Remember Me (18 page)

“Bran?” Seth’s voice was soft. “You okay, bro?”

He blinked, raked a hand through his hair. “No. I’m not.” He tried to smile. “But I guess I’ll get there.”

“I’m sure there must be some explanation–” Tessa began, but Brandon cut her off.

“Don’t. Don’t make excuses for her.” He jammed his free hand in the pocket of his slacks. The other clenched the head of his cane. “Thanks for the information, Tessa. I don’t think I’m great company right now, so if you two will excuse me.”

Seth stood. “Bran. Don’t do anything rash. Take some time to think.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear at the moment, but he knew it was good advice. “Thanks, Seth.”

Brandon didn’t remember driving to Barrett’s glossy steel and glass headquarters, nor did he remember the ride to his office. Now he stood near the windows looking out over the Potomac and he wasn’t even sure what he felt. Too many emotions churned inside him. His ability to empathize had enabled him to get along with all his very diverse siblings, had enabled him to live almost conflict-free with his irascible father and brother, but now when it touched him on such a personal level, Brandon wasn’t sure he could empathize.

There were moments of the day of the plane crash he would never have any memories of because he had been unconscious, or so barely aware he knew it would forever be a fog to him. But he did remember the days leading to the trip he and Lucy had taken to Coyote Creek. He also remembered turning to her in the minutes before the crash and telling her he loved her. She’d told him she felt the same way.

Then she’d walked away from him. Knowing he was so close, knowing how to find him, she had walked away and stayed away. And Brandon couldn’t figure that out.

“Mr. Barrett?” His secretary opened the door. “Don’t forget, you have a meeting with the department heads at two.”

He nodded. “Let’s hold it in the conference room upstairs.”

“Yes, sir.”

There was work. There was always work.

Chapter 12

“Lady, are you all right?”

Lucy’s gaze skated to the cabbie watching her in the rearview mirror, then away again. She shook her head. She had managed to mumble the address to him. Not home. She was going to Angelina’s. Brandon had recognized her. His amnesia was gone. He’d remembered her, but in his recognition she had not seen any gladness, only shock.

He hadn’t expected to see her again, that was obvious. How long had it been since his memory had returned? Lucy rubbed her fingers across her aching forehead. Had he been shocked to see her because he had just remembered? Or was he shocked to see her because he’d written her off as a holiday fling?

The cab pulled up in front of Angelina’s well-tended bungalow. Lucy wiped beneath her eyes, hoping she’d cleared the worst of the smeared makeup. After digging the fare out of her wallet, she paid the cabbie, and he asked. “Lady, are you sure you’re all right? Do you need me to wait?”

Taking a deep breath, she tried a smile she was sure must have failed. “No. I’ll be okay, but thank you for your concern.”

He touched the brim of his ball cap to her.

Lucy rushed up the walk. Ignoring the bell, she rapped on the door. As soon as Angelina opened it, Lucy burst into tears. With gentle hands, Angelina tugged her through the door. Lucy heard it shut behind her before Angelina turned her and wrapped her arms around her.

“Get it out. Whatever it is, get it out and we’ll work through it when you can.”

She followed Angelina, who led her to the couch in her living room. The other woman stroked her hair and her arm with one hand while she used her other to hold Lucy’s in a grasp designed to give comfort, her thumb stroking the back.

Although she had told Angelina she was ready to move on and put Brandon behind her, seeing him, seeing he recognized her, had reopened it.

“I saw him,” she choked out between sniffs and hiccups. “At the hospital. Another mistake on my part.” Lucy jumped up. “What’s with these stupid hyphenated names anyway? Can’t they use the whole thing or at least use the same part? How the hell was I supposed to guess my friend Tessa’s husband, Seth Barlow, was Brandon Barrett’s brother? Or that they all belong to the same richer-than-the-Vatican Barlow-Barrett family who own half the known media universe?”

“You’re ranting,” Angelina inserted in a calm tone. “I guess I would rather see you angry than so wounded, but what I would like is for you to know which one is the true emotion.”

“I feel them both,” Lucy murmured, grabbing a tissue and wiping her eyes and nose. “Both of them are real. I feel like Brandon set out to deceive me. That makes me angry. And the look on his face today? He wasn’t glad to see me. Do you know how it hurts?” Lucy was losing it. “I dug him out of a fucking crashed plane, dragged him… Oh God, listen to me? I sound so bitter. I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to feel anything. I want it to go away!”

“So put it behind you and move on.” Angelina’s voice was irritating in its calm, logical tone.

Lucy spun, hands on hips. “Right. And how do I do that?”

“Either confront him or find someone else.”

“It’s a little late to plan a confrontation for today.” Lucy shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m even having this discussion.”

“The fact we’re now discussing it is a good thing.”

Lucy’s mouth tilted. “That’s so shrink-sounding.”

Angelina shrugged. “So if the first thing’s not an option, how about the second?”

“I do have a dinner date with Mason Hatch, but it’s business. We’ll be signing the paperwork for my consignments, and he wanted to do it over a celebratory dinner.”

“Sugar, if a good-looking man like Mason is taking you to dinner, business or not, it’s a date. I’d dress the part and leave the rest to him. He’ll make you feel better about yourself even if he doesn’t make you tingly.”

Lucy gaped. “You know him?”

Angelina laughed. “Not in any biblical sense, but Mason’s built a reputation and a lucrative business on being able to furnish the homes of Washington newbies fast and on whatever budget they give him. Along the way, he’s started handling some high-class art. If Mason’s wants your work, you can pretty much write yourself a check.”

“Okay, I’m feeling a lot better now, but I’ve already told him it’s just friends.”

Another burst of laughter. “Trust me, Lucy, if you give Mason any sign you want it to change, he’ll be happy to oblige, but don’t expect forever.”

Lucy frowned. “So he screws around? Even if I was interested in him that way, I’m not sure I want the high-end equivalent of a man ho.”

“He’s not. In fact, he might be one of the hardest men in the area to catch. In the last year and a half, even more so–though nobody knows why–but he is a good man, Lucy. He’ll treat you right, and he’ll run interference for you if that’s what you decide you need.”

She thought about Angelina’s observation while she got ready to go out with him. When the doorbell rang, she checked to make sure it was Mason and opened it with a wide smile for him. He brought his hand from behind his back and presented her with a bouquet of spring flowers.

Lucy’s eyes widened. “Thank you, Mason.”

“To new beginnings. May I come in while you put them in water?”

“Sure.” She stepped out of the doorway and led the way into the kitchen. After grabbing a vase her grandmother had made years ago, she filled it with water and set the flowers in, manipulating them into a casual arrangement.

“Lovely,” Mason murmured.

“It is a beautiful vase. My grandmother made it.”

“I meant you.” He grinned and winked at her. “But the vase is nice too. Talent must run in the family.” Lucy sighed and put her hands on the counter. Mason touched her arm. “What is it?”

“Look. Could you dial it down a notch? I’m nervous. I’ve had a really, really tumultuous day, and I would like to be able to relax and have a good time tonight.”

He turned her to face him. They stood eye to eye, unlike when she was with Brandon, who had towered over her even when she wore heels. “Accept my apology. Strictly business?”

“I think that would be best.”

“You want to talk about it?”

Lucy took his hand from her shoulder and held it for a minute, calmed by the warm, hard texture of it. “At some point, maybe.”

“I’m a good listener, and if it makes you feel more comfortable, I’ve got my own hang ups I’m dealing with. Friends is fine with me.”

She smiled, once more relaxed. “Do we have time for you to see my studio while you’re here?”

Mason’s grin was back. “Of course.”

* * * *

Once the department head meeting had concluded, Brandon’s confidence soared about the direction in which he was taking Barrett Newspapers. It might piss off the old man, but then Alexander was home recovering, and Brandon was sure if his father returned to a done deal, it would make life a lot more bearable for everyone. So, on a business level, well…life was good.

It was his personal life that sucked. Big time.

Brandon checked his watch. Just past five. He was scheduled to meet his younger brother for drinks at seven. A few drinks might be the very thing. If he dropped the car by his house, he could change clothes, grab a cab and be there in plenty of time. If he were his dad, it would be a simple matter of ordering the chauffeur to take him, but like Seth, Brandon had eschewed some of his father’s more overt displays of wealth.

And pretending to be what he wasn’t… Wasn’t that what had gotten him into trouble with Lucy? He’d downplayed who he was, and it was pretty fucking obvious she’d done a fantastic job covering up who she was. That was funny. A stripper doing a cover-up. Yeah.

He arrived at the restaurant after seven. It was a little upscale for drinks, but Phillip’s law practice wasn’t far and it was the place he’d named. Brandon hadn’t been in the mood to suggest anything different.

“Good evening, Mr. Barrett,” the manager greeted him at the door. “Your brother’s expecting you. He’s seated at the bar. I could find a table for the two of you…”

“Not at the moment, thanks.” Brandon tried to smile with the refusal, but wasn’t sure he’d been quite successful.

Phillip slid from the bar stool, his jacket gone, but his starched white dress shirt and red power tie were still in place.

“Court today?” Brandon inquired. “You’re not this dressed up as a general rule. If I’d known I might have kept my king of capitalism look going. Instead, I’m down to khakis and deck shoes–and still the manager wants to give us a table in the dining room.”

Phillip’s grin was lopsided. Like all the rest of the Barlow-Barretts except Anna, his younger brother was blond and tall. When the bartender approached, Brandon ordered bourbon up.

“Stoli Elit,” Phillip murmured.

Brandon arched a brow. “Vodka? What would Father say?”

Phillip’s mouth twisted. “He’s already said plenty ever since I told him I was going to law school and not into the family business.”

The drinks appeared at their elbows. Brandon lifted his and sipped. “You and Anna, the family rebels.”

“Because we want careers outside of the media?” Phillip shook his head. “Don’t you ever feel confined, Bran?”

Every day. Right now even more so since I suspect the woman I loved latched onto me in hope of a free ride, then bailed when the going got tough.
“Now and then,” he admitted aloud. “Seth absorbed a lot of the flak over the years.”

“But now it’s on you.”

“Yeah. Look, where’s this going, Phillip? In the grander scheme of things, today has sucked. I’m not sure I’m up for a psychoanalysis of my career decisions.”

“That’s just it, bro,” Phillip said. “What decision did you or Seth have? Seth at least has broken from the mold, though I suppose he’s back now with Father laid up.”

“Temporarily only. He’s made that plain.”

Phillip swirled the Stoli in his glass. “And you. Can you say, in all honesty, you would have chosen Barrett? You were one hell of a skier.”

Brandon shook his head, frowned. “I would never have been the best. It was fun. That was it. But Barrett?” He paused. “You’re right. I didn’t choose it, but I’m good at it, Phillip. Seth hated the wheeling and dealing, hated everything other than the journalism side of it.”

“You like it?”

Brandon swirled his drink. “I do. I don’t always see eye to eye with Father, and we’ve had a couple of real battles, but overall I don’t feel trapped.”

“So why have you turned into such a morose prick?”

Brandon set his glass down. “Pardon me?”

Phillip finished his Stoli and signaled the bartender for another. “You heard me. I haven’t seen Bran, the brother I’ve always hero-worshiped, since you went on that damn ski trip and ended up in a plane crash. Is it that? Was the near-death experience what turned you into an asshole?”

Anger flared. He tossed back his bourbon. “What the fuck do you know about it,
little brother
? Either about what happened to me or about running one of the biggest media companies in the US?”

“Not a damn thing, but if you don’t let some of what’s roiling around inside of you out, you’re going to blow a gasket.”