I wince. With all the chaos of the past twenty-four hours, including the rushed checkout from the hotel suite we didn’tbook, the wordless plane ride, with us seated nowhere near each other, and the tense “we’ll call our lawyers” goodbye at LAX, I hadn’t even thought about Austin.
LUCAS
It’s not what it looks like. Call you later to explain. I’m sorry, man.
I slip the phone away as I reach Grant’s office. His assistant waves me through with a knowing smile that makes my stomach clench. Grant is standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lot, hands clasped behind his back, exuding the casual power that’s made him a legend before forty.
“The prodigal husband returns,” he says without turning around.
“Grant, I can explain?—”
Waving a dismissive hand, he finally turns to face me. “Lucas, sit down before you sprain something in your rush to apologize.”
I sink into one of the leather chairs opposite his desk. “I’m sorry for embarrassing the studio. It was a drunken mistake, and I’ve already contacted my attorney. We’ll have it annulled immediately.”
Grant studies me for a beat too long. Then he sighs and takes his own seat. “How long have we known each other?”
“Five years, give or take.”
“And in those five years, have I ever given you the impression that I give a damn what you do in your personal life?”
I blink. “No, but?—”
“Is Jess Lexington pressuring the studio in her reporting?Using your relationship for insider information? Causing any actual conflict of interest I should be aware of?”
“No, of course not. She’s…” I stop, unsure how to describe whatever Jess and I are to each other. Rivals? Acquaintances? Temporary spouses?
Grant leans forward. “Frankly, Lucas, I’ve always suspected that something was brewing between you two. That kind of tension”—he makes an explosive gesture with his hands—“doesn’t come from nowhere. Fine line between love and hate and all that.”
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes on the table. “FATHER” flashes across the screen in all caps, and that one word hits me like a punch to the gut.
I brace myself. If I don’t answer, it’ll only get worse. And if I do…well, it won’t be great, either.
The familiar twist tightens low in my stomach. Frustration. Resentment. Obligation.
Even now, with my own career, my own place, my own life, he still finds ways to insert himself. Always with expectations. Always with control.
I flash Grant an apologetic look. He gives me a small nod, a silent go-ahead.
I step out into the hallway and answer.
“Lucas.” My father’s voice is ice. “I expect you’re already meeting with an attorney.”
“Good morning to you, too, Dad.”
“This is not a joke. You will annul this…indiscretion immediately. I’ve already called Bernard to handle the paperwork.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Bernard, his ancient attorney,who still uses a flip phone and a fax machine. “I have my own lawyer.”
“You will use Bernard. And you will issue a statement explaining that this was a misunderstanding, possibly orchestrated by that woman. Perhaps she had ulterior motives, given your position.”
I feel heat creeping into my face. “She’s not after my money, Dad. Her father owns the California Devils.”
“The what?”
“It’s a Major League Baseball team. Trust me, she doesn’t need or want your money.”
“Then they’re after connections to my campaign. You’ll suggest she took advantage?—”
