“I didn’t think gossip would spread this quick. I’ve only been here a week.”
“You’ve been gone too long if you think that was quick.” Even without taking his network of family into account, their corporation was the single largest employer in Rockville, New York. There were more than a few people, related to him or not, who figured they had a vested interest in the personal lives of the Chandlers.
As far as he could tell, no one had told his father. Yet. He’d know the second the old man learned.
“I guess so.” She spread her hands in front of her, a mocking smile crossing her blood-red lips. “Well, now you’ve seen it with your own eyes. Ding-dong, the witch is back.”
“I’ve never thought you were a witch.” With her mischievous eyes and delicate features, Nicholas would say she resembled a rather naughty punk fairy. That is, he would say that if he were a fanciful sort of man—and he wasn’t, not in the slightest.
“No? Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain, friend.”
“I’m not your friend.” The protest was automatic, one he couldn’t stop himself from uttering.
Her eyes hardened to onyx chips. “Figure of speech. Blood enemies doesn’t sound nearly aspolite. And we both know how much you like to be polite.”
“I’m not your enemy either.” Not technically. He had no idea what he and Livvy were. There was no word to encompass their relationship.
“Depends on who you ask, I guess.”
Yes. If he asked their respective families, there would be no hesitation. Criminals or cheats, depending on who was talking about whom.
Livvy examined her nails. “Gotta say, though, it’s strange for a guy who’s not my friend or my enemy to come running over here to creep on me the second he finds out I’m in town.”
He straightened. It was time for him to take control of this meeting. “First, I was not creeping. Second, I did not come running here.” He’d had to sit through two meetings. “Third, it’s not strange at all for me to be curious as to why you’re back after so many years. Working, no less.” Working implied a long-term commitment, didn’t it? He’d mulled that over during every minute of those two long, unnecessary meetings, and decided it did.
She held up her fingers. “One, I’m guest spotting.”
He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but it sounded more temporary. Good. He was relieved. Definitely.
“Two, you were absolutely creeping. Three, it’s not the first time I’ve been back in years. I was here for Paul’s funeral.”
Nicholas wasn’t sure if she’d mentioned her dead brother so matter-of-factly solely to rattle him, but mission accomplished. He shifted his weight andturned his head to study the bulletin board closest to him, taking a beat to collect himself. A number of pieces of paper had been stuck to the bottom haphazardly, pages torn from a sketchbook and cheap glossy prints of anonymous people’s adorned body parts. The designs were rich and bold, popping with bright colors, some of them looking more like watercolor paintings than something you would put on skin.
“I meant for a longer stay,” he finally replied. Of course she’d come home for the funeral. Jackson too, probably. Nicholas had done his best to avoid thinking about it too much, even scheduling a site inspection in another state that weekend.
His ex–best friend’s tragic death in a hiking accident a little over a year ago had been well publicized, all of the old dirty laundry dug up, everyone watching to see what he’d do. The gossip mill would have gone berserk if Nicholas had so much as shown his face in a five-mile vicinity of the church.
Paul and Nicholas were being groomed to run the C&O together, but then, you know, the accident happened, and Brendan Chandler swindled Tani Oka-Kane out of her half of the grocery store chain, and the Kanes were left with nothing. Poor Paul.
Or:
Paul and Nicholas would have run the C&O together, but then, you know, the tragedy happened, Tani Oka-Kane sold her half of the company to Brendan, and Paul’s little brother Jackson grew so enraged he burned down the first store the company ever built. Poor Nicholas.
It didn’t matter which way the gossip slanted. His and Livvy’s former relationship might be mentioned somewhere in there, but to outsiders, their breakup was probably the least exciting and most predictable part of the saga.
A particular crooked sketch caught his eye. A flighty hummingbird in blues and greens flew against a splash of pink, the initials L.K. scrawled on the bottom. He righted the angle of the drawing, adjusting it so it hung properly.
Despite dreading the subject and his feelings about it, he’d imagined what he would say to Livvy when they met up for her most recent birthday, months after Paul’s death. Though it would have been a sharp departure from their usual script, he’d rehearsed a few simple sentences. “I’m sorry about Paul.” He sounded stiff and wooden, but he couldn’t help that. He was out of practice when it came to consolation.
“Little late, isn’t it?” Her voice was quiet, subdued. Unlike her.
“Should I have contacted you earlier to offer my condolences?” What would that conversation have been like?
Her heels tapped on the tile. Nicholas concentrated on the feathers of the bird as if they held all the mysteries of life.
“I didn’t expect it. We don’t have that kind of relationship, right?” Her soft arm almost brushed the front of his suit jacket, and he glanced at her sharply. She was so close he could count the freckles scattered over her cleavage. She’d hated thosefreckles as a young woman, comparing herself to her blemish-free mother. He hadn’t been able to understand her dislike. How many times had he dragged his tongue from one freckle to another, playing connect the dots and creating a perfect pattern in his head? Too many, and not enough.
His body tensed and hardened, readying for her. God, he was always so ready for her.
