7. Alex/Katherine
ALEX/KATHERINE
Alex
“You’re sure about this?” I ask.
This is the kind of situation where I have to be positive I have all the information, not a best guess.
The afternoon traffic is surprisingly heavy for this time of day, but worth it to see Katherine. I’ve got an event tonight that I can’t miss, which means making time with her where I can.
“That the coroner’s body washed up?” Magnus’ voice rumbles through my cell phone’s speaker. “Yeah, they’re sure it’s him. Dental records match.”
I’m surprised he survived this long, given the money and power the Chanlers have. I wouldn’t be surprised if Lucinda thinks no one is watching. After all, her father was an old man, and old men die every day.
My guys haven’t found a telltale money trail, so I give her props for that. But my gut tells me there’s something fishy about the whole situation, from Henry Chanler’s untimely death to the coroner’s early retirement and now, his death.
It reeks of tying up loose ends.
“What does your guy think?”
Magnus is jovial enough to have maintained friendships across the northeast, but especially within the police department.
The Range Rover bounces over a pothole, jostling my arm and the phone in my hand, but I hear his answer.
“Sailing accident.”
My frown deepens as my mind spins up a dozen questions. Questions I know Magnus has already thought of and is already asking on my behalf, while, of course, not raising suspicions.
But if I’m right, it means that Lucinda had her father and a coroner killed. What’s to stop her from coming after Katherine?
“I don’t like it,” I say into the quiet cab. The man behind the wheel glances at me in the rearview mirror because I’ve trained my team to be cautious and curious.
“Neither do I. We’re on it, but I can’t make too many waves too quickly,” Magnus says.
“Of course. Keep me posted.”
I’m unlocking the door to the brownstone when my phone vibrates in my hand. Sliding the key back into my pocket, I take a deep breath. I’m sick of my fucking phone, and it’s only lunchtime.
Those days away in Paris spoiled me. Intentionally being as out of pocket as possible was amazing.
Pushing the door open, I’m met with silence. I close my eyes for a moment and soak in the stillness. No one needs anything from me right now. Not protection, not answers, not help.
Which means I can enjoy my time with Katherine.
Assuming I can pry her away from King.
Another text vibrates my fingertips, and I lift the phone, tapping the notifications, skimming the messages. Finally, some news from our apartment building. We can get back in on Thursday, but only to grab a bag. It’s uninhabitable until they fix the pipes.
Sighing, I tuck my phone in my pocket and go searching for my girl. Her ballet flats are tucked next to the sofa, and I can’t help but smile.
I find Destiny at the kitchen island, leaning over a cookbook. She whirls toward me, clutching her heart.
“You scared me.”
“Sorry.”
“You need to wear a bell.”
My lips twitch. “Then how would I sneak up on people?”
“Exactly!” Relaxing, she glances back down at the book. “Thought I’d try something new for dinner. I found the most amazing collection of cookbooks in the butler’s pantry.”
That’s news to me. I only looked around to check exits and entry points, hiding spots, and if the alarm system was working correctly.
“Sounds good. Is Katherine upstairs?”
Her smile falls, and she tucks a strand of her curly hair behind her ear. “She left about half an hour ago. I’d just come back from the market.”
Disappointment is a heavy sensation in my chest.
“Thanks.”
Phone in hand again, I move back toward the front of the house. No messages from her. I text her.
Alex: Hey Beauty. Came home for lunch but you’re not here.
Well, this sucks. I mean, I’m glad she’s living her life, but I was looking forward to some quiet time, just the two of us.
“Do you want me to fix you something for lunch?” Destiny calls.
I am hungry. And only partially for food.
“Sure. Thanks,” I call back, then I text Katherine’s team. Pacing across the foyer, I watch the screen like a hawk looking for its next meal. Three dots appear almost instantly.
Roman: she’s meeting with her mother.
My stomach drops.
Half a second later, a location pops up on the screen, and I click it. Since when is she meeting with Lucinda? Anxiety claws at my neck, and my fingers tighten around my phone.
I don’t like it.
Dragging a hand down my face, I take a deep breath and stare out the front window. Maybe I’m overreacting, but I’ve learned to trust my gut. And my gut is telling me that Lucinda is taking the power she’s been wanting her whole life and to hell with anyone who gets in her way.
Katherine
“Be serious, Katherine.”
I look up from my salad and stare across the bistro table.
Annoyance crackles across my mother’s features.
Somewhere in the last few months, the lines around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes have deepened.
I’m sure she’ll have those smoothed out in no time, thanks to some expensive procedure.
“When have you known me to not be serious?” I ask, fighting a sigh.
She doesn’t miss a beat. “You’ve been pretty cavalier this past week, haven’t you? Disappearing from the auction. All those dreadful articles in the press. My people have been fielding phone calls about your personal life. A life I know nothing about. What am I supposed to tell them?”
“Nothing.”
She closes her eyes, and I swear I can see her count to ten. It’s like big red elevator numbers appear over her head. Except this is my mother, and patience isn’t her strong suit. She only makes it to three before she’s glaring at me.
“I don’t want to argue, Katherine.”
“I’m not arguing.”
“Yes, you are. You’ve been combative since the night before the auction. I hardly recognize you.”
She doesn’t recognize the new me, but I do.
For the first time in my life, I feel one hundred percent true to myself.
Like I’m operating at a peak level that’s so in tune with not only who I am, but who I’m meant to be.
It’s the first time I’ve ever been able to sit across the table from her and feel like an equal.
Like I’m living for me and not existing for her.
I’m no longer a living doll doing what she directs.
I take deeper breaths now, all the way to my belly. When I wake up in the morning, I’m excited to see what the day brings. I never had that before the auction.
Before Alex and Gabe and King burst into my life, I was constantly tensed, and my body ached from the inability to relax. Honestly, I don’t know how my friends put up with me.
Then again, Shon’s probably right.
I’ve been trying to break free for years.
Now I’ve finally found something, three someones, that I want enough to shake off my mother’s expectations.
“You look disappointed,” I say, watching her closely. Her face is as familiar as my own, but it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time.
While I’ve been having the best week of my life, she’s spinning out. Whereas I feel utterly calm, she’s buzzing with exasperation.
“Of course I’m disappointed!” She glances around to see if anyone is paying attention to her outburst. Because heaven forbid we should have feelings.
No one beneath the blanket of glittering chandeliers pays her any attention.
The paparazzi might be downstairs waiting to catch a glimpse of all the high rollers who dine here, but inside, it’s a low hum of business deals.
Even the ladies who lunch are wheeling and dealing.
Best schools, important gossip, who can’t be trusted, who’s sleeping with whom.
I almost feel bad for her.
Almost.
Lucinda Winthrop has her shit together. At least that’s what she wants the world to believe. It’s what I believed for a long time.
Now I see the cracks beneath the Chanel armor.
There’s a tiny shake of her head, and she clasps her fingers over the edge of the table. “That’s not why I’m here.”
I take a sip from my glass, no longer willing to play her game. She wants to talk, she can talk.
“I heard about your apartment. That’s so terrible.”
I blink. That’s not what I expected. I met her for lunch to discuss my inheritance, not my living situation.
“Anyway,” she waves a hand as if she’s shooing a fly. “I’ve had the staff get your old rooms ready. I thought we’d do a little shopping. Who knows how long it’ll take to fix that waterline?”
Why do I get the feeling that she knows more about my own apartment than I do?