Liam had no desire to be anything remotely like his father.
But one thing you couldn’t escape was the blood in your veins.
“Next race, I’m beating your British ass,” Mav said.
Liam shook off his thoughts. “Not bloody likely, but you’re welcome to try. Maybe we’ll add a side bet. The loser has to double their donation to the charity.”
Mav nodded. “Deal.”
They both looked at Zane and Monroe. The pair were still kissing.
“Those two ooze love pheromones,” Liam said.
Mav grunted.
Liam smiled. “Careful or you might catch the love bug.”
“Never,” Mav growled.
Mav had fallen for a pretty, young thing in college. He’d been on the verge of making serious money after the sale of some fancy computer chip. Needless to say, the young lady had been a very clever gold-digger. Mav had gotten burned, and since then, he fucked, but let no woman get close. Ever.
Liam watched Monroe stroke Zane’s cheek.
For some reason, he thought of a certain blonde who worked in his marketing department.
He squelched that thought. He barely knew Penn Channing, and she worked for him. End of story. She’d attended a fundraiser Monroe and Zane had organized a few days ago. When a man had gotten violent, Penn had taken the guy down without batting an eyelid.
And Liam couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her.
“You want that?” Mav tilted his head at Zane and Monroe.
“Maybe.” Liam straightened. “But I’d have to find the right woman first. She needs to be beautiful, talented, smart, funny—”
“Jesus, you’re a perfectionist snob sometimes, Kensington.”
“I like quality.” Liam sniffed. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“Like those damn Saville Row suits you collect.”
“British tailors are exceptional at what they do. That’s just a fact.”
Mav snorted. “Come on, Brit. I’ll buy you a drink. Next time, when I win the race, you’ll owe me one.”
Liam shook his head. Mav hated losing. He glanced at the crowd and saw some photographers. Most were busy snapping shots of Zane and Monroe. It was big news that one of the billionaires was off the market.
That’s when Liam noticed that one of the photographers had a giant camera lens pointed his way. Not unusual. He was used to photographers, and tolerated the press, even when more often than not they were a pain in his ass. This man had a dark-green ball cap pulled low over his face, and no press pass around his neck.
“Hey, lovebirds,” Mav said. “Quit making out and let’s get a drink.”
Zane discreetly shot Mav the finger, but set a smiling Monroe down.
When Liam glanced back at the photographer, the man was gone. Liam straightened. “Let’s drink.”
Aspen
“What did you do to my mascara, Briar?”
“Nothing. I didn’t touch it! I used your eyeliner though. And your blush. And your bronzer.”
“Stay out of my makeup!”
I rolled over and squinted at my alarm clock. It was still early, but the twins were up, gracing me with their morning serenity.
Stretching, I started to roll over, but then I remembered that text from Nexus. Today, they were finally going to make a move on Kensington.
I didn’t know the man, but for an insanely wealthy billionaire, he seemed like a good guy. His staff all enjoyed working at Kensington Group. I hoped he wasn’t really an asshole.
I heard more screeching from my sisters’ bedroom, and with a sigh, I rose and snagged my robe. I wrapped the dark-blue fabric around myself and headed out to the kitchen.
Hurrying through my breakfast and morning routine, I tuned out the twins’ arguments. After I’d showered, changed, and called out goodbyes to Briar and Juno, I caught a cab to the Kensington Group office. I could have walked and gotten the subway, but my feet still didn’t love me. Even after I’d soaked them last night. I wasn’t wearing those black heels again.
As I settled into the back seat, my cell phone rang—my personal one—and when I pulled it out, my mom’s name flashed up on the display.
“Hi, Mom. I only have a minute.”
“Hey, baby. You’re always so busy. You need to relax more.” Her tone was soft and sweet. That described Joanna Chandler perfectly.
“I’m working on a case for a friend.”
My mom lived upstate, in the small town of Beacon. She worked as an artist and sold just enough paintings to scrape by. She generally didn’t stress about anything, and believed the Universe would provide.
I wished I could not stress, but someone had to pay the bills.
I’d been fourteen when my father had gotten involved in a financial scandal. He’d been caught up in a Ponzi scheme that had cost our family, and others, everything. He’d been arrested and gone to jail, and my gentle, flighty mother had been helpless. The money was gone, the large family home gone, too, and the family reputation shattered. My mom had fallen apart.
The twins had been four. Someone had needed to pick up the pieces.
“How are my babies?” Mom asked.
“The twins are good. Busy. Noisy.”
My mom laughed. It was a sweet, airy sound that always made me think of fairies. Sometimes Mom frustrated me to hell because she didn’t always live in the real world, but I loved her.
“I’m hoping to see them soon. There’s an art show in the city that I want to take them to.”
“They’ll love to see you.”
“And I know there’s no point in asking you to come.”
I’d rather watch paint dry. “You know art isn’t my thing.”
My mother released a gusty sigh. “I don’t know how I ended up with such a practical child.”
Because I had to grow up and be the adult at fourteen.
I shoved the old emotions down. “It’ll be nice to see you.” And it meant I’d have to give my mom my bed and sleep on the pull-out couch. I stifled a sigh. I also felt a niggle. “Is there a reason you’re calling, Mom?”
My mother was quiet for a moment. “Ronnie left.”
Hell. Her latest man was gone. That meant she was low on money.
I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“It hadn’t been working between us for a while.” Another pause. “Could you just send me a few hundred dollars, Aspen? Until I sell my next few paintings.”
“Sure, Mom, I can send you some money.”
“You’re such a good girl, Aspen. Thank you. Today, okay?”
I blew out a breath. “Yes, I’ll send it today.”
“Thanks, Aspen. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” I tucked a strand of hair back and opened my banking app to make the transfer. As I put my phone away, I noticed the cab driver watching me in the rear-view mirror.
“Mommas are supposed to look after their kids, not kids looking after their mommas.”
Great. Advice from a cab driver.
“Thanks.” I paid and climbed out.
I hurried into the plush lobby of the Kensington Group building.
Inside was sleek and modern, with a touch of British charm. Light poured in through the walls of glass. The back wall was all shiny, gray tiles with a long reception desk. Large, colorful pieces of artwork hung on the walls, all showcasing the British countryside or portraits of who I assumed were kings and dukes of old.