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“Wow, fate is a funny thing, isn’t it?”
Fate? Fate isn’t what brought us together. Five million dollars is what brought us together. No way am I about to admit that though. I actually still can’t quite believe I doled out that insane amount of money.
“Why would Londyn be selling herself? Does she need the money or something? Did her father cut her off?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. The one thing I do know, however, is that she was lying when she said she was on that stage for the thrill.
“How long do you own her?”
“I don’t own...” I stop, my protest dying in my throat. Once Peyton gets something in her head, there is no changing her mind. Clearly, I taught her well. “She’s here until after Christmas.”
Another pause and then in a soft voice she says, “That is so nice, Cason.” The sigh that follows those words surprises the hell out of me, but the longing in her voice is what nearly knocks me off my damn chair. What is going on with her?
“There’s nothing nice about that, Peyton,” I say, exasperation in my voice as I shoot that answer back quickly, maybe too quickly.
“Yeah, Cason. There is.” She chuckles into the phone like she knows something I don’t. Whatever she thinks she knows, she’s dead wrong.
“I don’t even like her,” I say, my denial so fast and furious I wonder exactly who I’m trying to convince.
I am so screwed.
“I know,” she says, her voice lacking conviction.
I slump a little in my chair. “Then why would you say it’s nice?”
“I think you’ll see soon enough,” she says, a hint of something in her voice, something that sounds like melancholy, but my sister isn’t a dreamer. Like me, she’s grounded in reality. Then again, I am suspending reality for the next two weeks to live in some fairy tale with Londyn.
I snort and say, “Okay, you really are off your meds. You’re worrying me, kiddo.”
“No need to be worried, and you can stop being overprotective. I’m a big girl and can take care of myself and while I’d like to talk longer, I have to run to a meeting.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say, reluctant to let her go as concern niggles at me. Maybe I am just being overprotective.
“I love you, big brother.”
“I love you, too, crazy little sister.” I shake my head and wonder what’s really going on with her as I slide my finger across the screen to end the call. As soon as I get back to the city, I plan to pay her a visit.
I go back to my computer, and work to focus on business. I make a few calls, check in with human resources regarding a staffing problem and somehow manage to lose myself in work for the remainder of the day. By the time I lift my head, and blink my eyes into focus, I realize that it’s nearing dinnertime. Nighttime will soon be upon us. So much for taking the boat out today.
I push from my chair and as the quiet of the house beats against my ears, worry weaves its way through my veins. I stand and step up to my window to glance out. Where the hell is Londyn? She should have been back hours ago.
I leave my office to search the villa. Maybe she came back and I didn’t hear her. I check the main level but she’s nowhere to be found. Worry hits like a punch. Is she lost? Hurt? She would have called if she needed me, right? Shit, we didn’t exchange numbers. Another thought slams into me. Maybe she left. While I had my head down, buried in work, maybe she cabbed it to the airport and hopped on the next flight back to New York? She said she didn’t want to go back, but maybe she changed her mind after I sent her on a menial task. But no way can I talk to her about business, or let her help.
I work to quell my panic and wonder why the hell I’m panicking in the first place. Jesus. Her hopping on a plane would probably be for the best for both of us. The fact that I can’t find comfort in that thought nearly paralyzes me. Shit.
Forcing my legs to work, I dash up the stairs, and three long strides take me to her room. Her suitcase is still sitting where I left it and I don’t even want to examine how happy that makes me.
If she didn’t leave, where the hell is she?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Londyn
I SWING MY PURSE, looking far more carefree to the tourists flocking about than I actually feel deep inside. Honest to God, I can do more than run errands for Cason. I have thoughts, ideas and skills that can be put to better use. But why on earth would he ever let me near his work again? If I were him, I sure as hell wouldn’t.
He bought you for revenge, Londyn, not to help him with his business.
With that thought bouncing around inside my brain, I walk along the streets, and work to ignore the empty ache inside me. I find the stupid café and step inside. The delicious smells instantly lighten my mood, and as I walk up to the counter, I shake off the rest of my angst. I’m here in Cannes for two weeks, with the hottest guy on the planet. Sure, he hates me, but the hate sex was pretty damn phenomenal, and definitely something I want to experience again.
