Chapter 8
STERLING
M y suitcase was packed, zipped with surgical precision, and sitting upright by the front door. A couple nights in LA shouldn’t have required a garment bag and a backup tie, but I didn’t do last-minute panic. I did preparation.
Still, something tugged at me before I headed to the airport. Not nerves, but a sense of unfinished business that I didn’t need hanging over me while I was there, so I veered off course to go home before I left the city.
My parents’ estate in Pacific Heights looked the same as it always had, stately, elegant, and sprawling. For some reason, I found myself wondering what Laney would think of it. Laney, who had apparently asked Steve if I was part of the Illuminati, but who had known what Chianti was.
I shook my head at myself as I pulled up outside the house.
It didn’t matter what she’d think of it.
It’d been in our family for generations and I swore it even smelled faintly of money.
Not new, obnoxious tech-startup kind, but old money.
The kind of money that had an echo of its own and a garden wing for the staff.
I’d grown up here and I still walked a little straighter in the foyer. Laney would probably hate it—or take it as confirmation that we were not only part of the Illuminati but that we were the Illuminati.
Not in the mood to deal with Garvey today, I stepped through the side entrance and onto a garden path that led toward the main wing.
As I strode toward the house looming up just ahead of me, the stone walls covered in snaking tendrils of greenery, I heard the clink of ice in a glass and frowned, but only until I turned the corner. Then the sound made perfect sense.
Jameson was sitting on a low stone wall near the hydrangeas, nursing what looked suspiciously like bourbon in the middle of the morning.
“Is that tea?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow as I looked into my brother’s hazel eyes. He’d inherited them from our mother, the only one of the four of us who didn’t have Dad’s piercing blue eyes.
Jamie glanced at his drink, then grinned at me in that way the press had labeled as roguish . “It wants to be tea. Kentucky-style.”
I sighed and shook my head. “You do know we have an actual bar inside. You don’t need to be sitting out here, lending moral support to Mom’s flower beds”
“Yeah, but sneaking it is way more fun, and besides, I’m nothing if not morally supportive.” He smirked. “Good morning, big brother.”
“Morning,” I said, sitting down beside him on the wall for a brief minute. “Are you just here for the free alcohol or have you been summoned?”
He chuckled. “Nah, I came for the free alcohol and perhaps some light emotional scarring. You?”
“I’m heading to the airport. Just thought I’d stop by on my way for a quick chat with Dad.”
Jameson swirled the liquid in the glass around lazily. “Dad’s inside, probably pretending not to be watching the markets in his study.”
“Thanks. I was hoping he’d be here.”
He smirked. “Let me guess, you came for a contract review and not a warm family hug?”
I didn’t answer, but I didn’t have to.
“That’s what I thought.” He leaned back. “Are they riding you yet about the summer party, or is it just me?”
I glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Are you getting the ‘you should bring someone’ speeches yet?
” He did a poor job of mimicking our mother’s voice.
“ It’s not a wedding, darling, just a party that every eligible girl in the city will coincidentally be attending, hoping to snag a Westwood of her very own. ”
I exhaled. “No speeches for me this year.”
“Give it time,” he said wisely, grinning and not realizing the speech I had gotten was way, way worse than just Mom needling me about their annual party at the end of every summer. “Are you going to bring someone?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead.” It was the God’s honest truth. My mind had been otherwise occupied recently.
Jamie arched both his eyebrows at me. “You haven’t? But you’re a planning freak. You’ve always planned that far ahead.”
“Yeah, but not this time.” I stood, brushing a piece of invisible lint from my slacks. “Enjoy your tea, Jameson.”
He raised the glass. “Godspeed, brother.”
I glanced back at him when I reached the door, wondering if he knew the speech I’d gotten was probably coming for him next. As the oldest brother, it was always going to be my burden to carry first, but Jamie was second oldest, only three years younger than me.
Soon, Mom and Dad were going to start insisting that he leave his bad-boy public persona behind and make an honest woman out of some lucky lady who was going to need the patience of a saint.
His chestnut brown hair glinted in the sunlight as he stared out at the grounds, and for a moment, I wondered what was on his mind, but I didn’t have time to ask, so I pushed open the door and headed in.
The interior was cool and clean, like always, and I made my way down the hall to the study, finding my father exactly where I had expected him to be, sitting behind the desk with his reading glasses low on his nose. He was flipping through the Financial Times like it was a gripping thriller.
When I knocked, he looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Sterling? Aren’t you cutting it a little close for your flight? I thought you’d be at the airport by now.”
“I’ve got time,” I said, watching as he set the paper aside when I walked in. “I wanted to stop by to get your opinion on something.”
Pulling a thin folder from under my arm, I handed it over and sat down opposite him at the desk. He adjusted his reading glasses and opened the folder, then skimmed through the contents. When he realized what it was, he looked at me.
“Is this agreement what I think it is?” he asked. “That was fast.”
I didn’t flinch. “It’s a draft.”
He paused for a beat. “And the woman?”
“From an old local family. I think it would be a good match.”
My father nodded once. There was no satisfied smirk on his lips and no questions about her looks, dowry, or whatever old-fashioned crap people expected from men like him. He just read more carefully when he glanced back down at the papers.
“Offer more than you think you need to,” he said after a minute. “It sets the tone. This isn’t a bribe or a payoff. It’s a foundation.”
“I know.”
Gaze still glued on the folder, he turned a page. “Include provisions for children. Education trusts. Health clauses. Anything you’d want covered if something goes wrong.”
“I’ve already added them. Pages six through twelve.”
“Good.” He glanced up at me again. “And, Sterling, make it fair. Be generous. You can afford it.”
I nodded swiftly. “You think this is the right move, then?”
Shutting the folder with a soft snap, he set it down on his desk with both his hands. “There’s no such thing as the perfect move, unfortunately, but this is a good one. A steady one.”
I stood up, preparing to leave instead of hanging around any longer than I had to. “Thanks.”
He smiled faintly. “Go catch your flight. Good luck, boy. Well done on putting things into motion so fast.”
“Yeah, well, a year doesn’t give me much time, does it?” With that, I left, not bitter or angry, simply needing to be on my way.
The fact of the matter was that getting married had always been a duty that I would have to perform when the time was right. I didn’t believe in love or fairy tales, and I would never settle down if I’d had a choice, but when duty called, I always answered.
I closed the study door behind me and stepped back into the hall to find Jameson leaning casually against the wall, sipping on a drink that still definitely was not tea. He raised his brows when I met his gaze. “A marriage contract? You’re really going along with it, huh?”
I didn’t break stride. “You were listening?”
He shrugged. “I was standing here and I happened to pick up on some of the things you were saying. Contrary to popular belief, I am smart enough to put two and two together. Eavesdropping is such a loaded term.”
“A loaded term I didn’t use.” I sighed and kept walking. He fell into step beside me, following and looking at me like he was narrating my every move in his head.
“So who’s the lucky heiress?” he asked. “Or is this one of those mysterious power mergers where she owns half of some company or a third-world country?”
“It’s not about a merger,” I said. “It’s about duty to family. Stability. Making sure the next chapter starts clean.”
Jameson let out a low whistle. “God, it sounds like you’re writing a brochure for a drug rehab facility.”
I blew out a breath through my nostrils, keeping my gaze trained straight ahead. It wasn’t far now and I’d be back at the side door, on my way to freedom. “Not everyone’s looking for a whirlwind romance, a drunken marriage in Vegas, or a prenup signed on a napkin.”
He gave me a sideways glance. “It all just feels so transactional, man. Are you sure about this? I can have two dozen hot girls at a party tonight with one phone call. You can meet ‘em and maybe talk to them a little bit. See if there isn’t someone out there who strikes your fancy without any clauses about kids required. It might take some effort, since you’ll probably have to take her on a few dates before you propose, but… ”
“This isn’t easy, Jamie” I said, pausing at the foot of the stairs outside. “It’s not some shortcut. I don’t mind having to put in the effort. I just believe that structure helps to filter out the chaos and uncertainty.”
His hazel eyes bored into mine with a doubtful look he’d perfected from our mother having locked it on him a thousand times. “And you think you’ve found her? A girl you can arrange to marry without any strings attached?”
I rocked my head from side to side. “It’s possible. I’m flying to LA today to confirm, but I had to head out there for some business anyway. If I can get this done while I’m there, then why not?”
His brow furrowed, disapproval in the set of his jaw. “Is it anyone I know?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I just offered him a half-smile that I could feel didn’t reach my eyes. “There’s more riding on this than you think.”
Jameson studied me for a second, unusually serious. While he and I shared some personality traits, he was a lot more relaxed than me. A lot more sociable and personable. Right then though, despite the differences in our physical appearance, I felt like I was looking into a mirror.
“Have you ever considered that maybe love isn’t something you can spreadsheet or contract into existence?”
“I’ve considered it,” I said. “And I’ve also considered the divorce rates.”
He rolled his eyes. “How romantic.”
I shrugged one shoulder and decided to hold the mirror right back up at him. We would see if he liked it any better than I did. “What do you know about romance, Jameson? The last time I checked, you weren’t racing to any chapel to get married either.”
“Are you insane? The only time I would race to a chapel would be if someone bet me a vintage car I couldn’t make it there in ten minutes or less.”
“Then we’re in agreement. I wouldn’t have raced to a chapel if they were giving away free whiskey and forgiveness in equal measure, yet here we are. Sometimes, we need to do what we were born to without complaining about it.”
“And we were born to procreate with women we don’t love?”
I shrugged. “Love is for people with time, not those with money. We have plenty of one and never enough of the other.”
He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You cannot seriously be so calm about this.”
“How I feel is, as always, entirely irrelevant.” I checked my watch. “I have a plane to catch.”
Jameson raised his glass in mock salute. “Have a safe flight, big brother. Say hi to your potential spouse for me.”
I turned to go but paused at the door to glance back at him. “You’ll like her.”
“Do you like her?” he asked, not joking at all.
I hesitated. Thoughts flickered through my mind of a woman in yoga pants with her arms crossed, her chin lifted like she dared me to take her shop without a fight. I thought of her voice, so sharp, so full of grit. All steel beneath the softness of her curves.
Then I opened the door. “She’s growing on me.”
I left without another word, leaving my brother confused and disapproving in my wake, but he might never have to deal with this, purely based on being born second. As for me, I didn’t have time to fret.
It wouldn’t do me much good either. Come hell or high water, Harlan was retiring next summer and Westwood and Sons would have a new CEO, and I would be damned if it was anyone other than me.