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CHAPTER 2
LUCAS
By the time Samuel drops me off, it’s almost seven p.m. and I’m exhausted. It’s always a chore getting through Manhattan, but I don’t rent a tower block of offices just to work from home all day long. So I have to act like a normal person and do a commute. I’m just glad I don’t have to take a train. Disgusting things. I’d rather walk — and thank God I don’t have to do that either.
I kick my shoes off at the door and start undoing my tie and unbuttoning my shirt as I head for my bedroom. Sometimes, I almost think a three-bedroom penthouse is a little too much room for one person, but it does make me awesome at hosting parties. I have a luxury very few other New Yorkers have: space.
Casually, I sling my shirt and socks into the laundry basket. It’s starting to overflow, but in a couple days Yolanda will be up to do housekeeping. Excellent woman. Hardly ever see her but she folds all my clothes and dusts under the sofa and sometimes, if I’m really lucky, I get frozen meals deposited into the freezer for later enjoyment. I literally cannot ask for more than that in a maid.
And now I’m thinking of it, I’m hungry. I slouch my way back along the corridor to the kitchen, cursing the fact that I didn’t get groceries delivered today. Yolanda’s definitely not going to cook for me if I’ve only got three eggs and a handful of slices of bread in the fridge.
As I open the fridge door onto the barren shelves, I open my delivery app and hit reorder, grimacing as I have to pay extra for next-day delivery. Ugh! Everything is so hard.
Fortunately, right on the bottom shelf are some leftover noodles from the Korean takeout I got the other day. They’re probably past their best, but shoving noodles in the microwave is about all the cooking I’m able and willing to do.
The microwave takes forever to finish, the seconds counting down slower than they should, I swear. I stare at the bowl going round and round, the smell of sweet soy sauce making my stomach rumble. I think the plan is to take this to bed and have a relaxing evening in front of the TV. I’ve still got a couple of episodes ofNight of Reasonto catch up on, not that I’m particularly enjoying it. If I wanted to watch a drama about the secret lives of billionaires, I’d tape a day inmylife.
But it’s the show everyone is watching, and I can’t possibly look out of touch. Being relatable is so important.
I don’t wait to sit down before I start to eat, forking the noodles into my mouth like they’re about to run away. They’re kind of sad, but I’m too hungry to care. My big night in is calling.
And then the doorbell rings. Groaning, I wheel around and slump back to the front door. If I’d known I’d be doing steps tonight, I wouldn’t have put my pajamas on. Insistently, the bellbuzzes again. “Yes, okay! I’m coming!” I say through a mouthful of noodles.
I discard the almost empty bowl on the nearest hard surface and squint at the fuzzy image coming through the intercom. I just about make out the shapes of four figures, blurred and vague. For weeks I’ve been telling the staff they need to clean the camera. It’s supposed to give me an HD view.
“Hello?” I demand, slamming my thumb into the answer button.
“Lukey, hey. Can I come up?”
My mouth drops open at the voice. You don’t forget the voice of someone you were raised with for twenty years, even if you’ve barely spoken in ten.
“Jason?”
“Hey, dude,” he says, and I don’t have to see it to imagine the boyish smile of my brother.
“Why are you here? What do you want? And give the camera a wipe, would you? I’m getting an awful picture up here.”
The image goes black for a second and then I’m met with Jason’s frown. “Look, Luke,” he says, and now I can see him, I’m surprised to see how nervous he looks. “I’m sorry to show up out of the blue like this, but I need your help.”
One of the children he has with him babbles, tugging on his sleeve. He leans down to mutter something to the kid and ruffles their hair gently.
“What is it?” I sigh, ready for this to be over. There’s a reason Jason and I don’t talk, and I’m not particularly ready to breakour streak now. In fact, I can’t imagine Golden Boy wanting or needing anything from me at all.
“Look, can I just come up and explain it to you?”
“No.”
He groans, closing his eyes hard in an attempt to stay calm. “I need you to take the kids for a few weeks. I’ve got a flight that leaves in an hour and half, and God knows you’re my absolute last resort, but I need someone I can trust and I need them now.”
My mouth opens and shuts again. “I think you’d best come in.”
I slam my thumb on the intercom button and watch as my brother and his children vanish from view. My head is swimming as they come up in the elevator. What does he mean,trust? How can there be any trust in a relationship that hasn't existed in years? And I’m not exactly known for my child-loving attitudes. He must be desperate if he’s asking me of all people.
This must be the universe cursing me before a big day.
And why are my palms sweating? It’s just Jason. It’s just the kid who got to do whatever he wanted while I was being primed to take over the family business, the guy who’s so kind and funny and perfect and saves starving children in Africa and got all the benefits of our father being a business tycoon without any of the stresses. As far as I can see it, his life is wonderful, floating around the world with everyone applauding. Why couldn’t he just hire childcare?
But I don’t have a chance to ask myself any more questions because the thumping on the door makes me jump. I take a breath, steady myself, and open it. “Hello, Jason.”
