Are you and Dad going into the office late?" Merina stood and rinsed her mug in the sink.
"Probably this afternoon. Your father isn't feeling well."
Merina's heart hit the floor. She grasped the counter and waited for bad news. Since his heart attack, she worried he might have another. He didn't eat as healthy as he should and wore stress like a second skin.
"Just a sore throat. Not his heart. He's fine, Mer." Her mother waved a hand but Merina found herself unsure if she could trust her mother's word.
Lately, they had both been doing a lot of lying to each other.
* * *
By seven o'clock, Reese was shaking the hands of a few board members after an impromptu meeting. Their focus now? The restaurants and bars in Crane Hotels nationwide. The bar profits were on a downward turn. In their words, they smelled smoke but didn't see fire. They weren't alarmed yet.
Yet being the operative word. This was Tag's area of expertise and he'd want to get an early stranglehold on it, a tactic Reese was in full support of. Once these vultures left the room, he'd tell his brother just that.
Bob Barber shook his hand next, a smile on his aging face. "Sometimes these things shake out and there's nothing to worry about."
"Sure," Reese said, but Bob's words were meaningless. The forty-minute meeting where they discussed numbers was what mattered. After they closed their leather binders and started talking about drinks downtown, whatever they said was null and void. He refused to feel good about it, but at the same time, this was not his problem.
At least they hadn't brought up his new relationship. He supposed a few more appearances in their vicinity would make them notice.
"Shit," Tag said from behind him after the last board member was out the door.
Reese turned to his brother. Tag scrubbed a hand over his beard. He was frowning. Tag rarely frowned.
"According to them, you have time."
"I don't want to wait until things go tits up." Tag folded his arms over his chest. Stubborn pride ran in the Crane genes.
"We're in agreement."
"I'd like it if they go back to ignoring me."
"Welcome to the club." Reese clapped his younger brother on the back. "Don't worry. Once they hear about the engagement, you'll fade into the background."
"Let's hope." Tag stood. "Come out with me. Been a while since we threw back a few beers."
"Like eight years," Reese said, his tone droll.
Tag chuckled. "Around that."
In truth, he'd love nothing more than to kick back with Tag for a while. He and his brother had a shorthand that didn't require a lot of unnecessary chatter.
Can't," Reese answered. "I'm seeing Merina tonight, so my drinks will be had with her. And Penelope Brand."
"The cute blonde."
"No."
"Not interested." His brother held out both hands like he was surrendering. "She's a brand of crazy I don't dig." He swept his legal pad off the boardroom table and walked toward the door. "Tell Merina I said hi."
"Will do. And, Tag?"
His brother poked his head back into the room.
"Rain check on the drinks."
"I'll hold you to it, brother." Tag's lips lifted into a smile. Then he was gone.
The drive to his house wasn't far, but Reese felt every mile like it was being branded into his skin. The one thing he hadn't anticipated when Penelope suggested the three of them meet at his Lake Shore Drive home was that his memories of it would rear up and try and take him out.
He'd returned to the house on occasion. It wasn't like he had a phobia, but the structure wasn't what he'd call inviting. The room he and Gwyneth shared, the memories they made were etched into the walls. He wasn't going to cower—but he couldn't say he was pleased about the idea of moving in there with Merina.
His throat went tight at the thought of sharing the space with a woman a second time.
He pulled his shoulders as he drove, mentally compartmentalizing the years he'd spent with Gwyneth. No matter what awaited him behind the front door, he wasn't going to allow himself to be hurt all over again. Especially by old business. He was no longer the hopeful twenty-five-year-old who would get raked in by a purposeful pout. He was a grown man, his legacy within reach. The discomfort he felt at being here was nothing more than an inconvenience.
He pulled up to the gate and pressed his finger to the security touchpad. The iron bars swung outward, opening to the lush garden he hoped survived the cool spring. He'd hired landscapers to plant colorful flowers and clean the fountains and pool, and perform whatever other maintenance was required to get the house wedding-ready. Plenty more flowers were being trucked in for the big day that was in actuality a small affair, but his wedding planner was exuberant and he'd let her talk him into indulging.
"It's your first marriage," she'd told him, hearts mingling with dollar signs in her eyes. He'd thought of Merina and how this was her first marriage, too. Just because he wanted to get this over with was no reason to rob her of doing things right. More flowers were the least he could do.
He parked his car—a Porsche for driving around town—in the garage and walked a path to the front door, his stomach heavy.
The paved walkway to the door was one Gwyneth hated and had complained about often. She'd wanted white stone instead of gray. At the front door, he recalled the Christmas wreath she'd ordered that was so massive, it hid the doorknob.
The doorknob he grabbed now. His palm was damp. His heartbeat erratic.
It's a house.
A gargantuan monstrosity he could barely find his way around in. A piece of real estate he'd purchased because he'd made a lot of money quickly and needed to move out of his father's house. When Gwyneth left and Reese relocated to his suite in Crane Hotel, he still didn't get rid of it.
One of his heroes was Howard Hughes, but it didn't mean Reese had to follow him into lunacy. Papers wrote stories and were always looking for an angle. Sleeping in his suite looked as if he worked a lot of overtime, but living there without an actual home? He didn't need reports that he'd lost his marbles or that he was weak.