Chapter 3
3
Theo
T he thing about having a fall from grace is you don’t realize it’s happening until you’ve hit rock bottom.
I must be there now, because self-awareness is creeping in around the edges of my consciousness on Saturday morning.
As it turns out, rock bottom feels like a bad hangover and a crawling sense of dread. I open my eyes to my nearly dark bedroom. Where am I? This isn’t my apartment in London. The drapes are thick, the fan overhead is silent, and there’s no street noise, even in the middle of the city.
I’m home. Right. On 5 th Avenue. My first night back after a year of traveling, except for a brief stint at Christmas. So hungover and jet-lagged.
My head is fuzzy and my eyes are gritty. I need to stop doing this. Not the partying, but the waking up and feeling like crap. The admonishments from my brother Cole, to always have one water for every drink, echo in my head. Or is that the pounding behind my temple that sounds like a bass drum? My phone lights up with messages, and I press a hand to my eye, turning the green velvet drapes and the rich wood tones of my bedroom into a blur. It’s seven a.m. Too early, but I’m shit at sleeping late, and I’m still on UK time.
Why did I get so drunk last night? Snippets of the evening drift lazily. I grasp for them, coming up with a clear picture of the game, at least. The Royals won. We were in the owner’s box. Cole’s friend Rose was lamenting the lack of single lesbians at hockey games. I suggested we go somewhere else. And then I took them to Sylvia’s. Why? It’s not the straightest bar in Midtown Manhattan, but it’s close.
Cat. I sit up. Cat was there. Bartending? No, that can’t be right. Memories flash like a red-carpet camera. Cat making drinks for us. Rose’s hand on my shoulder. Cat’s face. Her jealous face . Or was I imagining that? Cosmos. Why? I hate cosmos. Vodka. My thumb brushing Cat’s hand.
I curl my fingers into my palm and let my lids drift shut. If I think hard, I can remember how she felt. Warm, silky skin. The way she trembled under my touch. Just like she did at nineteen when I kissed her. My cock twitches. I bite my thumb.
I actually fucking bite my own thumb before I rip my hand away from my face like I’ve been burned.
I stumble out of bed and into my walk-in closet. I need to work out.
I pull on a sweatshirt and loose shorts, then jog through the north wing hallways to the stairs and up into the gym. The space is expansive, housing an Olympic-size swimming pool on the other side of the glass windows, a tanning deck, a sauna, a steam room, a massage room, and a full gym. Cole says it’s better than even the Royals’ training facility. The blond wood and dim lighting are soothing, or at least they should be.
Even though I’m barely awake, I jog on the treadmill before diving into the pool and swimming laps until I’m shaking. The vodka threatens to come up twice, but I manage to avoid throwing up in my own swimming pool. That would be a first. I can’t even be amused by the image. Why is it that hangovers always come with a heaping dose of self-loathing?
I really have to stop doing this. When my primary responsibilities were schmoozing with investors and buying up European properties, waking up at noon with a hangover was fine. But now I’m back. With very little to show for it, other than a crappy office building in London. I’m off my game, and it might be time to admit that this isn’t working anymore.
As if in agreement, my phone pings for what has to be the fourteenth time this morning.
“Who the hell—” My voice trails off as I flick through the messages.
One from Olivier de Clare, telling me he’s sorry about the photos.
One from our PR firm with a link to the article.
And an email from a very angry potential investor telling me there’s no way in hell he’d give us his money if I’m going to spend it yachting off Monaco and surfing in Australia.
I scrub a hand over my face. The yachts were free. Idiot.
I know which photos he’s talking about. They’re at least a month old, but Olivier’s ex must have sent them to the press. Olivier broke up with him last week, and it was messy and contentious. I click through to the article.
Fuck.
It’s worse than I suspected. I’m naked. On a yacht. Surrounded by empty champagne bottles. There’s even a double magnum tipped over on its side next to me. I zoom in. I’m smiling like I don’t have a care in the world. I squint at past me, wishing I could tell him to watch for the paparazzi that always frequent the Mediterranean, looking for a scoop. Or better yet, don’t party with Olivier at all, because he has more money than sense. I’m the idiot, not our investor.
My business partners, Jonah and Miles, are going to be so pissed. Or worse, disappointed.
Christine, Jonah’s sister and the head of our PR firm, calls right as I’ve gotten to the part of the article that talks about my past relationships. A charitable term really, because none of them has lasted more than a week. And because I’d rather get a tongue-lashing from Christine Crown than read about my failures in black and white, I pick up .
“Really, Theo?” she says.
“What do you mean really? Those photos are old.”
“Well, they’re new to Page Six,” she says. Her voice is already thick with annoyance, and her New Jersey accent is strong.
“It’s not my fault Page Six is behind. That was at least three yachts ago.” I say the words mechanically, because this is what I do, make light, smooth things over, get people to like me.
Except things don’t feel very smooth.
“You could keep me employed single-handedly,” she says dryly. “And much as I appreciate it, I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that this is…what’s the technical term? Oh yeah—really fucking bad.”
“Yeah.” I sigh heavily and sink onto the exercise mat. “I know. I’ll do the usual, I guess—lie low for a while, be seen doing something respectable.”
This is, unfortunately, not the third or the fourth, or even the tenth time this has happened, but maybe this will be the time Jonah and Miles finally kick me out of the business.
“That might not be enough.”
“What do you mean? It’s always worked before. I spend a month out of the spotlight, people get bored, and I reemerge like nothing happened.”
She sighs. “You lost an investor, right? You told me you need a big push to get this European expansion done.”
She’s right. I told her that last year, when I was certain I’d return to New York with a shiny new investment portfolio, lots of European contacts, and the respect of my business partners.
“What do you suggest?”
She makes a considering sound. “Isn’t there a woman you can trot out?”
“A woman?” I ask tiredly.
“You know, two X chromosomes, long hair, that sort of thing.”
“I know lots of women.” Where the hell is Christine going with this?
“I know you know lots of women,” she says. “But are you sure you don’t have a girlfriend waiting in the wings somewhere? A secret wife? A tragic love story I can use? She broke your heart, and you’ve been trying to get over her? Give me something, Theo.”
“No one,” I say hoarsely. “You know that’s not who I am.”
“This won’t be easy for me to smooth over without a distraction. Or proof you’ve changed.”
“I’ll think of something.” I drag a palm over my face. “Are the articles worse than usual? I only saw the one.”
“There’s a lot of speculation out there about whether drugs were involved. Prostitutes. I know you’d never be involved with that, but these gossip sites take the smallest thing and run with it. A girlfriend really would help.” She blows a breath into the phone. “Let me strategize for a bit. If you find a willing woman to date, give me a call. The more sterling her reputation, the better. And Theo? It’s not a bad idea to consider cleaning up your act. Just a little bit.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. This moment has been coming for a while, like a freight train in slow motion, and I’m stuck on the tracks.
We hang up, and I text the one person who will definitely tell me to get my life together.
“Cat Peterson. You saw little Cat Peterson bartending.” My brother, Cole, skates to a stop, not even breathing hard. My legs are fucking killing me after just twenty minutes on the ice. “What the hell?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“How was she? I haven’t seen her in years.”
Eight years. I haven’t seen her in eight years. Nearly nine. She’s still the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.
Still mysterious.
Still entrancing.
Still a spoiled brat.
“Dunno. The same,” I say. “Not happy to see me. I can tell you that much. ”
Cole swivels and skates backward so he can watch me. “Why not? You were friends.”
“Not really.” We were close, Cat and I, until I started to realize how wide the gulf was between us and the truth of how her parents treated my mother.
“You always liked her, though,” he persists.
“I did not.” I pass him the puck.
“You so did. She used to trail you around the property.” He snorts a laugh and shakes his head.
“She did,” I admit. “She was a pain in the ass. Always asking what I was doing but way too much of a good girl to participate.”
“Ah, a good girl. Is that why you guys stopped being friends?”
“Something like that.”
“So it’s your fault, then?”
“You weren’t even there to see it,” I say.
“Don’t be a dick.” He passes me the puck in one smooth motion.
“Sorry.” I blow out a breath as I skate up the ice. “I’m on edge today.” I shouldn’t be lashing out at my big brother. It’s not his fault he was a hockey prodigy starting in middle school. His life looked a lot closer to Cat’s than mine.
“So what was she doing there?”
“Said she needed the money. Honestly, it’s pretty hazy.” I stop skating and close one eye, like it will help me remember. “And maybe something about being disinherited? But that can’t be right.” I shrug. “I figure she’s rebelling against her parents again.”
Cole frowns. “You sure about that?”
“It’s not my problem,” I say shortly, even as something twists in my gut at how helpless Cat looked last night.
She’s not fucking helpless. She has claws and a big bank account. She’ll be fine. I slap the puck back to Cole, and he snags it with the tip of his stick.
“Maybe you should help her out. Cat’s a nice girl.”
“Nice.” I snort. “She’s not nice. Why does everyone think that?”
“Must be those big eyes.” My brother is grinning like he likes her eyes .
“I don’t want to hear about her eyes.”
He bursts out laughing. We skate in silence for a bit, the soft shush of our skates soothing in the quiet arena. It’s still not enough to keep my thoughts from circling my problems.
“Can I stay with you tonight?” I ask. “I need a distraction. Let’s hang out.” I can’t go home to that empty mansion and be alone with my thoughts. Cole has a massive penthouse, and he’s boring as shit. No parties. No women. Not like his teammates. There’s definitely room for me.
He raises a brow. “Last time I let you stay over, you broke a chandelier. And I had to burn the sheets from the guest room.”
“Won’t happen again, I swear.”
“Why? Are you cleaning up your act?” He looks skeptical, and I shoot him the puck with angry force.
“Maybe I should.”
“Whoa, hold on.” He skates to a stop and leans against the boards in front of the penalty box. “What happened?”
“The same shit,” I bite out. My heart is pounding, and it’s not from the skating. “I have no one but myself to blame. Another article came out. Full of the usual snide comments about womanizing and partying.”
“And?” Cole asks. “That’s never bothered you before.”
“We lost an investor because of it.”
“Shit. A big one?”
“Not too big, but important. He had a lot of connections in Luxembourg, but I fucked that up. I’m supposed to be working on the expansion. Cozying up to guys like that.” I shrug. “That’s what I’m good for, I guess.”
Cole frowns, his Kennedy-esque face crinkling in concern. I brace myself for some wise comment. My brother thinks he can be the father we never had, and I love him and hate him for it.
“You’re always the first person to joke about your antics,” he says slowly. I open my mouth to protest and he holds up a gloved hand. “But if you don’t like it”—he shrugs—“change it.”
“But this is—” Who I am, I don’t say .
“Just a thought.” Cole says mildly. He’s so damn settled, while I feel unsettled, scraped raw, uncertain. Easy for him to say I should just change my whole life. He’s always relentlessly pursued his goals. I’ve taken a more meandering path.
“Say I did want to clean up my act,” I say slowly. “Where would I start?”
Cole considers me. He’s too damn thoughtful about everything.
“You know what? Forget I asked.” I shake my head.
“No. I’m thinking. What are your goals?”
“I swear if you start getting philosophical with me, I’m going to walk out of here. I’m not one of your teammates, Captain Archer.”
“Answer the question, Theo.”
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “That’s half the problem. I’m not settled like you. And I don’t want to be. But sometimes I wonder if there has to be more to life. Don’t you?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “When I stop to think too long. What does more look like?”
“Well, I have enough money.” I flash him a smile, and he rolls his eyes. “Respect, I guess. Being equal to Miles and Jonah. A legacy. Being known for something other than building the world’s third-longest beer bong.”
Cole makes a face. Beer bongs have never been his thing. A real personality defect, if you ask me. “Wasn’t that part of the point of the European trip? You said something to me about coming back the conquering hero one night.”
“I was probably drunk.”
Cole winces, and I push off the boards. I need to keep moving, and I don’t really want to look my brother in the face right now.
“Honestly, man, I don’t know. With Mom getting sick, I just couldn’t get my head in the game. I’d be in meetings, and I’d be thinking about the latest results from the doctor or whether she was getting enough help with both of us traveling. I may have started strong, but after a few months, everything sort of…fizzled.”
My brother’s face twists in sympathy at my words. Mom’s doing okay now, but the COPD diagnosis hit both of us hard .
“I know,” I add, before he can give me some platitude about how we’re doing our best. “I know you’ve got it under control, but I just feel so fucking helpless.” I smack the puck into the net. With no goalie there to challenge me, it’s hollow satisfaction. “Miles and Jonah are so fucking driven. Sometimes it feels like I can’t keep up. They don’t need me. Maybe I should leave Kings Lane.” My business partners are titans, and they’ve never really needed me at Kings Lane, the company they started fresh out of business school.
“No way. You really think that?” Cole passes me the puck, and I pass it smoothly back. I might not be a hockey prodigy, but I’m athletic enough.
“I don’t know. They started the business without me. They brought me on later, but my responsibilities have never been as important as theirs.”
“Courting investors seems pretty important to me,” Cole says.
I shake my head. My brother doesn’t know shit about the business world.
“Okay, so show them you can do what they do.” He skates to a stop and pulls off his helmet.
“Coach would fucking kill you for doing that.”
He ignores me, of course. “Listen. You want to be respected? You need to prove you’re worthy of respect. You want to show them you’ve cleaned up your act? Then you walk into that office next week and you go about your business like you’ve always been the best.”
“I’m trying,” I say shortly.
“Are you?” He raises his brows. I want to hit him like we’re teenagers again, scrapping in the dirt, but I have to admit he’s also probably right. Fuck.
“Our PR firm thinks a girlfriend would help make me look good. Or a wife. Actually, she said secret wife. Christine has a vibrant imagination.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” he says slowly.
“You don’t think that’s crazy? Because it sounds completely far-fetched to me. ”
He leans against the boards. “It’s not. Date someone respectable, boring even.”
“You applying for the job?” I taunt.
He rolls his eyes. “If you don’t want my help, don’t ask.”
“I didn’t ask,” I mutter.
“Think about it.” My brother’s green eyes are bright. He’s a fucking fanatic when it comes to telling me how to live my life, but for once, I want to hear him out. “You told me these investors you’ve been courting are older, family oriented. I think the word you used was boring . What better way to show them you’ve changed than by being with a woman? Bring her to some events, some business trips. Dote on her. Have her schmooze with their partners.”
I sigh and lean against the boards next to him. “Honestly, it’s a good idea. Be respectable. Show these investors I’ve changed.”
“Better, show them you fit in.”
I scoff. “No, these people are old money. That’s why they don’t like me.”
Cole raises his brows.
“What, you think I should find an heiress or something? They don’t exactly grow on trees.”
“Or do they?” Cole’s eyes are alight.
“No.” I push off the boards. “Whatever that look is for, I don’t like it.”
“You know an heiress, Theo.” Cole grins at me.
“An heiress—oh no. Cat. No. I’m not interested in Cat. Honestly, I’d pick anyone but Cat.”
“Why?” He crosses his heavy arms over his chest.
Acid spills into my chest. “You don’t know what it was like growing up on that estate,” I say quietly. Cole looks like he’s about to speak, but I need him to hear me out. “I know you saw bits and pieces when you were back from boarding school, but Cat’s parents were utterly cold. Mom never complained about how they treated her. She happily took Cat’s stepmother’s old clothes and she turned the other cheek when they yelled at her.” I blow out an unsteady breath. Cole looks anguished .
I might not be that teenager anymore, but I’ll never forget the way I felt seeing my mom scrub toilets and make dinner for another family. “We were friends when we were kids, but that was before I saw the truth of Mom’s situation. Cat’s a spoiled brat. She was awful to Mom for years. I want nothing to do with her.”
Cole’s face twists at the words. He wasn’t there to see most of my childhood, and I avoid talking about it most of the time. I can tell from his face that it still kills him that he didn’t know how bad things were for Mom.
It still fucking kills me too.
Which is why when I said anyone but Cat, I meant it.
And when I go back to that bar tomorrow night, it will be to satisfy my curiosity, nothing more. I’m going to figure out Cat’s secrets, and then I’m never going to think about her again.