust are being annulled. So I'm going to inherit my share of the money, probably in the next few weeks."

Blake looked as though she might pass out. "O-oh." She leaned against the wall to steady herself. "So you don't need me anymore."

I couldn't take it. I closed the distance and brought her into my arms. "That's not true. I realized it last night when you were gone. You're a total market disruptor, Blake."

She was stiff in my arms. "I'm sorry?"

I kissed the top of her hair. "You solved my must-have need."

She shook her head. "I don't understand what you're saying."

"Then let me explain it to you. Let me take you on a date before we go and get divorced."