Anywhere You Are (25 page)

Marc sat at a large table in the Heron Conference Room at Briarwood, Jake and Press across from him. Press had called for a meeting without telling him why, and since he was in town, he'd agreed to join them.

Plus, he had work to do at Briarwood. The contractor redoing the boathouse was already going over budget thanks to an uptick in the price of raw materials, and Marc had promised his partners he'd sort it out. Of course he had to find the damned papers first, and so while Press talked and Jake brooded, Marc carefully flipped through a giant stack in which he hoped the numbers were buried.

Why they hadn't gone digital was beyond him, but Briarwood wasn't that sophisticated. Yet. But once he got his Mumbai project squared away, Briarwood was next on his list, especially because he was going to be in town a lot more.

Marc was considering putting in an offer to buy Aunt Sarah's mansion. It was quiet, Blue liked it, and he got a ton of work done there. Not only would it be a good investment, but it would mean he'd get to hang on to a piece of her for longer. Maybe forever, if he ever had a family worth passing the place down to.

A quiet house in a quiet town. A quiet life. That's what he wanted, after all.

A lonely life.

Not quite. He'd made amends with his father, which was great, though he still didn't know how that would play out in practice. He saw his mother every once in a while, though he was too busy to get by as often as he would like. And he still had Big Blue. Unfortunately, he was still traveling a ton, so it seemed like the kennel, the dog walker, and the dog sitter saw more of the beast than he did.

Press cleared his throat. “I just got a call from our lawyers. They think that the Department of Energy and Environmental Protection will be able to start their inspection next week, with the goal of being done by late August.”

He didn't look up from his papers. “Good,” he muttered, and kept flipping.

“Don't you want to know why?” Press asked curiously.

“Not really,” he said, finishing one stack of papers and starting to flip through another. “As long as they get done fast enough so that Walter Williams can finish up his work on time. He can, can't he?”

“We'll see,” Jake said.

Marc kept flipping. Damn it, the paper with the numbers he needed wasn't here. Maybe it was back in Jake's office?

It seemed like it was only yesterday that he'd asked to come into this deal with Jake and Press. Back in April, he'd had no idea what he'd be in for with these two. Well, he had
some
idea. He'd gotten what he'd bargained for—a great deal, camaraderie, and a healthy amount of ribbing. But what with all his travel and the mess at Briarwood, somehow the summer had slipped away from him.

“Marc?”

He shoved the useless pile aside and looked up. As usual, Press was sporting some ridiculous prep ware—a shirt embroidered with tiny monkeys over which he'd thrown a bright orange blazer. It was insane, but of course Press could get away with wearing something like that totally unironically.

“Come on, man,” Jake said with a glower. “Be present.”

“Okay.” Marc sighed. “Clearly it's important for you to tell me why DEEP is going to up their timeline. Is it because you sweet-talked them into doing it?”

Press crossed his arms over his chest. “Try again.”

“Damn it, Press, just tell me.”

Jake glared at him and he glared right back, in no mood to play games.

“I'm not trying to start a fight, so I will,” Press said. “We had help from Grace Davingham.”

Marc stilled. “Grace?”

He'd broken up with her two weeks ago, and since then he'd deliberately pushed thoughts of her into the recesses of his mind. He didn't want to think about the way she'd looked when he'd left her in her kitchen, those big green eyes seeming to see into his soul. Didn't want to think about everything he'd lost by saying goodbye.

Yes, he missed her. With an ache that wouldn't quit. So he'd buried himself in work and done his best to rationalize his decision in his head. Despite the fact that he loved her, they were just too different. He couldn't imagine she'd want to live his boring, sterile life, and there was no way he could possibly live her crazy one.

So he simply had to forget the insanity of the past couple of months and hide his feelings deep inside.

Breaking up with Grace was ultimately for the best. And he'd keep telling himself that until he was completely back to normal.

“Grace has been working with our lawyers to prepare that affidavit saying that she didn't paint the picture of the bittern at Briarwood. Not only that, but she was willing to state that in her experience, Briarwood's pond had never been a habitat for the bitterns. Given her status as an environmentalist and her extensive knowledge of the area, our lawyers could present it as supporting evidence that Arbor may be inflating his case. They're almost guaranteeing that in that instance, DEEP would agree to conduct their analysis earlier than originally scheduled.”

“Is it done?”

“She signed the papers yesterday.”

Marc sat back in his chair. “I see,” he said stiffly.

She'd finished it without telling him. Gone out of her way to help. He hadn't expected this from her, not after the way he'd left things between them. Especially because it might tank her publishing deal, given that the publisher probably considered it good publicity to have her name attached to the environmentalists' attack on Briarwood.

And wasn't that Grace all over? Generous. Giving. Trying so hard to put herself first, but always ending up putting herself second. Or not at all.

Press blinked, incredulous. “That's it? Just ‘I see'?”

“What else do you want me to say?” He busied himself shuffling the stack of papers, not wanting Press to know how hard it was for him to hear her name. “It's a good thing for us. Just…ah…thank her for me, will you?” he said, not wanting to meet Press's gaze.

“You don't want to thank her yourself?”

“No,” Marc said, trying to sound impassive. “We're over. And that's all I'll say about the matter.”

“Marc?”

He looked up to find that Jake was giving him a stare. Slowly, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his sleeves of tattoos flickering under the dim light of the conference room.

Jake had an impressive presence, the kind that made everyone sit up and take notice, and even though Marc was a bit older and more experienced, he still gave Jake the respect he was due. It was for this reason alone that he even entertained the thought of answering Jake's questions.

“How long have we known each other?” Jake asked.

“Since our first year in b-school,” Marc answered.

“We've been through a lot together, the three of us. And I'm guessing we know you as well as anyone does.”

“Better,” Marc said.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “I remember that first day of school when we were assigned to be on the same team. You came in with your suit and tie like you owned the fucking place. Everyone knew you had
it—
what it took to succeed. And you were stuck with us.”

“I was
assigned
to work with you.”

“We were young and full of shit. Yet you saw through all of that. You took one look at Press here and knew instantly what he was. How valuable he could be with all that charm he throws around.”

“I saw his potential, yes,” Marc said, with a frown.

“And me. I was nothing. A nobody, with ripped jeans and an attitude as big as a Mack truck. You could have dismissed me, but instead, you saw right through that attitude and treated me like a member of the team.”

“You were,” Marc said.

Jake gave him a slight smile. “I didn't know it then, but I sure as hell know it now. You weren't just our leader. You were our friend.”

“I appreciate the trip down memory lane,” Marc said. “But I'm trying to figure out why this is relevant now.”

“We've had our ups and downs, especially after graduation when we parted ways for a while. Having you and Press buy into the Briarwood deal was one of the best decisions I've ever made in my life. Yet all the time I've known you, you've—”

“…been fairly stiff,” Press interjected.

Jake shot him a look. “I was going to say ‘had a stick up your ass.' ”

Press looked affronted at Jake's turn of phrase. “I was trying to be diplomatic.”

“I wasn't,” Jake retorted. “What I'm saying is that I knew you like that, Marc. And I liked you like that. But times change. And you're not getting any younger, are you?”

“In other words, it's time to evolve,” Press said.

The two of them facing him at the table, staring him down with those concerned expressions on their faces, was so bizarre as to be utterly ridiculous.

“Is this some kind of intervention?” Marc asked.

Press cleared his throat. “No. Just concern.” He glanced at Jake, then looked back at him. “We get that you and Grace have called it quits. And we're worried about you.”

“I'm fine,” Marc said tightly. When the two men didn't immediately respond, he chose to elaborate. “Your concern is misplaced. Grace and I didn't work out. So what? Lots of couples break up. It's not like I knew her that long. And since when have you two cared so much about my love life? You never have before.”

“Because in those couple of months, we've seen a side of you we didn't know existed,” Jake said.

“The best of you,” Press added.

“Have you two lost your damned minds?”

Jake getting in touch with his sensitive side he could understand—kind of. After all, who knew what kind of influence Carolyn Rivington was having on him? But Press was another matter altogether.

All at once, a terrible thought crept into his brain and he narrowed his eyes at Press. “Are you—?” He couldn't bring himself to finish his question, but Press knew exactly what he was implying.

“I'm still sober, Marc,” his friend said calmly. “But I've found something that affects me even more than alcohol ever could.”

“What's that?” Marc asked slowly.

Drugs. Press is on drugs.

“Love.”

Marc blinked. Not what he was expecting to hear. “With whom?”

The most extraordinary expression crossed Press's face—one he'd never before seen from his debonair friend. Like a combination of exhilaration, peace, and exquisite joy. “Jane Pringle.”

“Briarwood's pastry chef?”

“That's right,” Press said. “We've been seeing each other for a while now and only recently decided to make it official. I love her. And get this: she loves me back.”

“Of course she does,” Marc said. Press was rich, handsome, and a pretty nice guy now that he'd gotten his act together. Who wouldn't love a man like him?

“I had to fight for her love,” Press said, shaking his head. “Love changes people. It changed
me.
”

Marc looked over to Jake and widened his eyes, pleading for some semblance of sanity. But Jake merely raised a dark eyebrow at him. “It's true,” he said quietly. “Carolyn does something similar for me, too. She smooths out my edges. Makes me a better man.”

And they thought
he
was the crazy one? “You realize how clichéd this all sounds?”

“It changed you, too,” Jake said. “You'd loosened up. Started acting real.”

He'd be a liar to deny it. For the first time, he'd found pleasure in going off-script, in trying new things, in simply
being
instead of focusing on goals and the endgame.

But that was before he'd learned that his private life was about to get very public.

“And now you're back to your old ways,” Press finished, gesturing at him.

“I'm the same man,” Marc said, not wanting to engage with them on anything deeper than a superficial level.

“No,” Jake said. “You're not. And if we can see the difference, others can, too.” Jake's jaw got tight and he stared at Marc with even more intensity. “I know what it's like to have loved and lost. You might not believe it now, but it's going to start to screw with your head. Change the way you see yourself…and not in a good way.”

Marc looked from Jake to Press and back again.
Shit.
These two really weren't going to let him off the hook. “Fine,” he sighed. “I'll admit that Grace brought out a certain…earthiness in me.”

“More like made you into a human being,” Jake said. At Marc's glare, he simply glared back. “I'm only speaking the truth. The past couple of months, we've seen you be less hard, less stiff. Hell, you even laughed more.”

Had he?

What he had noticed was that he felt lighter. Freer. And yes, happier, too. More willing to let things go.

But that was before Grace had considered going back to her old life. There was no way he'd ever be comfortable having cameras shoved in his face, or having his life dissected by the media. And if he were with her, that's exactly what he'd get—maybe not immediately, but somewhere down the road.

A flash of anger coursed through him. His friends were hounding him, but he couldn't have what he wanted—namely her—without the reality of their lives getting in the way. He'd pushed that anger aside before when saying goodbye to Grace, not wanting to hurt her any more than he already had. But now it came back with a vengeance.

“You're right, okay?” Marc finally snapped. “She changed me. Is that what you want to hear? She changed me and I felt better than I had in years, all because of Grace Davingham.” Infuriating, intelligent, creative, gorgeous Grace Davingham, who'd had him in knots from the moment he laid eyes on her in that nature preserve. “But it's over now, and there's nothing I can do to get her back, okay?”