: Chapter 12

I meet Elijah for drinks at his favorite spot, an old-fashioned pub in the East Village. At least he claims it’s his favorite spot, but as I look around at the rough-and-ready clientele and actual sawdust on the floor, I wonder if he’s screwing with me. He knows I like the top-shelf life, and this may well be his way of jerking me around. Elijah is the oldest of us James brothers, so he’s got the most experience yanking our chains.

He turns up twenty minutes late and waves at me from the bar as he grabs drinks. When he joins me, he’s carrying two pints of Guinness and two surprisingly good-smelling glasses of whiskey. I pick up the chipped lowball and inhale.

“Nice, right?” He looks delighted with himself. “I know it looks like shit in here, but the Irish know their booze. That’s top-quality Bushmills right there. Slainte!”

He raises his glass in a toast and downs it in one. “You okay, brother?” I ask, feeling a whisper of concern.

“Sure I am. Just been a heck of a day. Started with a giant fight with Amber over some bullshit charity dinner she wants me to host.”

“What’s the cause?”

He rolls his eyes and starts on the Guinness. I’ve never been a huge fan of the black stuff, but I’m told it’s an acquired taste. It leaves a little cream mustache on Elijah’s upper lip, which I’m definitely not going to tell him about.

“Retired clowns.”

“What now?” I say, feeling a rumble of laughter build in my stomach.

“Retired clowns. No, to be fair, retired ‘circus folk.’ Apparently it’s a thing. Turns out the carnies aren’t so good at stocking their pension funds, and there’s a residential home for them just outside Buffalo. I’m not kidding, bro—this is what my life has become.”

I can’t keep the laughter in anymore, and it bursts out of me in loud guffaws. I laugh so damn much I have tears in my eyes and a stitch in my side. Elijah merely nods and lets me get on with it. “Yeah, laugh it up pal,” he says eventually. “But know this—Amber is talking about organizing a date auction to raise funds for the poor clowns, and you’re on her list as lot number one.”

“I don’t mind. Anything to help Bozo.” I clear my throat and wipe my eyes. “Why were you fighting about it?”

“Aw, fuck, Drake. Why do we fight about anything? Because we were in the same room? Because it’s become a habit? Because we hate each other as much as we used to love each other? I don’t fucking know anymore. It’s exhausting. It’s one of the reasons I like this place. Amber wouldn’t be caught dead in here.”

I look around at the battered tables and equally battered faces and nod. He’s right. Amber would hate this. Her world is one of high society, exclusive parties, and the charity committees she sits on. She comes off as distant and aloof, and the rest of my family has no time for her at all. None of them understand why Elijah sticks with her, tortured by their loveless marriage. I know her a little better and understand that life isn’t always as black and white as it appears on the surface.

“Maybe she’d surprise you, Elijah. Maybe you could give her a chance.”

He sighs and drinks some more. “I’ve given her a thousand chances, and I’m pretty sure she’d say the same about me. No. It is what it is. Anyway, enough of my bullshit.” He jerks his chin at me. “How’s your bullshit?”

I understand his desire to change subjects. When a problem doesn’t seem to have a solution, sometimes all you can do is switch off and give your mind a break, so I indulge him. “My bullshit is coming along just fine, thanks. Saw Maddox earlier. He came into the office and made all the women swoon.”

“Was he modeling his Buddhist quarterback look?”

I laugh, because he’s nailed it. Maddox was a football star in high school, until he was derailed by the combined trauma of losing our mom at sixteen and a fucked-up situation with a girlfriend who took her own life. His future was pretty much mapped out for him—football, college, family—until it wasn’t.

He’s spent years drifting around the world, and the world has rubbed off on him. The rest of us live in our suits and ties, but Maddox prefers baggy pants and tunics in colorful fabrics that were handwoven by monks. Probably using the hair of magical goats. He’s still a big, good-looking bastard, though, and the mix of that and the spiritual vibe he gives off seems to be a hit with the ladies. Not that he notices or cares. Bro’s still on his celibacy kick. Weirdo.

“Yep. Even Linda from HR did a double take, and believe me when I say she’s not a woman who is easily swayed. He seems okay, glad to be here with us all, but this is the most time I’ve spent with him in years. And even though he’s been back a year, he’s still such a fucking free spirit. I’m never sure, you know, if he’ll stay.”

“I do know, yeah. It feels a bit like we’re on borrowed time with him, doesn’t it? He doesn’t have a job or a partner or anything really anchoring him to New York. He could drift off again at any moment. And, you know, we’d all miss him. But Dad?”

“Right. Dad would be devastated. I suppose all we can do is hope Mad continues being happy enough to stay and be ready to pick up the pieces if he leaves.” I sip my Guinness and make sure to lick my upper lip clean.

“I think I’ve found Dad a cook,” Elijah says, grinning at me.

“Why? He doesn’t want a cook.”

“I know that. But want and need are two different things. This woman … Well, she’s something else. She’s Luisa’s mom.”

Luisa is Elijah’s assistant—a supremely smart, ultra-ambitious business grad whose family is originally from Venezuela. I’ve met her a couple times, and she’s an impressive woman, hyper focused and even more efficient. Her parents moved here to build a better life for themselves and their children, and Luisa seems determined to prove their sacrifice wasn’t wasted.

“Is Luisa’s mom as, um, assertive as Luisa?” I ask carefully.

“You mean is Luisa’s mom also a total ball-breaker? I have to say, yeah, she is, but with a little more charm. I mean, Luisa is great, but she’s also terrifying. Luz is just as great, and she takes literally no shit from anyone, but she does it with a smile and the offer of a pastelito. Her husband died when Luisa was thirteen, and she’s raised four kids on her own in a country that wasn’t her own. Honestly? I think she can handle Dalton James being a temperamental asshat.”

I’m not sure our dad will be on board with this idea. He and Mom never had a cook. The kitchen was Mom’s domain, but he loved spending time in there with her when he could. She was from Spain and taught him everything he knows about food. He still wears that apron she bought him, for god’s sake.

“Why do you think he’ll go for it? And is this more than just domestic help?”

Despite—or maybe because of—his marital situation, my big brother is a romantic. He always wants a happy ending for people, and I wouldn’t be shocked if he was trying to set Dad up. Our father is still a fit and active man, and he does not go short of female companionship, but since we lost our mom, there hasn’t been anyone significant.

“Would that be so bad?” he asks. “Doesn’t he deserve somebody other than us? It’s not healthy for him to live his life through his kids.”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “And I get that your motives are pure, brother, but don’t expect too much, all right? As far as Dad is concerned, he’s had the great love of his life, and that will never be repeated.”

“It was a great love, wasn’t it?” he says, finishing off his Guinness.

As an adult, I know that no marriage is perfect. No relationship survives without its ups and downs. But my overwhelming memory of growing up is how happy my parents were together. Maybe that’s one of the reasons that most of us have found it so hard to settle down. Having the example of a perfect couple as your mom and dad is a lot of live up to, and seeing how broken my father was when he lost her was a powerful deterrent against giving that kind power to anyone. The man warned us all against ever falling in love, for fuck’s sake.

“What about you? You’re new to town. I know you had your, uh, arrangements back in Chicago. Will you build similar arrangements here?”

“Are you asking me how I plan to get my rocks off, Elijah?”

He waves his hand at me. “No. I’m just curious. I mean, whatever works for you. It’s just that when you spoke about that woman, the one you met at the wedding? That felt like a little more than an arrangement. I’m the last dude on earth who has the right to advise anybody on their love life, but what can I say? I want you to be happy.”

“You know what would make me happy right now? More booze.”

I stand up and head to the bar. This isn’t the kind of place that stretches to table service, and right now I’m glad. I need to stretch my legs and give my mind a moment to settle. By the time I’ve ordered, paid, and brought everything back, I’ve decided that I don’t need to hide this from him.

“So,” I say, as I sit opposite him. “A funny thing happened.”

“Did it involve a retired clown?”

“It did not. It involved the woman from the wedding.”

“Scarlet, wasn’t it?”

I grin at him. “No, not Scarlet actually. That was just a game we were playing. Her real name is Amelia Ryder, and guess what? Turns out she’s my new secretary.”

“Wait? What? The one Nathan hired for you? You fucked her? And she’s named Amelia Ryder? Is she a Bond girl?”

There’s a lot to unpack there, so I let him splutter over it for a few seconds longer. “Yes, her name is Ryder, and believe me, I have thought of all the puns already. And yes, the one Nathan hired for me—which is why I had no clue who she was the night I met her at the wedding.”

“Are you sure she didn’t know? I mean, I hate to be cynical, but you’re a good-looking dude who comes from money. Is it at all possible she, I don’t know, targeted you?”

I cast my mind back to the night we met. The sweet, sad look on her face as she sat there alone, coloring with crayons. The way she bit her plump lower lip, how surprised she was when she looked up and saw me. Jeez. Even thinking about that moment is going straight to my balls, and that is not an appropriate way to feel while sitting with your brother in a place like this. “No possible way. She thought I was Charlie for most of the night.”

“Charlie Cockburn-Cummings? I’d forgotten about him.” He laughs softly, and then he’s distant again for a few seconds, and I wonder if he’s thinking about how he and Amber used to laugh together in the good old days. Before …

I clear my throat and, that seems to snap his attention back to the matter at hand. “Nathan knows, I guess? Did he give you chapter and verse about the HR implications?”

“To start with, yeah. He considered firing her, but thankfully realized that would be the worst thing we could do. But the fact he even considered it didn’t seem fair. She needs this job. Her mom is sick, and she’s gone through a bad divorce, and although I shouldn’t know any of this personal shit about my new secretary, I do. And I can’t just ignore it. I can’t ignore her.”

My mind springs back to earlier, when I found myself walking behind her. That skin-tight skirt made it impossible to take my eyes off her swaying backside, and the front view was even worse—or better. The day before was the wrap dress with its little strings, and today was a silky blouse with a great big bow at the neck. A great big bow just begging to be untied. It’s like she’s torturing me without even knowing it.

Elijah clears his throat, and I blink at him. I completely forgot he was there for a moment. I was lost in the image of tying Amelia up, of capturing her in a web of rope. Seeing her soft skin marked and patterned, her round breasts exposed to my touch … fuck. This is not good at all.

“I lost you for a minute there, buddy. You thinking about Amelia?”

“No,” I lie. “I was thinking about an especially tricky case I’m dealing with.”

He regards me with suspicion. “You were thinking about Amelia.”

I sigh and run my hands through my hair. I do that when I’m stressed, and these days I seem to live with my hands in my stupid hair. “Yeah, I was. I can’t stop thinking about her, bro. I can’t possibly talk to Nathan about it. We agreed that she could stay, but only if I promised it was over. I want her to stay—of course I do. And I can’t be the asshole who bangs the help.”

“To start, I wouldn’t call her ‘the help’ to her face. At least not if you want to keep your balls attached. But yeah, of course I get it. We weren’t raised to take advantage. We were raised to understand how privileged we were, and to never use that privilege against others. But … Look, I’m just going to say this once and get it out there. If you actually have real feelings for this woman, little brother, then none of the rest matters. If you think you have a chance at finding love with her, then you should go for it. Figure the rest of the shit out as you go.”

I bark out a bitter laugh. He might be older than me, but sometimes I feel like his dad. His bitter, twisted old dad. The kind who doesn’t believe love exists, never mind being ready to give and receive it.

“What I feel for Amelia Ryder isn’t anywhere near love, Elijah. It’s more basic than that. Something about the woman screams ‘fuck me’ every single time I’m with her. I can’t see her walking down the hallway without wanting to be balls-deep in her. I can’t speak to her on the phone without my dick getting hard. I can’t look at my desk without wanting to bend her over it and screw her brains out. I’m a fucking mess—but I’m not in love.”

“You sure?” he says, cocking an eyebrow at me. “Nathan didn’t expect love either, and look at him now.”

“I’m sure. Love isn’t for me. I’m not the kind of man who can ever promise a woman forever.”

“Okay then,” he murmurs, shrugging like he doesn’t believe me.

And I guess I can’t blame him. I’m not sure I believe me either.