Chapter 5
5
A dive bar.
Ellis sent me the address for a dive bar.
I scoff, standing on another grimy city sidewalk and seriously debating entering the building in front of me. I should have looked up what the address was before braving New York traffic and driving here. But I didn’t because I was busy replaying the meeting at Kensington Consolidated and marveling over Elizabeth Kensington’s stubbornness.
She remembers me, right? I’d introduced myself to her twice before.
Most people I meet already know who I am. Introducing myself is just a formality. And Lili does not strike me as shy or forgetful.
And what was she doing there? Does she work at Kensington Consolidated?
I grimace, imagining her sitting in a conference room, picking apart the proposal I spent two months working on, exuding the cool indifference that appears to be her trademark.
Then, I shove through the flimsy door, deciding a distraction outweighs the concern of potentially contracting tetanus in this place.
The interior of the bar is as unkempt as the outside suggests. It’s a small space, and it feels even tinier because of the significant amount of stuff littering every surface. The shelves behind the bar top are shoved so full of liquor bottles; most of the dusty glass cylinders look in danger of crashing to the dirty floor. It’s impossible to tell what color the walls were originally because they’re entirely covered by stickers and posters and sketches and crooked frames and sports pennants. There are mismatched stools lining the length of the scarred wooden counter and several booths in the very back.
Ellis is slumped in the middle one.
I head for him, nodding a greeting back to the grizzled bartender, the bottoms of my shoes sticking with each step.
How did Ellis find this place? And what is he doing here at—I check the Patek Philippe watch my father gave me for my eighteenth birthday—three p.m.?
“Hey!” He grins crookedly as I slide into the bench opposite him. “Was wondering what was taking you so long. Did you get lost?”
Without waiting for an answer, he downs one of the shots sitting in front of him. Tequila, I think, although there are so many competing smells in this place that it’s hard to tell for certain.
“Traffic.”
Ellis nods. “That’s why I bike everywhere.”
“I thought biking was your job?”
Last night, he said he worked for one of those food-delivery apps.
“Yeah. That too.” He pushes one of the full shot glasses toward me.
“I’m good,” I say.
He squints at me. “Are you an alcoholic?”
“Because I won’t do a tequila shot in the middle of the afternoon?” I shake my head. “No, I’m not an alcoholic.”
But I did develop a bad habit of escaping into a bottle for a few weeks after my dad died, and I’m determined to stop letting my anger at him keep me from acting like the man—the fucking duke—I was raised to be. Getting drunk in a dingy bar that smells faintly of piss with my underachieving cousin is not how I’ll be spending the remainder of my afternoon. Plus, based on the number of empty glasses, he’s going to need to lean on a shoulder to walk out of here. And probably a ride home for him and his bike.
“Thought you could use a drink after last night.” Ellis downs the shot he offered to me.
I wince like I’m the one who just swallowed it.
Dinner last night with my mum, my stepfather, and Ellis—who no longer lives with them, but still lives in the city—was awkward. About as uncomfortable as my last visit. If not for the business opportunities New York offers, I doubt I would have made the trip back this summer.
But then there’s still the confused ten-year-old in me, searching for answers as to why my mum left us. My dad, I get. Their marriage was an unmitigated disaster. Abandoning me and Blythe? That I do not get.
An unforgivable choice maybe. But I’m already dealing with enough bloody resentment toward a parent, and I needed to come to New York for my meeting with Asher Cotes. So, I flew into JFK, rented a car, and showed up at my mum’s husband’s house for dinner. Ellis joining us for a free meal—that’s not speculation, as he announced it when he arrived—cut the tension a little. Not that much though.
I left their home early this morning and haven’t been back since. I’m supposed to meet them for dinner in four hours. Ellis was invited, too, but I’m doubtful he’ll be in shape for it based on his current appearance.
“So …” I glance around, trying to come up with something to say.
I don’t know Ellis well. The first time I met him—met any of my mum’s family—was at her wedding to Derek two years ago. Georgia’s close to her sister, apparently. Her parents weren’t there, and I have no idea where they are. There are a lot of other questions I’d ask my mother before inquiring about my grandparents’ whereabouts.
“What are you doing here?”
“My dad’s an asshole and a liar,” Ellis replies conversationally.
“Oh.”
Bloody hell . I’m the last person who should be sharing advice on paternal relationships.
I loosen my tie and relax in the booth a little, eyeing the one remaining shot wistfully. I might need some alcohol to make it through this conversation. “Are you two close?”
Ellis has never mentioned his father to me. The topic never came up last summer either, when he, his sister, and his mum were all living at Derek’s Hamptons house.
“No. Dad’s a surfer. He and Mom met in Hawaii. He was there for a championship.” Ellis is talking even slower than usual, probably thanks to the alcohol in his system. “Still travels all over the world for them. Sometimes, he’ll send me and Jo postcards. Chile, Portugal, Indonesia, Mexico. He sleeps on the beaches usually. Says it helps him commune with the waves.”
I reach for the shot and suck it down in one gulp. It’s shit liquor, not smooth at all, but better than nothing.
Ellis’s face lights up like us drinking together has turned around his whole damn day. “Good, right? They’re out of limes, but I think tequila tastes fine on its own.”
I’d disagree, but I nod. “You surf?”
“Not well.” His posture slumps more. “Dad’s been saying we’re going to do a trip to South Africa together for years. For my twenty-first, which was last summer. He promised it would be this year instead. At the end of August so we could catch the Roaring Forties.” Ellis sighs. “He called me this morning, saying he had to cancel. Guess I should be grateful he remembered we had a plan at all. He usually doesn’t.”
“That’s really shitty, Ellis. I’m sorry.”
“He doesn’t need to be a damn duke, you know? I just want a dad who wants to spend time with me sometimes.”
I sympathize more than he knows. “My dad being a duke just meant he wanted to shape me into a duke. That was all we talked about when we spent time together. He might have been around, but he always had an agenda.”
Ellis perks up again. “Maybe we should go to South Africa!”
My mobile buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see Blythe flashing across the screen.
“One sec,” I tell Ellis. “I need to answer this.” I slide out of the booth. “Order some water, okay? No more shots.”
He shoots me a shit-eating grin that makes me think I just ensured more shots will be on the table when I return.
I sigh, then head outside. The rain has stopped, and nothing looks cleaner. Now, the sidewalk is dirty and wet.
“Everything okay?” I ask, watching water drip off the piled trash bags on the curb.
“My card isn’t working,” my little sister informs me.
At least, I think that’s what she says. There’s lots of commotion in the background on her end. Loud music and louder voices.
“What?”
“My card isn’t working!” Blythe shouts.
Shit.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Which one?”
“The one I use to pay, Charlie.”
I exhale. “What bloody color is it, Blythe?”
“Hang on.”
Her voice fades, all the background noise remaining at the same ear-splitting level.
I think, Fuck you, James , for a third time today, but there’s no accompanying flash of anger. I’m drained, unable to summon even a small twinge of irritation right now.
I hear Blythe’s voice again, but it’s muffled. “No, it’s my brother,” she says.
“ Ooh ,” another female voice trills. “Ask him if he’s looking for a duchess.”
I roll my eyes.
“He’s not,” Blythe replies flatly. “Go wait with Zara. I’ll be right there.”
A few seconds later, her voice is back at a normal volume.
“Silver card,” she informs me.
“Use the blue one.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks!” Now that her problem is solved, she sounds perky and cheerful. “Bye!”
“Wait.” I rub at my forehead. “Where are you?”
“Budapest.”
“I thought you were staying in London this week.”
Because she told me she was staying in London this week.
“I was. But then Zara suggested a trip, so here we are. I gotta go, Charlie. We’re headed to another club.”
Another club? It’s only nine p.m. there.
Ellis might be inside, ordering more tequila shots, but that’s something Blythe would definitely do. The shorter the leash, the harder she pulls, just to prove she can. The only person she ever listened to was our father. Not only is he gone, but she’s also grieving him. I’m trying to be there for her and also give her space. I’m not sure I’m succeeding at either.
“I’ll be home on Monday,” I tell her.
“Okay. Have fun with Georgia .”
I exhale. “I told you this was a business trip, Blythe. But since I was here, I thought?—”
“Whatever, Charlie. Don’t explain. I don’t care.”
Another sigh. “Be safe, Blythe.”
“I will; I will,” she assures me. Then hesitates. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I tell her.
The silence after she hangs up is startling, my eardrum still ringing, like I was standing in that club too.
I drag a palm down my face, adding call the bank to my long to-do list.
When I get back to the booth, Ellis is fast asleep on top of the scratched table.