Chandler: A Standalone Contemporary Romance (12 page)

* * *

A
fter a brief make
-out session in the garden, we find my family where I expect them—on the patio off the house. Mirabelle is cuddling with one of the twins while my mother sits, sipping ginger ale and correcting everything my sister does with the baby. Hudson is standing nearby discussing something quietly with our father—business, I’d guess. I meant it when I said he’s always working.

“There you are,” Mom says, lifting her cheek for me to kiss. “I was beginning to think you were too caught up in chasing skirts to even say hello to your parents.”

I ignore her jab, not wanting to draw more attention to my reputation in front of Genevieve. “Where’s Laynie and Adam?” I had hoped everyone would be together when I introduced my date.

Mira barely looks up at me as she bounces the baby on her shoulder. “Adam got called into work this weekend. He’ll join us later. And I think Laynie’s nursing Brett inside.”

“You’ll have to meet them later,” I say to my date. Then I address the small crowd. “Everyone, this is Genevieve Fasbender. She’s from London and she’s here for a month or so on business—hopefully longer, if all works out.” Yes, I’m caught up on the minor detail of her possibly leaving. Much more than I’ve let on.

Even though this relationship isn’t serious, I know my mother cares most about a woman’s breeding, so I say, “We met at the Accelecom Charity Banquet last week.” I’m careful to emphasize
Accelecom
. “Genny helped put the gala together, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

My mother stands, which is already more than I’d expected, her eyes narrowed as she scrutinizes the woman beside me.

“Genny, this is my mother, Sophia,” I say.

Then I start to pray. I’m telling you—that’s the only way to survive an introduction to my mother. That woman is unpredictable at best.

“So honored to meet you,” Genevieve says with as much grace as a princess.

And with the authority of a queen, my mother says, “Charity functions of that scale are quite an undertaking. I oversee the Pierce Annual Autism Awareness Fashion Show as well as several smaller events. I know the work that goes into them. It’s impressive.”

I lean toward my date. “I think that’s a compliment.” The entire interaction has been a happy surprise.

Until my mother turns her attention to me. “She’s too thin, Chandler. She’ll never be able to carry a baby to term if you don’t put some weight on her bones.”

“Yep. She just said that. Out loud.”
We were so close to a perfect start!
I let out a long breath, reminding myself it’s not polite to punch your mom.

Unfazed, Genevieve responds with a smile. “Actually, Mrs. Pierce, my size is deceiving. I’m broad in the hips, as is my mother. She had particularly easy births with both my brother and me. I imagine I’ll be just fine.”

“Perhaps.”

Somewhat harsh, but it went…well, better than it could have.

My mother sits back in her chair and throws a scowl at her husband. “Jack, stop ogling the poor girl.”

“I’m not ogling, I’m being attentive.” My father steps in to shake Genny’s hand, and to his credit, is completely appropriate with the length of time he grips it as well as where he keeps his gaze. “Did I hear your name correctly? Your father is Edward Fasbender?” He exchanges a glance with Hudson. “He’s quite a respectable businessman.”

Maybe I was wrong about which parent would be more interested in my date’s family ties.

“That he is.” Genevieve gives her father more respect than I’d give a man who thought so little of me. “I’m honored to be able to work with him, though I’m pretty sure I got the job because of my name.” She winks, and she’s so enchanting when she does that I have to hide a shiver.

“Hell, that’s how Chandler got his job too.” My father slaps his hand on my back and laughs, as though he’s just made a joke.

Now I briefly wonder if it’s bad form to deck your dad but decide to let it slide.

“I didn’t realize you were bringing anyone today,” Hudson says, and I guess that’s his form of a greeting, because he doesn’t offer anything else besides a nod in Genny’s direction.

I hope this isn’t a prelude to how he’ll react when we try to discuss Accelecom and Werner Media. Though that’s business talk. Business talk always cheers him up.

I’m overly convivial in my response, making up for my brother’s lack of cordiality. “I guess Laynie didn’t tell you?”

“She didn’t mention it. No.”

I try not to be too pissed at his lack of manners. He isn’t sleeping well, I remind myself, and he’s not warm under the best circumstances. Maybe I misjudged when I’d assumed he wouldn’t care if I brought a date. Or maybe he’s irritated that I’m mixing business with pleasure. Still, doesn’t please me when he acts like a doucheface.

“Hi, I’m Mira!” My sister pops up from her chair and, with the baby cradled in her arms, nods instead. “Sorry, my hands are full.”

“No worries.” Genny gazes at the newborn. “He’s quite beautiful.”

I surmise she’s about to ask to hold him, but before she can, my mother seems to sense it as well and has to get in first. “Mirabelle, give me that baby. You’ve hogged him all afternoon.”

“He’s a baby! It’s been so long since my babies were babies! But fine.” With a reluctant sigh, Mira hands him off.

My mother settles her grandson on her lap and stares affectionately. “He’s so attentive. Look at how he watches everything around him. Just like you were, Hudson.” She leans down to coo to the baby, “Yes, you are. Just like your daddy!”

Genny frowns in my direction. “Your mother doesn’t seem that mean,” she says so only I can hear.

Nope, today it’s my brother who’s being nasty.

I don’t say that though, and I don’t bother to keep my voice down when I say, “She’s only nice until they’re walking. I think she even liked
me
when I was still in diapers.”

“Which was longer than she liked any of us, since you were still in them until you were four,” Hudson adds without invitation.

Genny’s eyes light up. “You weren’t. That’s hilarious.”

“Isn’t it?” Mirabelle asks.
Traitor.

“Hey.” I sweep my finger in the air, pointing at all of them. “There was enough of you willing to wipe up my shit—why wouldn’t I let you? Hashtag: benefits of being the youngest.”

“Hashtag: spoiled,” Hudson retorts.

“You’re one to speak, Mr. I Get Everything I Want.”

“Because I work for it. Not because it’s handed to me.”

This is how my brother and I tease, but I’m aware as much as the next guy that there’s always truth underscoring Hudson’s words. He’s very opinionated, and he doesn’t mind if people know it.

Usually, I can handle him. Today, I prickle at his innuendos. “Are you done?” Because I’d like to get past the bullshit and start a meaningful conversation. Preferably one that lets Genevieve show off her beautiful brain.

“Actually,” he says, “I wondered if we could talk for a few minutes.”

“I’ve already told you, H.” He hates it when I use his wife’s nickname for him, so I use it a lot. “You have to choose to share to your selected friends list and not public if you don’t want Mom commenting on your stuff on Facebook. The list she’s not on. Remember? I helped you set it up.”

“Chandler,” my mother says, not looking up. “You’re not funny. I know how to use Facebook.”

“Yeah, but does Hudson?”

Genevieve at least thinks it’s funny. She covers her mouth with her hand to hide her giggles.

Hudson, however, does not appreciate my humor. “Cute,” he says dryly. “Let’s talk.”

“Fine. Shoot.”

“Privately. Please.”

“Uh…” I consider insisting we talk here, but his expression says he’s not budging. And I can guess what he wants to talk about—he wants me to catch him up on the dinner the other night. It wouldn’t be appropriate in front of Genny, but it might be my opportunity to talk her up.

I place a hand on her arm and am about to ask her if she’ll be okay with the wolves when my father interjects. “Not now, Hudson.”

Hudson seems reluctant. “It will only take—”

“It can wait,” Dad insists.

I’m willing to slip away and get the business taken care of, especially because I’m more interested in convincing my brother to consider what the Fasbenders can bring to Werner Media since Genny made her remark about returning home.

But before I can say so, Laynie shows up with a swaddled baby in her arms. “H, you aren’t trying to work, are you?”

His smile is tight, and his eye twitches, and in the look that passes between him and my father, I’m suddenly very nervous about what it is that he has to say to me. Now I’m not sure I want to get it over with or postpone it as long as possible.

Hudson decides for me. “Of course not, precious.” He puts his hand affectionately around his wife.

It’s not long before I’ve forgotten all about business myself. Instead, I’m holding the littlest baby Pierce, staring into her blue-grey eyes, and trying not to imagine it’s my own baby I’m snuggling.

Definitely trying not to imagine who I’d want her mother to be.

T
he sun is setting
, and the party’s winding down when I persuade Genevieve into slipping away with me. Wanting to show her the ocean, I lead her along the path that passes through the thick trees lining our estate.

“What’s with the dense woods?” Genny asks, as we curve deeper into the trees. “Isn’t the view the reason people buy beachfront property?”

“Huh.” The landscape has essentially been the same my entire life, and until now, her point hasn’t occurred to me. “I guess it is. But the problem with a view
out
means that there’s also a view
in.
Too many people walk along the beach, even with the private property signs. Too many boats pass by. Too many passengers with binoculars. My mother prefers our life be kept confidential.”

Genevieve flashes me a teasing grin. “Then she must adore your relationship with the paparazzi.”

I wince at her reference to the frequent media buzz about my social life but ignore addressing it directly. “Let’s get this straight right now,” I say instead, “my mother adores nothing. Even if I were squeaky clean and as reserved as Hudson, I don’t think I’d own any more of her affection than I do now.”

Genny looks sideways at me, her eyes scrutinizing. “Does that bother you?”

“Maybe?” My brows knit as I consider. “I know she has emotions somewhere deep inside her. Just like this property, she hides behind a bristly-needled exterior. I think I’m used to it.”

She scoffs. “I think you convince yourself you’re used to it. I don’t believe that anyone who lacks their mother’s love doesn’t feel its absence.” She sounds like she may have experience with the subject herself, but she doesn’t give me a chance to ask. “Maybe your mother isn’t the only one hiding behind landscaping.”

My steps slow as I take in what she’s said. Am I more like my mom than I’ve realized? I’m not cold and guarded like she is, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wear my own form of armor—my charm. My business-plan approach to relationships. What emotions am I hiding behind those barriers?

Genny purses her lips as though she knows exactly what’s going through my mind. “Shame, really, about all those trees. Because this view is absolutely breathtaking.”

We’ve stepped out from the woods onto the cliffside, the ocean spread across the horizon below us, but she keeps her eyes pinned on me for long seconds before casting her gaze across the panorama.

I happen to think the view I have is breathtaking as well. And I’m not looking at the water. “I had a feeling you’d like it. Away from the sand and once the sun wasn’t so high, that is.”

She squints over at me. “Does this count as having been to the beach? Can I now cross that off my to-do list?”

“Eh,” I shrug. “Real beach enthusiasts would probably say not until you’ve put your feet in the sand. The path continues over there if you’d like to try that out.” I nod in the direction of the wooden staircase that winds down to the shore.

She wrinkles her nose. “I’m fine up here, thank you. I’m enjoying this part of the beach experience. We should quit while I’m still enchanted.” Leisurely, she begins to stroll along the property.

I fall in step, hoping her sentiment applies only to the outdoor scenery. Not that she’s enchanted with anything else at the moment. Not that I
want
her to be enchanted with anything else.

Yet, I’m so enchanted with her.

And I don’t want to quit her. Not yet.

A cloud pushes in over my mood as I suddenly remember that my time with Genny is very possibly fleeting. That her job might soon take her from me.

I nudge the thought away, and a question that’s been niggling at the back of my consciousness slips into its place. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but there’s something I have to ask.”

Curiosity etches her expression. “Okay. Ask.”

I ignore the connection trying to form between this thought and my last one and put it out there. “If your father is so against you working in this business, why does he let you work for Accelecom?”

“Ah. Good question.” Her features relax. “It’s because it’s the only way I’ll let him help me.”

“What do you mean?” I sort of hate to admit it, but I’d assumed she was a trust fund baby, same as me.

“I had an account for college, but after school, I was determined to make my own way. And I do. I rely on public transport. I have my own apartment—a modest little place in a part of London that is not up to my father’s standards, but I’m quite fond of it. He’s tried over and over to convince me to let him pay for something in a nicer part of town—translation: a
snobby
part of town. I turned him down. He bought me a car for my birthday, which I refused. He kept sneaking me money. I kept returning it. Finally he offered me a job. A
dream
job. And I’m embarrassed to admit that I was weak. I accepted in an instant.”

A breeze blows, and she hugs her arms around herself. “But I still have my silly little flat, even though he pays me an exorbitant salary.”

“So what do you do with all your money?” I realize too late that it’s probably an inappropriate question. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she doesn’t own a car. Had she not mentioned the size of her paycheck, I would have assumed it was decent just based on what she does, and a car would have been the first item on my purchase list.

“I do like shopping. Shoes, in particular. But I’m saving most of it for when I don’t have a dream job. I may need that money to make ends meet one day.”

Her grey eyes widen suddenly. “Oh! A gazebo!” She skips up to the old forgotten rotunda on the edge of our property. “It’s completely charming. I love it!” She spins around in the center of the structure then strolls to the opening and leans against the pillar.

I follow and pause at the bottom stair, my hands in my pockets, and cock my head up at her. “You don’t like working at Accelecom?”

“I
love
working at Accelecom! It’s exactly the kind of position I went to university for.” She rubs the goose bumps off her arms. “But I don’t love that it’s my father’s company. If he’d let me build more of it, that might be different, and I still hold out hope that he’ll eventually change his mind. But if he doesn’t, I’m prepared to go someplace where I can.”

Realizing she’s cold, I take off my jacket and walk over to give it to her. She’s so interesting, I decide, as I wrap it around her shoulders. We’re alike and so different. We’ve both been born into a dynasty of sorts, and she’s turned down every handout while I’ve accepted—and
expected
—every privilege I’ve been given. Both of our families are leery about our careers but for very different reasons. She’s worked her ass off to become something in her chosen field, proving that she deserves to be where she is even against her father’s wishes.

And me? I’ve just coasted.

God, I’m kind of pathetic next to her. Scratch that—
really
pathetic.

“That’s important to you, isn’t it?” I ask as I pull the front of my jacket closed around her. “Making it on your own.”

“It is. Extremely important.” She tilts her head up to look at me. “Next you’re going to ask why.”

“I am now.” I step back to lean against the post opposite her.

“I don’t know. Probably a lot of it is that’s just how I was made. But it’s also probably my mother’s fault.”

I wait, sure she’ll say more if I do.

And she does. “My parents got divorced when I was twelve,” she explains as she kicks off one of her heels. “Before that, my mother was the best wife you could imagine. Devoted. Subservient. Put everyone else above herself.” She points a foot out in front of her and circles it in the air, stretching as she talks. “My father so adored her. Doted on her like she was the queen.

“Then, one day, out of the blue, she up and left. Took off with another man and moved to Lisbon.”

Huh. Hadn’t been expecting that. “She left without warning?”

“No warning at all. We never saw it coming.” She’s quiet then, her brows furrowed.

I search for the right words to say—sympathetic and supportive—but just as I’m about to speak, she says, “Actually, that’s not exactly true.”

“Oh?” I sit down on the step and peer up at her, letting her know she has my full attention.

“There were subtle warnings, I think. Things I caught later.” She kicks off her remaining shoe and looks down, as though studying her toes. “Like, once I’d overheard her tell my father that she didn’t know who she was without him. Not in a romantic way but in a hopeless way. As though she didn’t have any identity that wasn’t tied to being his wife and our mother.”

She tugs my jacket tighter around herself and meets my eyes. “I have no idea whether she was planning to leave him at that point or if the thought had yet to cross her mind. But even without knowing what was to come, I decided I didn’t want to be like that. I didn’t want to be a woman without a sense of self. I didn’t want to rely on a man—or anyone, for that matter—to fill in the spaces of my existence. I didn’t want to ever feel as lost as my mother sounded.”

Her admission is so stark and bare and honest, and I understand. But what hits me is how vulnerable she is before me. Naked in a way I’ve never seen her.

It leaves me speechless. I
want
to be speechless. I don’t want to break this spell, don’t want to ruin this moment of intimacy.

After a moment, she looks away. I watch her throat as she swallows. Then she says, “My father was devastated when she left. I was pretty shook up too, of course. But a part of me also felt a smidgeon of happiness. For her. I really believed she was out to find herself.”

She turns back toward me. “Then she went and got into the same boat. Married a guy who completely eclipses her. Had new babies that consume her entirely. Hagan and I only ever have contact with her at birthdays and Christmas now—at most.”

So that was what she was hinting at when she’d talked about children missing the love of their mothers.

“My father, on the other hand, married a woman who isn’t anything like his first wife. She’s strong-headed, refined, independent. Runs her own business.”

This surprises me. “Your stepmother?”

“Strange, right? Knowing my father.” With her back against the pillar, she slides down so she’s sitting on the step across from me. “But they’re the happiest couple I know. Madly in love. Quite perfect together.”

“Wow.” I ignore the urge to wonder if she thinks
we
might be a happy couple together too and focus on what she’s said. “And he’s cool with her being self-reliant?”

She brushes a piece of hair behind her ear. “He is. He’s extremely supportive of her work. Which is why I have to believe he’ll one day come around about me. Honestly, I think he just wants us to be happy. He can see his wife is happy doing what she does. Hopefully one day he’ll realize I am too.”

I have a feeling she’s trying to warm me up to her father, and because he’s important to her, I want to make an effort. Just…

“I don’t know if I can get used to the idea of your dad not being a bad guy,” I admit.

Genny lets out a soft laugh. “That’s fine. He can still be the bad guy in your story. He’s just not the bad guy in hers.”

“What about in your story?”

She frowns as if the answer is obvious. “In my story, he’s my father.”

My own relationship with my father is also that complex and that simple. Jack Pierce can bring on the charm with the ladies like I can, but he’s so focused when he wants to be. So business-minded, like Hudson. Sometimes it’s like I can’t possibly share his DNA, we’re that different.

But I still love him. I’d still care if he didn’t love me.

My voice is gruff when I manage a response. “Enough said.”

Her eyes slant with compassion, as if she knows what’s going through my head. God, it makes me want things. Want to touch her. Want to hold her. Want to
keep
her.

I look away, stifling my emotions. With my eyes trained over the horizon, I take a beat to process everything she’s told me, letting the pieces click together in the puzzle that makes up who she is. I better understand now why she was worried to get involved with me—she didn’t want to rely on anyone to help with the Accelecom/Werner Media merger.

But that begs a different question—why is she here if she doesn’t want anyone’s help?

I turn back to study her a moment. “You like me!”

“What? Where did that come from?”

“From you. You don’t want anyone’s help. You just said that. And yet you’re here under the guise of me helping you. Why on earth would you accept help from me when you want to do everything on your own? Only one answer makes sense. You like me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I do not.” But her skin turns scarlet.

“You’re blushing. You totally do.” I laugh, loving this new turn of events. “I can’t believe it.”

“Would you stop it? You’re making a fool out of yourself.” She purses her lips and shakes her head.

“There’s no one here but you, and I don’t care, anyway. It’s worth it to hear the truth. You. Like. Me.”

She shakes her head again, but this time she doesn’t deny it outright. Instead, she meets my eyes, and I can see it clearly. She
does
like me.

And there it is again—that tightening in my chest. That feeling that I both want to ignore and hold onto for as long as possible. Words bubble in my throat, sentiments begging to be expressed.

With my gaze locked on hers, I scoot closer, needing to kiss her. Needing to occupy my mouth with something other than the things I shouldn’t say.

Our mouths move slowly at first, tasting. Testing. Quickly, it grows deeper. I cradle her cheek with my hand and move my body in tighter, so she can feel the thick pressure of my erection on the inside of her leg. I know we’re outside, that it’s only dusk and we could be seen, but I’m desperate to have her.

I start to gently steer us to a prone position when she brusquely pushes me away.

I search her face, questioning—did I hurt her? Did I misread the mood? Is the outdoors a hard limit for her, and did I actually just think the term
hard limit
?