Chapter 8
Lucas
My parents’ house is a beacon of light as I pull up alongside it. I look at Melvin, my driver, in the rearview mirror and sigh heavily.
“When do you need me to pick you up, Mr. Crawford?” he asks.
“In seven minutes?” I say, as I rub my fingers over my temples. “God. Give it two hours, and come by with an emergency. Life and death. Unavoidable.”
“Yes, sir.”
I love Melvin. He was born and bred in London, but working as both a black cab and a New York taxi driver has hardened him to the stresses of life. He takes everything in stride and always comes through whenever I need him.
“Good luck, sir,” he says with a grin, as I get out of the car.
The looming shape of the house exacerbates my bad mood as I button up my jacket. I’m wearing my most expensive suit tonight just because I can.
I bought this house for my parents when I sold my third business at the age of twenty-six. They love it, and I love it, but as I enter, hearing the rumble of voices coming from the dining room, I still want to turn around and leave.
God damn it, why do I have to endure these family gatherings?
The hallway is warm and glowing, tiny lights twinkling from every possible surface. My mother, Elona, is obsessed with string lights of every shape and size, and my father has had to endure their encroachment throughout the house for most of their marriage.
My dad, Edward, is sensible, practical, and very serious. My mother is a whimsical, unpredictable ball of chaos, and for some reason, they work perfectly together.
“Baby boy!” my mother says as she comes out of a room to my right, holding a pie, and lifting it over her head to embrace me.
If she gets crumbs on this suit, I’m going to lose my shit.
She pulls back, giving me her usual assessing stare before her lips thin with irritation.
“Eddie?” she calls to my father, who appears behind her in his standard black fleece and jeans. “Feed this boy. He’s wasting away before my eyes.”
“Hello, son,” my father says patiently. “Whiskey?”
“God, yes,” I reply, and my mother mutters under her breath as she walks away.
“You drive here?” my dad asks.
“I was driven.”
“Huh. You can get drunk then. I've got a new single malt I'd like you to try. Even got those fancy big ice cubes you people like.”
“Us people?” I ask, following him into the kitchen as he waves vaguely at me.
“Business types with too much money.”
I roll my eyes behind his back, chuckling as I walk into the kitchen. But as soon as I do, I freeze in place, my breath hitching.
Ahead of me is Sinclair Kellerman, my unbearable cousin. And the woman fawning all over him, her perfect, claw-like nails sliding over his neck as she kisses his jaw, is my ex. Megan.
My insides turn to ash as I watch them. This woman, whom I thought I loved, moved on with that asshole less than three weeks after she ended our engagement.
The worst part is that my mother embraced them with open arms. Sinclair is her nephew, and she adores him almost as much as she adores Megan.
My mother doesn’t believe in family feuds.
You fight, you get over it, and you move on, even if her own son had his heart broken in the aftermath.
My father hands me a glass of whiskey without a word, giving me a long, pitying look before he goes to help my mom.
“Oh, hey, Lucas,” Sinclair says, bright smile flashing as he comes up for air. “Didn’t see you there.”
Megan turns, allowing his arms to wrap around her as she leans her head back against his chest. Her long, wavy hair is loose around her shoulders, pink lipstick a little smudged from where she has been kissing my cousin.
“Nice suit,” she says.
I sip from my glass and say nothing, turning on my heel and heading into the main dining room. I know I’m being petty and giving her exactly what she wants, but I can’t bear to see his hands all over her.
My brothers, Charlie and Morgan, are sitting in the dining room waiting for dinner to be served. They’re having a heated debate about a bill that’s going through Congress. Morgan is running for the state legislature, much to the chagrin of my father, and is becoming more obnoxious by the day.
Charlie glances up, looking very young in a chunky knit sweater. His dark brown hair looks like it hasn’t seen a comb in days, and he’s drinking a large glass of wine. His gaze meets mine as he nods to the chair beside him for me to take a seat.
“Oh, hey, hotshot!” Morgan says as he finally sees me. He pours me a glass of wine before he notices my whiskey. “How come Dad always shares his best stuff with you? I wasn’t offered whiskey.”
“Refine your palette,” I say dryly. “Dad doesn’t want to waste good stuff on a man who thinks white zinfandel is sophisticated.”
I lower myself into the seat next to Charlie as Morgan narrows his eyes at me. “Pfft, whatever. You look exhausted, man. What have you been doing?”
“Making my millions, what else?”
Charlie punches me in the arm. “Can I come work for you?”
I glance at him with a fond smile. Charlie is smarter than anyone else in the family. He’s also the apple of our mother’s eye, but neither Morgan nor I can hate him for it. He’s too damned likable.
I can’t imagine anything worse than employing him at my company, though; he’d have my job in under six months.
“Not right now, little buddy. Only when your balls drop.”
“I’m almost thirty,” he grumbles without much heat and sips his wine. “Seriously, you look tired. You’ve aged.”
“Exes’ll do that to you,” I reply bitterly.
“Sinclair and Meg need to get a goddamn room,” Morgan mutters loyally, and I give him a grateful half smile. “I would have been smacked sideways for french-kissing a girl in the kitchen.”
“Dinner’s ready!” My mother’s voice is loud. She bustles into the dining room, grumbling about everyone being late for dinner as usual, and then stops dead when she finds us all already sitting around the table.
“Oh! Miracles will never cease!” she says happily. “Morgan, come give me a hand with the dishes, would you? Eddie! Come eat.”
Morgan rises to his feet wearily, and over the next minute or so, he and my mother carry way too many beautifully cooked plates of food into the room.
I am in awe of the effort my mother has gone to on our behalf.
I have never been able to cook, and if I didn’t have a combination of meal delivery services and my private chef, I’d eat crackers and cheese every night without fail. My stomach rumbles loudly as Morgan takes a seat and begins to help himself before Dad’s even sat down.
“Would you learn some manners, you heathen?” I say, snatching the spoon out of his hand. “You’re not the King of England. Wait for Dad.”
He huffs at me, but I catch my mom’s approving smile and keep hold of Morgan’s spoon as everyone takes their seats. Sinclair sits two seats away from me, putting a nauseating arm around Megan’s shoulders. I stare down at my plate, feeling faintly sick.
How did this go so wrong?
It wasn’t so long ago that we were engaged to be married. It was the happiest I had ever been, or so I thought. But six months before the wedding, Meg took me aside, tears shining in her eyes, and told me I was too ‘cold and unfeeling’ and that she needed to ‘step back and find herself again’.
Whatever the fuck that means.
Then, three weeks later, I walk in on her and Sinclair going at it like rabbits in the bed we once shared together. Sinclair is the biggest man-whore on planet earth and is destined to inherit a fortune that rivals my own. And to make matters worse, he’s family.
There’s no escaping him. And now, there’s no escaping Megan either. Thank fuck I’m at least getting laid.
My mind moves to the following day and all the things I want to do to Amelia. I can take my frustrations out on her, and no one will get hurt as a result.
“So how’s business, son?” my father asks me. It’s a question that starts off every meal, but we both know he doesn’t really want the details.
“Good,” I say shortly.
“You still buyin’ that little company?” he asks, his lips tugging up at the corners.
That ‘little company’ is worth over fifty million dollars.
“So far. Yes,” I reply.
“What’s the delay?”
“Details,” I mutter.
“Barnes won’t let his staff get laid off,” Sinclair says pompously. “I read an interview with him in the Post about it. He’s an articulate man.”
“He’s short-sighted and living in a fantasy land,” I snap, my temper getting the better of me as I watch his fingers stroking Megan’s upper arm.
“Well, if he’s loyal to his staff, that’s a good thing,” Megan pipes up, and I throw her a furious glare.
And what the fuck would you know about loyalty?
“Do you think a lot of people will lose their jobs with this merger?” my mom asks.
Her eyes are wide as she stares at me. She’s never understood private equity and hates the idea of anyone being laid off without cause.
“I’m going to try and retain as many as I can,” I say earnestly.
“Don’t be fooled, Elona, he’ll prioritize profits, like every other businessman out there.” Sinclair smirks at me, and I tighten my fingers around my fork.
My dad changes the subject, asking Charlie what he’s up to these days. It’s his thinly veiled attempt to tell my little brother to settle down and stop job-hopping.
I barely speak for the rest of the meal, feeling the kind of melancholy I haven’t felt in months. Being around Megan isn’t good for me, and seeing her happy pisses me off like nothing else.
As soon as we’re excused from the table, I escape to the balcony, looking out at the long garden behind my parents’ house. I’m enjoying a final glass of wine when the door opens behind me, and Megan walks out.
She’s a shimmering vision in a light blue skirt and blouse, her eyes shining in the moonlight.
“Hey stranger,” she whispers, as a knot forms between my shoulder blades.
“Hello Meg,” I say with as much acidity as I can manage. “Where’s Sinclair?”
“Oh, he’s talking shop with your dad. I wanted to come out and see you; it feels like forever since we’ve talked.”
“And what would we have to talk about?”
“Oh, come on, Lucas. You know, you and I were having problems before Sinclair and I... I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I would never do that.”
Her hand comes to rest on mine, and I feel an overwhelming urge to snatch it back.
“Look, Meg, we’re going to have to be civil to one another now that you’re with Sinclair.
You certainly landed on your feet there.
My mother has treated him like a son for most of his life, and she loves you.
But civility is where it ends. Don’t try and crawl back into my good graces after I walked in on you bouncing on the guy’s dick. ”
Megan recoils, her eyes widening at my tone. I’m rarely this sharp with her, but I’ve had three glasses of wine and she’s disturbing my solitude.
“I’d prefer it if we speak to each other as little as possible from now on,” I say.
“Lucas!” she says, a hand covering her chest. “You’re not being fair.”
“How am I not being fair?”
“We had barely seen each other for months when we split. I’d been trying to get you to even look at me for weeks.
” Her voice is a vicious hiss. “I can see you’ve entrenched yourself in the victim role since I walked out, but it takes two people to end a relationship, Lucas, and I didn’t sleep with Sinclair until we were over. ”
“How chivalrous of you.”
“You’re being an asshole.”
“I thought you liked it when I was an asshole to you, sweetheart.”
Her pupils blow wide at that. Megan enjoyed it when I took control, something I have no doubt Sinclair is incapable of doing. He seems like the kind of guy who talks the talk, but when it comes to really showing a woman a good time, he wouldn’t have the first clue where to start.
I place my glass on the edge of the balcony behind me and move to walk past her, but she grabs my arm.
“Lucas, I don’t like fighting with you.”
I look down at her, those beautiful, soulful eyes staring up at me. I dreamed of this moment for months after we split. Back then, I would have begged her to come back to me. Now I just want to be as far away from her as I can.
“Goodnight, Meg. I look forward to us keeping our distance in the future.”
She lets me go as I exit the balcony and move through the house, waving farewell to various family members along the way. I reach the kitchen and hug my mother goodbye before escaping through the door as fast as I can.
Melvin eyes me warily as I get into the back of the car and has the good sense to stay quiet, just pulling away and driving back to my place.
I open the central panel and pull out the small bottle of whiskey I keep there and swig from it as we drive. Christ, how did it come to this?
The idea of spending every Christmas, New Year, and birthday with my ex and her simpering new fuck toy fills me with such fury that I could smash my fist through the window.
As the car moves through the streets, bars of light pass over my legs as I swig from the bottle and allow my rage to simmer down to a low hum.
I smirk as I consider all the ways I plan to touch Amelia tomorrow. I want her to beg me to own her, plunge my tongue into her mouth, and drive my cock so hard into her body she feels it in her throat.
I glance at my semi in exasperation.
Patience, Lucas. By 8 a.m. tomorrow, you’ll be balls deep in a woman who can never hurt you, and who will never mean anything more than a good hard fuck.