She nods. “Coming up on five years. It’s too bad you couldn’t make it to the wedding.”
I don’t know if she’s fucking with me or if she truly knows nothing. I would bet that she knows nothing, or at least very little. With a critical eye, I check off the details of this sudden sister-in-law.
Whitney Cassini looks expensive. She’s all designer clothes and cheek filler and pretension. I bet that Jag sitting outside is hers. She’s also sliding me a look that swears she’ll gift wrap her tight ass if I snap my fingers.
I could do that.
It wouldn’t be much fun. She seems about as interesting as wallpaper. But fucking Liam’s wife would be a pretty sharp knife in his eye.
However, I’m more interested in taking something he can’t replace so easily.
Whitney drinks from her glass and flutters her long eyelashes. I knew Liam was married and remember hearing that his wife is a model, or used to be. I never dug into her history because I don’t give a shit about her.
“We’re all here for brunch.” She gestures to her friends, who are looking at us and cackling amongst themselves. “I would love for you to join us but I’m sure you’re here to see Liam. He’s been hoping you would drop by.”
Bull. Fucking. Shit.
“Is he in the office?” I ask and hear my own tight anger.
“Yes, he’s in his office. It’s just up those stairs and-“
She quits talking when I walk away and don’t give her another look. I don’t need anyone to give me directions to my father’s old office. I can hear Whitney returning to her buddies, full of bubbly excitement, and her annoying words blend together. I take the stairs three at a time, land at the top and turn left. The second door, the one with a view that includes Lake Stuart, is the one I’m heading for.
I don’t knock. Why should I? There was never a lock on the door and there’s not one now.
But I wouldn’t have flung open the door so quickly if I’d known I was about to be treated to the sight of Liam Cassini sprawled in a cushy chair with his trousers open as he watches porn on his laptop and beats the hell out of his own cock.
“Christ,” he yelps and nearly falls out of the chair. Then he groans as he comes all over himself.
I just do not need to be a fucking part of that at all so I slam the door shut.
“I’ll wait!” I yell.
There’s a riot of noise in the office as Liam curses while presumably pulling his pants up, snapping his laptop shut and cleaning up his own mess.
“What’s wrong?” Whitney stands at the bottom of the landing and gapes at me.
“Your husband is trying to glue the shreds of his dignity back together.”
I must have used too many big words because she shouts, “WHAT?” and begins to climb up.
The office door opens and there’s Liam, a little out of breath but mercifully clothed.
“Goddammit, Trent,” he says and grins like we’re old pals.
The sight of his teeth makes me want to kick them in.
“Did something happen?” Whitney has reached the top of the stairs. She notices her husband. “Your brother is here!”
“I can see that, babe.” He holds his hand out to me and his grin broadens. “It’s been too long.”
“Passing on the handshake,” I mutter and squeeze past him into my father’s old office.
He’s redecorated in here too. The painting of the Sicilian vineyard over the stone fireplace has been replaced with a painting of Whitney wearing a string bikini and stretching out on (what else?) a leopard skin rug. Classy. The furniture is all shiny and black. The photo of my mother that used to sit on the windowsill was likely thrown in the garbage.
Only the view is the same. I look out at the town and squint against the sparkle of Lake Stuart in the distance.
Meanwhile, Liam dismisses his wife and shuts the door again.
“Wish I had some warning you were on your way,” he says.
I step away from the window. “Clearly.”
He snorts and drops into a black leather armchair. He motions that I ought to sit down in the chair’s twin but I ignore the suggestion. I stand back with my arms crossed and take a long, hard look at my only living blood relative, a man who eagerly turned my life into a living hell and took me away from my father during his final months.
“How have you been?” he asks, pretending we’re not mortal enemies.
I shrug. “I’m getting by.”
“Yeah, I hear you’ve done all right for yourself. Glad to see you outgrew all that teenage rebellion. I like to think I had something to do with setting you straight.”
I say nothing but I clench my right fist so tightly I can feel my knuckles crack.
The bastard is amused that I’m here, a visitor in the very place that he stole. He’s gloating.
Liam drums his fingertips on his knee. “I have to admit I was surprised to hear you were back. If I’d known you might want to live in the old house I would have held onto it for you. I would let you have it for below market value.” He winks, thinking he’s made a joke.
Yeah, hell of a joke that he sent me to a private torture camp in order to put our father in a grave and steal everything that was supposed to be mine.
Hilarious.
“How’s business?” I ask flatly and his smile drops.
Liam scratches at his jaw and I get a glimpse of the flashy timepiece on his wrist that’s got to cost more than some cars. Liam was always a sucker for appearances and still is. The Porsche. The trophy wife. The lakefront house. The pricy brewery renovations.
He wants everyone to think he’s a king even if it is all one big fat fucking lie and in reality he’s been running our father’s life’s work into the ground. He’s mortgaged in every direction up to his eyeballs and makes nothing but bad decisions. His marketing campaigns suck, he refuses to expand flavors and the showy packaging redesign he invested in a few years back has been a miserable miss. Revenues have declined by forty percent since he took over. He’s a parasite and he’s been sucking Cassini Brewery dry. The only way he’s been able to keep swimming is thanks to the novelty that a local brewery brings to the table in a town where there’s a lot of money begging to be thrown around.
That, and he keeps finding suckers willing to write checks in exchange for a piece of the company.
Liam won’t be able to hold on indefinitely. And he’s too stupidly stubborn to figure out how to set the ship right.
“Business is good,” he lies. “Real good.”
I keep my face neutral. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“In fact…” He leans forward and attempts to look shrewd. “There might be an opportunity to buy into a partnership if you’re interested.”
I’d rather not say a word right now. There will be profanity.
“I mean,” he continues with a shrug, “I’d be willing to open something up given your connection to the place.”
My connection to the place?
He’s daring me. He’s got to be. He’s trying to figure out how much of a pussy I am.
Fury threatens to boil over. And it will if I don’t change the subject.
“I guess you heard that Julianne Aaronson died.”