And Then There Was You (Serenity House Book 2) Read online

  And she hated it. And she hated him for making her feel that way again.

  “I need to go,” she said.

  She parted the willow branches and stepped out into the sunlight, and behind her she heard Andille murmur, “I guess we do, too.”

  Jennifer and Spence were headed to the classrooms for the children’s empowerment session when someone pounded on the door.

  “Go ahead,” she urged her son, who was excited about this class. She had a feeling his enthusiasm was more about Laura’s older daughter than it was about Twister or any other game. “I’ll be right there.”

  He took off at a run and she backtracked to the common room and the front door.

  She opened the door to a man wearing a grey coverall suit holding a clipboard. A patch over his chest read Bob.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Bob said in a thick Jersey accent. “We’re here to look at the central air.”

  “We don’t have—”

  “Hey, Bob,” Ian said from behind her and she felt every muscle tense. Every bone go rigid. Since his appearance in a towel this morning she’d been hoping maybe he’d disappear—fall into a hole, or some starlet’s arms—and she wouldn’t have to see him ever again. Apparently, no such luck.

  “Come on in.” Ian stepped up beside her, pushing the screen door open farther, and she stepped away from the heat of him before there was even a chance of them casually touching.

  “We don’t have central air,” she reiterated.

  “Not yet,” Ian said and before she could stop herself she glanced up at him. His golden beauty was undiminished by a day-old beard and rumpled clothes. He wore jeans and a T-shirt and his wattage was up full blast.

  She remembered his chest. That drop of water.

  She looked away before she was blinded. Or embarrassed.

  There had been enough of that in this man’s company.

  Her reaction to him this morning had been simple biology. She was bound to be attracted to someone at some point. The only strange thing was that it was for a man so unlike her husband.

  She was simply a woman alone for too long. A woman who missed her husband.

  Another man approached the front door wearing a ball cap and carrying a toolbox.

  “Hiya, Ian,” he said, as if they were old friends.

  “Hey, George. Problem’s in the kitchen,” Ian said, jerking his thumb in that direction. “Unless,” he asked Jennifer, “you have some other leaks you need looked at?”

  “No,” she said. A plumber and an air-conditioning guy, on the same day—maybe Ian would be gone sooner rather than later. “It’s just in the kitchen.”

  George stepped past her, tipping his hat slightly on the way toward making their faucet problems disappear.

  Bob stepped in and started talking about duct work and furnace rooms.

  “I’ll show you,” she said quickly and led him to the furnace room in the bedroom wing of the house, eager to be out of Ian’s company.

  Bob clucked and murmured at the duct work and the furnace.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.

  “Nah,” he said. “We’ve been updating these shelters across Carolina for months now,” he said, tapping at the silver square ducts with a penknife. “This one is in pretty good shape. Should have a system in here in no time.”

  Ian’s other shelters, she realized. He’d grown up here, which explained why he had decided to fund shelters in North Carolina instead of in, say, Montana. But it didn’t explain anything else about him.

  There’s more to him, she thought. More to him than being the sexiest man alive. More to him than his smile and blue eyes.

  And you, she told herself, ignoring that itch and tingle down her neck, don’t care.

  But she wasn’t even close to believing it.

  Ian watched Jennifer leave, hoping the quick addition of central air would be a good enough apology for his tirade yesterday. And that shower thing this morning. But frankly, the way she’d ogled him, maybe she should apologize to him.

  She’d walked away this morning and he’d headed back to the bathroom for a cold shower. Just thinking of the way she’d looked at him—the naked desire and raw heat in her eyes—had him breathing deeply for a minute.

  In the silence of the common room, the dark screen of the television beckoned. He had to believe his mother’s death and whatever scene he’d caused at her very public memorial would still be news.

  Eager to see what the world thought of his latest escapade he searched for the remote.

  “We need to leave,” Andille said, stepping into the house and, for just a moment, blocking the sun.

  “What do you mean leave?” Ian asked, finally finding the remote and turning on the TV. “I’ve got Bob here putting in central air, George looking at the pipes and I haven’t even read the legal papers.”

  “Trust me,” Andille said. “We can fix Serenity’s problems on the road. These women don’t want us here.”

  Ian paused in his search for CNN. “I know what I did,” he said, thinking of Jennifer. “But what did you do?”

  “Well—” Andille scowled “—apparently I was born a man and that was enough to give Deb a reason to hate me.” He narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”

  “Besides show up drunk and try to kiss Jennifer?”

  Andille nodded.

  “And then hide out, hung over most of the day yesterday?”

  Andille nodded.

  “I might have flipped out on Jennifer when she told me she was sorry about my mom.”

  Andille sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Ian said, scrolling through the channels. “We can do all this stuff on the road. We don’t—”

  Fox News had him. Or rather a picture of him passed out in the back row of the memorial service. His arm around a woman he didn’t even know.

  Excellent.

  Then the still picture changed to a live press conference. And it was Jackson Greer standing behind a podium, looking as presidential as ever. He smiled, smug and self-righteous while flashbulbs went off all around him. There was not a strand of gunmetal-grey hair out of place. His red power tie was straight and tied perfectly. Looking at him, you’d never ever guess that just days ago, his wife of thirty-eight years had died after a painful battle with cancer.

  There was not an inkling of grief. Of regret. Remorse.

  Looking at him, Ian’s blood thickened with anger and it hurt as it pounded through veins that were suddenly too small. His vision blurred and a numbness was spreading through his body, clearing the way for the blinding rage that was sure to follow.

  “What the hell is he doing now?” Andille said, coming to stand beside Ian. Andille took the remote from Ian’s numb hand and turned up the volume.

  Ian’s father, the former president of the United States, slid on a pair of reading glasses, cleared his throat and the whole room went silent.

  Ian bared his teeth, waiting for the latest from dear old Dad.

  “In the wake of Annabelle’s death our son, Ian, has checked himself into a rehab clinic in California.” Jackson lied right into the camera and Ian’s breath escaped in a surprised gust. Jackson’s polar-blue eyes seemed to reach right through the distance and glass to curl around Ian’s throat, cutting off even the possibility of taking in another breath. “Realizing that his behavior was an embarrassment to his mother’s legacy, he understood that the only thing he could do was clean up his act. He has my support in this decision and, I hope, the support of all Americans, who will see his behavior on the day of Annabelle’s funeral as that of a man with problems and grief outside of his control.”

  Parasitic journalists swarmed Jackson Greer and he held up a hand, displaying all the gravitas of a former leader of the free world. Magically the journalists shut up and stepped back, letting Jackson walk away, unscathed. His lies unquestioned.

  Andille swore and Ian swayed sli
ghtly on his feet.

  The image on the screen changed and showed an aerial view of Ian’s apartment in Manhattan, where there was nothing less than a three-ring circus. Crowds of people stood at the front gate, which was practically choked by flowers and teddy bears.

  “Dear God,” Andille murmured.

  “I can’t go home,” Ian said, watching the screen. “There are helicopters circling my apartment. Thanks to my father.”

  “Well,” Andille said, turning to face him, leaning his bulk against the couch, “you aren’t exactly innocent. You put on quite a show at your mother’s funeral.”

  Ian chewed on his lip, his hands shaking as he ran them through his hair.

  “He thinks he’s won.” Ian sneered, the edges of his vision going dark. “He thinks I won’t come out and prove him to be a liar. A fraud.”

  “What do you want to do?” Andille asked. Ian turned to him, saw the weariness and concern there, and it pissed Ian off. Andille thought he should stop. Everyone thought he should stop.

  “You want to tear up a club in New York City?” Andille asked, like he was bored of the whole thing. “Show up pretending to be drunk at some charity event your dad will be at? What’s your move, Ian?”

  “We’ve done all those things,” Ian said and Andille laughed, but it was humorless and tired.

  “You can leave anytime, Dille,” Ian snapped. “I haven’t asked you to stay.”

  “How can I leave?” Andille asked, standing upright, a reminder of all that could go wrong in the world. A reminder that the world could be a brutal place.

  Not that Ian needed any more reminders.

  The silence between them was charged. Electric.

  “I owe you more than I can say,” Andille said. “So, I can’t leave and watch you run yourself into the ground for this vengeance you crave.”

  Ian smiled despite the tension. Andille hadn’t lived in his country since he was ten and, though he’d been raised by European and American boarding schools, he was still bound by an ancient system of checks and balances. Earthly favors and cosmic retribution.

  “So, you’re going to stay and watch me run myself into the ground?” Ian tried to joke.

  Andille didn’t laugh and Ian suddenly felt so old. So tired. Years in the spotlight were taking their toll. This chess game he engaged in with his father was wearing him down to nothing. He couldn’t keep taking these weak shots at the old man. He needed something final. Something that would end this nightmare once and for all.

  Ian looked back at the television, where pictures of his mother flashed across the screen.

  His mother at readings. At state dinners. With Ian on her lap. Standing beside her husband. Those sunglasses. The high mandarin collars. Each picture a slice across his skin, a burning reminder of why he needed to destroy his father.

  She was gone. He could remember her face, her smell, the touch of her hand across his forehead as if she were right there with him. And the fact that she wasn’t and would never be again was crushing.

  Wait a second.

  Static buzzed in his head.

  She was gone. His promise to her was void. He was freed, suspended for a moment in a disbelief so profound, he could barely think. Then he could only laugh as the bittersweet joy of his emancipation bubbled through him.

  “Ian?” Andille asked, clearly wondering if he’d totally lost it.

  “Andille,” he said, grabbing his friend’s shoulder. “I know exactly what we’re going to do.” He smiled into Andille’s confused face. “And it’s going to kill him. End him. He will be totally and utterly destroyed.”

  “What’s your plan?” Andille asked warily.

  “I’m going to tell the truth.”

  6

  Spence was in love. He was sure of it.

  Last night he’d written about Madison Jones in his notebook and when he wrote stuff in his notebook it was for real. Carved in stone, as his mom would say. And last night he’d written I love Madison Jones.

  “Where was your mom today?” Spencer asked as he and Madison walked toward the kitchen for a snack after the class. Deb had told them to go because she had another class to teach and Madison’s mother still hadn’t shown up to get her.

  “She didn’t feel well,” Madison said, pushing her long hair off her face. It was, like, the blondest hair he’d ever seen. One of his reasons for liking her.

  “So, how come your sister didn’t come?” he asked.

  “Angelina doesn’t go anywhere without Mom,” Madison said with just a little sneer. “Do you have a little sister or brother?”

  Spence looked over his shoulder at Shonny, who followed, picking his nose. “Sort of,” he said.

  “Shonny?” she asked. “He’s black.”

  “So?” Spence asked. His best friend in Asheville was Claude, a kid from Haiti who had two moms. The world is a different place, his mom always said.

  “Is he like, adopted?”

  “No,” he answered, “but I am.”

  “You are?” she asked, turning to him like he was something exotic at the zoo.

  He nodded, uncomfortable. Maybe he didn’t love Madison Jones.

  “Wow.” She sighed. “I totally wish I was adopted.”

  It was such a weird thing for her to say that he didn’t know what to say back. “It’s all right” was finally what popped out of his mouth.

  “So, Deb is his mom,” she said pointing to Shonny. “Then who is your mom?”

  “Well.” He sighed. This stuff got so complicated. “My mom mom is Jennifer Stern. But my birth mom is Samantha Riggins. She usually runs Serenity but she’s on vacation.”

  Madison nodded then turned to Shonny, who stood grinning at them.

  Madison smiled. Her front tooth was missing and it was his second reason for liking her. “So do you live here?”

  “Not all the time.”

  She looked at him directly and Spence’s heart beat a little faster. She was so pretty. Her eyes were green. Like grass. He’d never met anyone with grass-green eyes before.

  “You like it here?” she asked.

  “I love it here,” he said. “We’ve got a swimming pond. And there are a bunch of trails out back and I can ride my bike—”

  “My dad says this place is for losers.”

  “Losers?” Spence asked, not getting it.

  “Yeah,” she said. “He says that only women who are total losers and don’t know how to handle their lives come here.”

  “You and your mom come here,” he said.

  She bit her tongue so it poked out through the gap in her teeth. That was cool. “You’re right,” she said and started walking again. “What have you got for a snack around here?”

  “Well—” They pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen, where all the pipes under the sink had been taken out, and he paused at the sound of that guy Andille’s voice. He was arguing with someone in the common room.

  “Ian,” Andille said. “There aren’t any journalists who are going to take you seriously.”

  “They don’t have to take me seriously,” another voice said. “They just have to take the story seriously.”

  Spence grabbed Madison’s shirt and started to pull her out of the kitchen. She yanked away from him and held a finger up to her mouth. Slowly she snuck along the wall toward the common room.

  She was going to spy!

  She waved at him to follow, but he shook his head.

  Mom said no spying. He’d made a promise because she hated it so much. She said if there was something he wanted to know, he should just ask. But spying was sneaky and mean.

  Mom had a real thing about mean.

  “Don’t be a baby,” Madison mouthed at him and his skin prickled. He loved her and she was calling him a baby. He didn’t know much about girls, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t a good way to get her to be his girlfriend. He looked at Shonny, who watched him with big eyes, and decided just this once wouldn’t hurt. It’s not like they were
spying on Mom or Deb.

  He held his finger up to his own mouth so Shonny would know not to talk then tiptoed after Madison. His heart pounded hard in his chest.

  Man, if Mom found him he’d be so busted. But he got up close to Madison and her bare arm pressed against his and he totally forgot about mom.

  “Sixty Minutes won’t do it,” Andille said.

  Spence knew that show. His mom watched them.

  “This is boring,” Madison whispered.

  “Yeah,” he agreed, happy for a reason to get out of the kitchen. He turned, ready to leave.

  “Jennifer Stern is a journalist, isn’t she?” Ian said and Spence whirled back around and elbowed Madison out of the way to get closer.

  They were talking about Mom. His mom.

  No way he was leaving now.

  “Is she?” Andille asked then laughed. “I doubt she’d do the story, either. Not after all you’ve done.”

  “I’ll worry about that,” Ian said in a tone that made the hair on the back of Spence’s neck stand up. “A journalist will forgive a lot of things for a scoop.”

  One of the men stepped toward the kitchen and Madison yanked on Spencer’s arm, trying to get him back to the hallway. He pushed her away, wanting to hear what else they were going to say about his mom, but Madison was really strong and she got a good hold of him and he was dragged backward even while he strained forward.

  They hit the swinging door and she tripped and he lost his balance and they both fell onto the floor in the hallway.

  “Are you nuts?” she asked, laughing. “You were going to get caught!”

  “You did get caught.” He heard his mom’s voice and slowly turned to see Mom, Deb and Shonny watching him.

  “You were spying, weren’t you?” Mom asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Oh, boy. She was mad. “On our guests?”

  “No,” Madison said.

  At the same time, Spence confessed. “Yes.”

  “Spence…” Mom was talking but her lips weren’t moving, which was never a good sign. Last time that happened he’d been grounded from his skateboard for a week. “What did I say about—”

  “Spence,” Deb said, cutting in on Mom. “What were they talking about?”