Chapter 1 #2
The concierge at the front desk greeted her with a polished smile as she made her way to the bank of elevators and pressed the button leading to the penthouse suite.
Firming her lips, she cleared her mind, determined to make it as pleasant and as painless as possible.
Her grandfather had tasked her to alert the family and prepare them for the meeting.
It did not matter that she wanted to be anywhere else. She had a lot on her plate but had hidden her resentment at being ordered to carry out this duty. When William Ryder spoke, it was always natural to obey.
And both her brother and dad needed a personal visit.
The front desk had alerted him that she was on her way up, and he was standing just inside the open doorway, a welcoming smile on his face.
Jeremiah Ryder was handsome and charming, two things she suspected had caught her mother's attention.
His caramel complexion was smooth. His nose slightly crooked, giving him a dashing piratical look that added to his appearance. He was also weak and lazy.
He was her father, but she had resigned herself to his faults years ago.
Still, she couldn't deny that he had a warmth about him that drew people in, a kind of effortless charm that made it hard to stay angry.
Ingrid braced herself for the familiar mix of affection and exasperation she always felt in his presence, trying to remember that despite their differences, family was family, flawed, complicated, and somehow still worth the effort.
His smile came, and she felt love wash over her in waves.
Whatever his faults, and she could see the brightness of his liquid brown eyes was partly due to chemicals, something that tore at her constantly.
But whatever his faults, she would take him any day over her mother, which left her thinking how messed up they were.
"Sweetheart." His arms were spread wide to embrace her, and she stepped right in, inhaling the scent of his expensive cologne and combination of tobacco.
"How lucky I am to be graced with your presence." Stepping back, he held her at arm's length. "You look wonderful as usual. So beautiful."
Lifting a hand, he touched her cheek gently. "My smart girl."
Drawing her inside, he closed the door at their backs and tucked her hand through his arm. "You've stayed away too long."
"The company keeps me very busy." She clung to him, fingers digging into his black silk robe as they made their way into the sumptuously decorated living room where a fire was glowing inside the hearth.
Thick silver carpet embraced their feet to the ankles.
The apartment was a gift and a bribe from his father.
William Ryder had laid down his laws. As long as his son walked the straight and narrow without causing a scandal, he was free to enjoy the benefits of being a Ryder.
"What can I get you?" he asked after nudging her into one of the plush tan leather sofas facing the fireplace. "I was just about to indulge in an after-dinner drink myself."
"Nothing for me, but don't let me stop you.
" She had to steel herself not to comment on the powdery substance still visible on the Queen Anne center table.
He had obviously tried to clean up after himself but had not succeeded in getting rid of all of it.
Even if he had, she would still have known he had been using.
He would call it recreational drugs, but they all knew he was just kidding himself.
"Scotch." He grinned at her over his shoulder as he poured two fingers. "Sure you don't want anything?" He walked back to sit next to her, one hand rubbing her knee affectionately. "There's roast beef in the warmer. The housekeeper prepared more than enough."
"I'm fine, Dad." Turning sideways, she took in the slightly broken capillaries and the bloodshot eyes and realized she was going to have to pour coffee into him to prepare him for the meeting.
She hesitated, then softened her tone. "I'm not here for the food, Dad. I need to talk to you about something important." Her words hung between them, mingling with the quiet crackle of the fire and the clinking of ice in his glass.
For a moment, Jeremiah's easy smile faded, replaced by a flicker of awareness. He knew the routine, the way urgent conversations always started with small talk before turning serious.
"I've been summoned." He took a sip of his drink, and for a moment, there was a wistful expression on his handsome face.
Her father was vain. Both her parents were and refused to age.
Her mother had her monthly tucks and facials, and her father had his personal grooming done, which included visits to the expensive spa where he had work done and his hair colored an impossible black.
His well-manicured hand lifted to rub the back of his neck.
"I am a disappointment to the old man." He shrugged one elegant shoulder. "I have no ambition, and the thought of working sends me into a frantic spin." He glanced at his daughter, expression softening. "I'm proud of you."
Taking her hand in his, he lifted it to his mouth. "You're carrying on the Ryder legacy. Me?" He shrugged again. "I'm just here, taking up space."
"That's not true. You're essential."
His laugh was derisive. "Now, darling, you really don't believe that, and you're always honest. Brutally so." He squeezed her hand before letting go. "Should I be concerned?" he asked casually.
"I don't think so." She glanced at the powdery substance on the table again and shook off the despair.
"I've been on my best behavior." There was a trace of bitterness in his voice. "Doing what's required of me. I've even broken it off with Clarice."
"Oh, Daddy!" She reached over to close her hand over his. "I liked her."
"Father demanded that I stop seeing her. And you know how that goes. If the person does not meet his approval, then you're doomed." He turned his hand over and clutched hers. "I do sometimes wish I could stand up to the old bastard."
His gaze flickered to her face. "You're the only one who has."
"Just when it comes to business." She sighed. "I happen to know what I want and will even buck his authority when it comes to that."
"Do we have any idea what the meeting is all about?"
"None whatsoever." She kept the alarm off her face, knowing her father would pick up on it. "I just came from Matthew's. He's reluctantly agreed to be there."
"And how's the dear boy?"
Her eyes flashed fire at the question. Pulling her hand away, she rose and decided that she needed that drink after all. Pouring a finger of scotch, she turned to look at the man lounging with ease on the sofa. "Why don't you pick up the phone and ask him yourself?"
He shifted on the sofa and avoided her eyes. "He doesn't want to see me."
"He's your bloody son." She had to tamp down the anger rising inside her. "Grandfather cannot hold control over you spending time with him. His lifestyle is not contagious, Dad."
He had the grace to look ashamed. "You make me sound like an eel."
"I have no control over that either. Matthew is hurting. His family, you and mother, have all but deserted him."
He ducked his head to stare into the amber liquid.
"He was always her favorite. Ever since he was born, she took one look at him.
" He lifted his head, a smile tugging at his lips.
"He was such a beautiful baby, and she adored him.
It was always 'Matthew this or Matthew that.
' He was hers and you were mine. That's the way it was. Until."
"Until you both discovered he was gay."
He winced at that and took a fortifying sip of his drink.
"You have to understand the pressure of being part of a family like ours.
We always have eyes trained on us, especially with our association with the McCrearys.
" His voice turned bitter. "High profile families, we are, always in the spotlight, always have the press dogging our steps. "
"You used to love it."
He shrugged. "I still do." His smile came. "I'm shallow that way. Your mother is the same." For an instant, the pain flashed across his face. "We're supposed to portray perfection."
"How unrealistic." Her tone was sarcastic. "No one is perfect, no damn family is. Every bloody person has their issues, including us."
"Some more than others." He hated when she was mad at him and wanted to erase the anger from her beautiful face. She was the only one in his corner, and he could not afford to have her upset with him. She was also the one standing between him and his tyrannical old man.
He knew he could credit her for him being here in this suite and not some place out of the city. He had to have people around him and be able to step out and go to the theater and the many parties he loved to attend. And he owed her.
He could not help who he was, or so he kept telling himself, and had accepted it a long time ago.
He was getting a monthly allowance, a generous one that suited his lifestyle, and was okay with it.
He knew his limitations and accepted them.
He was a disappointment to his old man, and it pained his heart, but he had learned to live with that too.
Yet in quieter moments, he sometimes wondered what it would feel like to chase real ambition, to risk the comfort of his routine for something that might actually make him proud beyond the family's expectations.
He watched his daughter with a mix of admiration and envy.
She moved through the world with a confidence he'd only ever managed to feign.
Her determination reminded him that somewhere, deep down, desire for more still lingered, buried beneath layers of resignation and the relentless pursuit of fleeting pleasures.
Shaking away the philosophical thoughts, he forced a smile. "Your mother is seeing an actor."
Tossing back the rest of the drink like water, Ingrid slammed the glass down on the countertop and made her way back to the sofa. Sitting, she searched his face. "How does that make you feel?"
He lifted his glass, sipped. "Weary." He laughed softly. "At least she's being discreet. And we're talking. Really talking. Who knows? We might end up being friends."
He stared at her. "Have you spoken to her?"
"No." She leaned back and crossed her feet at the ankles. "Mother and I don't really see eye to eye, and we both prefer it that way."