Chapter Sixteen
Huxley
I’ve been played. Fucked over. And publicly mocked.
The dinner was a week ago, but the humiliation I’ve felt hasn’t abated one bit. And it won’t until I have my revenge.
“Are you okay?” Madison asks. She’s a prototypical California blonde with long legs and toned body. Her eyes are blue—but a lighter shade than Grace’s.
No. Don’t think about that manipulative little bitch.
I can’t believe I ever thought she was cute and sassy. How hard did she have to bite her cheek not to laugh when I asked about her mom? Did she have a good chuckle with my grandmother after I reached out to propose a fake engagement?
My phone buzzes with another call from Grandmother. She’s been calling and texting at least five times a day. Mom’s been trying to reach me too, but I refuse to answer. They’ll try to gaslight me—insist that my meeting with Grace was fate, fawn over how the pregnancy is a sign that Grace and I are meant to be and praise me for doing the right thing for the family.
“You look a little tired,” Madison says.
“I’m fine.”
She nods. “This came for you from Huxley & Webber.” Madison places a thick envelope on my desk. Her manner is deft and businesslike. If my situation weren’t such a mess, I might’ve been tempted to ask her to be my fake fiancée, like my brothers suggested. At least she’d be good at it—and not fuck me over with my family.
But she’s too damn professional to fool anybody. Who would believe she has any feelings for me when they see that smooth expression or hear her perfectly modulated voice?
“Do you know what it’s about?” I ask.
“No. Legal hasn’t looked at it, either. It’s marked personal.”
Probably Grandma and Mom trying an end run around my refusal to answer their calls and texts. “Put it through the shredder.”
“Shouldn’t you see what it is first?” If she’s curious what’s in the envelope, she doesn’t show it. “It could be a legal matter.”
“Don’t care. Shred it, then pack it into an envelope and send it back to them. COD.”
Madison’s well-trimmed golden eyebrows pull together. “Is there something I can do to help?”
“Unless you can invent a time machine, no.”
She nods again and leaves, bringing me a cup of extra-strong coffee a few minutes later. She knows exactly what I need when I’m upset.
–Dad: How come you didn’t tell me you were engaged? I wasted so much time looking for good women for you!
–Me: Who told you?
–Dad: Your mother.
Of course. Since she couldn’t get to me directly, she went to Joey. The texts are coming from Dad’s phone, but Dad doesn’t text. That’s too much work. It’s Joey doing the texting, undoubtedly feeling smugly important to be able to send messages as Ted Lasker.
–Dad: But maybe the time wasn’t totally wasted. Since your fiancée is pregnant, if you want to have some extra fun, I have a few options. They’re discreet.
As discreet as Jane’s tits that wouldn’t stay confined to her dress.
–Me: Joey, go away
–Dad: Come on! Can’t you just give me credit for doing a great job?
–Me: I could…but first you’d have to be doing a great job.
–Dad: You’re such an ungrateful jerk! At least we’re invited to the wedding, right?
Hell no, comes to my mind instinctively. Dick cannons are my dad’s idea of dignified and fun. My brothers and I should be grateful he didn’t ask us to commission a giant replica of his dick for his birthday.
But then it hits me. Why should I gift the Huxleys and Webbers a dignified wedding?
–Me: If you can send the most amazing gift ever.
–Dad: We can manage that.
–Me: If it’s impressive enough, who knows? Dad might get to bounce the baby on his knee.
–Dad: No. It might puke. But we’ll take it around the city, show it the world it rightfully belongs to.
Translation: Dad plans to take the baby to every debauched Hollywood party he can squeeze into his busy schedule. He’ll also shove the poor baby into his rival Josh Singer’s face. I’m still not sure why Dad hates Josh Singer so much. He’s just a guy who financed and produced a lot of artsy-fartsy films. Nothing like my father’s history of producing megahits.
I send a quick email to the team in Paris to make sure the client isn’t doing anything stupid—you never know with artistes —and head to the steakhouse. I’m meeting my brothers for dinner and to celebrate Noah’s upcoming nuptials. He actually managed to convince Bobbi to marry him. How is anybody’s guess—not long ago she wouldn’t even let him buy a croissant at her bakery. Hopefully he didn’t do anything stupid, like give her all his money. I don’t worry about my other brothers, but with Noah, I do. When he becomes focused on something, he disregards everything else. He’ll go on a trip to photograph some cheetahs, and sometimes it’ll be weeks before anyone hears from him.
I pull up to the steakhouse and toss the fob to the valet. Just as I do, Mick emerges from the car behind me. He’s in a suit with a thin white-gold tie pin. He apparently won his first case while wearing it, so now he wears it all the time as some kind of talisman. If he were actually good at what he did, he wouldn’t need luck.
“Well, well, well. Look at the man who got duped into marrying a whore.” He smirks, probably happy he finally has something to feel superior to me about.
“Say that again and you won’t be able to make a court appearance for months.” Griffin isn’t the only one who can break a man’s jaw with a kick.
Mick flinches slightly, then scoffs to hide the initial reaction. “What does it feel like to marry a girl like Grace?”
“I’m wondering why she’s a Lain,” I say conversationally, refusing to rise to the bait, then head to the entrance.
He follows me. He isn’t giving up this opportunity to stick it to me. “Because she took her mom’s name. Do you know her mom was— is ? A slut who tried to wreck my parents’ marriage. She’s ‘lain,’ all right.” He grins, waiting for a reaction, but when I don’t give him the satisfaction, he says, “She shamelessly seduced Dad— knowing he was married —to change her lot in life, and it backfired. He didn’t leave Mom for her, not even for the baby.”
Well, that explains the last name. And the fact that Grace has never made a public appearance with the family. “And I’m supposed to feel…what?”
“Disgust for gold-digging whores? Like mother, like daughter!”
I study my nails nonchalantly for a moment. “There wouldn’t have been a problem if Nelson had kept his dick in his pants, though, would there? After all, he knew he was married with children. Guess Karie and you two kids didn’t mean much to him.”
Mick’s complexion is so red, it looks purple. He opens and closes his mouth a few times. As usual, he can’t think of anything clever to say. If he thought he could get away with it, he’d throw the first punch. But he knows I can fight. You don’t grow up with six brothers—one of whom is a kickboxer—and not know how to fight.
I hold Mick’s eyes just long enough to establish that he’s too chickenshit to do anything, then smile and turn to the hostess. “Noah Lasker. Party of seven.”
She smiles back. “I see it. Right this way.”
I follow her. Mick screams, “You got yourself a gold-digging, opportunistic, scheming whore for a fiancée! Soon she’s going to be your wife! Good luck with that, loser! She’ll fuck every guy in the city just because.”
Rage swells. I start to turn, but he scrambles away. Is it worth it to go after him?
“Would you like us to call the police?” The hostess’s words penetrate my red haze.
“No.” With a gigantic effort, I wrench myself back under control. “That was the DA, believe it or not. I doubt a call to the police would accomplish much.”
She shakes her head, muttering something, and takes me to the table where my brothers are. A few empty bottles stand on it. Noah stops in the middle of gorging on bread as I walk up.
“Did somebody wreck your new Lamborghini?” he asks.
Why does he think the only thing that gets me upset is wrecking a new Lambo? I haven’t bought one in at least two years.
“Worse. Much worse.” I grind my teeth at the memory of Mick’s insults. I taunted him back, of course, but the person I really want to mock is myself for not doing more due diligence. I should never have asked Grace to be my fake fiancée without checking her out more thoroughly. How could I have forgotten how devious my grandmother can be? I just assumed someone like her could never be the vapid spender of the family, not based on the way she dressed and spoke. But the best con artists never show their true colors. I should’ve learned after the kidnapping incident involving my cousins. “I’m stuck. I have to marry Grace Lain.”
I’ve already given it a lot of thought, and there simply doesn’t seem to be a good way to get out of it. But at the same time, do I want to end things like this? It wouldn’t materially damage Grace. She would still get to go back to her daddy and spend his money. So what if he’s embarrassed about the way she came into the world? He obviously cares enough to fork over twenty-five thousand bucks a month.
She could’ve kept on collecting that money and stayed out of my life. Instead, she set her sights on me, manipulated her way into becoming my wife. Well, I’m going to ensure she doesn’t get what she wants out of this marriage—money. She’ll have to pay with her own money if she wants anything. I’m tempted to charge her for rent and utilities, but that would be beyond petty, even in my state.
The pregnancy is another bucket of gasoline over the fire. Does she think I’m going to buy her innocent act just because she can still look at me with seemingly guileless eyes? I’m not trusting anything out of her mouth without proof.
“Well… At least she’s not a Webber…?” Emmett says tentatively.
The other brothers nod.
Just thinking about how she fooled me sends my blood pressure into orbit. “She’s a fucking Webber in disguise! She misrepresented herself!”
“You sure? I’ve never heard of Grace Lain,” Emmett says.
Nicholas pours a whiskey and slides it in my direction. I knock it back.
“She’s the daughter Nelson Webber had with his side piece,” I grind out.
Grant frowns. “Do you have to marry her? There’s gotta be a loophole.”
My hands shake with suppressed rage. “She claims she’s pregnant with my baby.”
“Well… Is she really?” Noah asks. He can’t believe I would be so careless.
And I can’t either. There’s no way the baby’s mine. It was just a one-night stand. I’m fanatical about condoms because I refuse to have a child I’m not ready for. Nor do I want to behave like my father, throwing money at accidental children like that’s all there is to being a parent.
Every time I think about asking her to be my fake fiancée, I want to kick myself in the balls. “She thinks she’s won, but I’m going to ruin that conniving little bitch.” Both of my hands clench.
Noah slowly masticates some bread, a smidgeon of pity crossing his face. Bitterness flows through my veins. I don’t want his pity. I don’t want to be the object of anyone’s pity.
I am Huxley Lawton Lasker. Nobody is allowed to pity me. And I hate Grace for putting me in this situation.
Sebastian clears his throat. “You might not want to judge so hastily. Just in case.” He’s referring to the time he almost lost his wife because he thought she’d screwed him over. He vowed to make her pay and she did. And then filed for divorce over it.
“She crawled into my bed!” It galls me that it was the best sex I’d had in a long time, if not my entire life. I actually liked her at the bar. Thought she was interesting enough that I wanted to pursue something more with her, not an urge I’ve felt with women before.
But it was just an illusion. I can’t decide which pisses me off more—that she put on an act or that I bought it. How she must’ve laughed to herself! “Did Lucie crawl into yours?”
“No. But her sister crawled into my brother’s.”
“She’s going to wish she’d never met me.”
“How about the kid?” Nicholas says.
“I don’t know. It probably isn’t mine anyway.”
“You sure?” Emmett asks.
“Gonna have to check, but I am extremely careful with contraception.”
“Still could’ve failed.” Griffin makes a circle around the table, at the result of our father’s failed vasectomy.
“I didn’t get a vasectomy from a second-rate doctor,” I shoot back at him.
Griffin doesn’t give me a nasty comeback, which is something, since he’s grumpier than a hungry bear, and he doesn’t back down from fights, physical or verbal. He just shrugs and says, “Neither did I, but…” He got his wife pregnant during a one-night stand at a masquerade party. And he’s one of the most meticulous people I know. He wouldn’t have forgotten to wear protection, and he would’ve made sure it wasn’t expired.
Sighing, I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. Gotta control my temper. It isn’t my brothers’ fault that I’m in the predicament I’m in. “Yeah. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s cool. I know you’re upset.” Griff slaps my shoulder.
I shake my head, as though that will help my crappy mood. “We should have some fun here.” My voice comes out grim. But damn it, I’m going to make sure we have a good time. This is the last time Noah’s going to be at a brothers-only dinner as a bachelor. I’m not letting my problem bring everyone down.
Grant pours me my favorite scotch. We toast, and I knock it back. We order food and more alcohol.
But even as we toast and laugh and give shit to Noah about his tumultuous relationship with Bobbi and their upcoming nuptials, a corner of my mind stays on revenge. Nobody fucks with my life and gets away with it.