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“No, look, Kat is getting suspicious. I’m running out of excuses to go to the house.”
“Perry, my sister is enamoured with you. She won’t care,” I remind him. I rub my eyes in irritation that Lauren and Matt went for a drink last night.
“Your shitty excuse for a mother returns this weekend. All hell is going to break loose. You need to get back here.”
“I know.” I sigh heavily.
“Just ask me,” Perry mutters, annoyed. I’ve avoided any conversation surrounding Lauren.
“She seems fine.” I sound petulant, and the smug prick laughs at me.
“You left your balls here. I think Lauren was wearing them as earrings last night.”
“Eat shit.” I grin.
“You both have more in common than you realise. She doesn’t want to talk about you either. However, she did let slip after one too many that she had respected you for the wrong reasons, and she was more annoyed at herself for being such a poor judge of character.” He sniggers.
Ouch. My girl is hurting.
“I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“I get it. Things could get nasty with Royce.”
“They will.”
“She can handle it. Look how she dealt with her ex. She hasn’t uttered a word about his poor choices, and she walked away gracefully. Cain, I knocked her out, and she had secured interviews like she was shopping for milk. She can handle it,” he reiterates. “It’s you that's having a hard time.”
“I hope you’re not expecting me to cough up a fee for your worldly advice.”
“She’s good for you. That’s all I'm saying.”
I snort and stand up, walking to look out across the skyline. New York spreads out far and wide. The dense concrete landscape is as endless as the sea I flew across to get here. I suddenly hate the distance, each building an obstacle, the sea a vast blue wasteland in my way. Panic grips at my chest, and I shake my head, refusing to give it any leeway in my mind.
I know this feeling, and I hate it. The power it holds over my emotions and the lack of control are debilitating. I clutch at Perry’s words, gripping them like a life raft, keeping my mind grounded.
“You established that from us spending one weekend together?” I yank at my tie, sweat beading my brow.
“So spend more time with her,” he drawls. “She’s seeing her family this weekend. Amberley mentioned her not looking forward to it. Apparently, her brother is a dick to her.”
This is unwelcome news, and my anxiety exacerbates. Amberley’s insight gives me something to focus on. I might have to investigate James Lindel further. “I’ll let you know when I land,” I reply, avoiding the topic of Lauren, because I know I seriously fucked up.
I fucked up royally. I want Lauren, and that terrifies me.
“Youeat shit,” he states bluntly, before putting the phone down on me.
I spend the rest of the day hauled up in my office working. I’m emailing Justine about securing a flight home when David, an assistant, knocks and walks in. “Sir, I think I'm on to something. He’s definitely having you tailed.” He walks forward, handing me some papers. “He’s using the company Saples & Co, and the will was drawn up by Harold Morris. I’ve emailed a copy to your lawyer. He’s retired now, but around the time of your father’s death, he received a hefty payout. It’s got to be a fake.” There is an element of excitement in his tone, but his eyes are as cold and hard as mine. There’s a reason I hired David, and it wasn’t just down to his work ethic. Royce has burned his family too.
Ivory is a poisonous snake. I wonder if Kelvin Deeks’ talents extend to bodily harm because I want more than to financially ruin Royce—I’m out for blood.
“Thank you, David. I’ll be returning to London in a day or two, but keep me informed.” He leaves me alone, and I read through the information, taking stock of the older man with snowy hair that my stepfather has paid to follow me. When I return to my desk, Justine has updated my diary, and I pack up my belongings to return home tomorrow morning.
I’m close to leaving the office when I dial Lauren’s number, unable to let another day pass between us. I wait as it rings. She doesn’t answer, so I find a seat on one of the sofas and connect the call again. She’ll know it’s me. I purposely put my number under No.1 Prick with a cactus emoji. I'm sure she believes I've lived up to that name more than once. I may as well embrace it.
“Hello?” she answers curtly.
“It’s Cain.”
“I know. I'm just not sure why you’re calling me.” She's not fishing for reassurance. Her clipped tone cuts like a blunt knife.
