Misadventures with My Ex Page 14

  “This looks comfortable.” Miriam sits. “And Eddie won’t bother us here. As sloshed as he is—I hope he didn’t drive here—he’ll likely pass out before dinner. That would make the evening much more pleasant.”

  “Thank you for putting your brother-in-law in his place. I’m grateful. Has he always been this way?”

  It really shouldn’t be my first question or concern, but based on everything West has told me, I can’t help but worry the man is drinking himself to death.

  “An irresponsible alcoholic? For as long as I’ve known him, yes. He failed his father’s expectations too many times as a youth, and once Hanover passed away… Well, I guess discovering he wasn’t the favorite remaining heir was too bitter a pill for Edward to swallow without liquid assistance.”

  It’s a biting observation, but it echoes what West said.

  And I really shouldn’t let myself be distracted. The woman has cornered me for a reason. Letting my guard down could be disastrous. I also intend to lead the conversation. The best defense is a good offense. Dad always said that was true in investigative journalism. My experience has proven it’s true in life, too.

  “So…what do you want to talk about? My relationship with your son? I know you don’t approve, but you can’t split us up again. Nothing will come between us this time.”

  She rears back in shock. “Is that what he told you? That I didn’t want him to marry you?”

  I choose my words carefully. “He said you threatened to tell me that he’d romanced me to dissuade my dad from doing an exposé about Quaid Enterprises so I’d call off the wedding.”

  She blinks as if it’s obvious I’m missing the big picture. “I didn’t threaten to tell you in order to break you up. I merely contended that any woman he married deserved to know the truth before you exchanged I do’s. And that if he didn’t do the decent thing and tell you, I would. I’m presuming you would have wanted to know.”

  I would, and her explanation makes sense. Still… “According to West, you wanted him to marry someone you chose.”

  Miriam shakes her head. “I told him it would be nice to at least meet you before the wedding so I could shake your hand and welcome you into the family. But West didn’t want me ‘interfering’ with his scheme, so I wasn’t invited. Then, Hanover collapsed and fell into a coma, West rushed home, and the wedding never happened. The truth is…” She sends me a soft, empathetic glance. “He said he’d changed his mind about marrying you. I’m guessing he never told you that.”

  Her version of events is so different from West’s. I don’t know what to say. Is she contorting the events to suit her narrative? Maybe, but her explanation also makes sense. Is it possible West misrepresented his mother’s intentions so he wouldn’t look like the bad guy? I don’t want to believe it…

  “He said you sent him on a date with another woman the week after we split up because you didn’t approve of me.”

  “How could I possibly disapprove of someone I knew almost nothing about?”

  “So you didn’t want West to marry a woman with a blue-blood, East Coast pedigree?”

  She looks stunned by my question. “I wanted a daughter-in-law, not a show dog. Lindsay, the girl in the photo, is the daughter of one of Quaid Enterprises’ board members. When West announced that he’d decided not to marry you, he asked me to introduce him to her. I did because I hoped he would settle down and stop the busy revolving door to his bedroom. Instead, he exploited her soft heart to help persuade the board to give him interim control of the company after Hanover’s death. I was horrified.” She shakes her head. “There isn’t anything my son wouldn’t do for Quaid Enterprises. You’ve figured that out, I hope.”

  I gape. Though he admitted to seducing me to help smooth the company’s way during their transition in the LA market, it never occurred to me that he might do the same to someone else.

  “I’m sorry if I’m shocking you.” She lays her warm hand over mine. “I told West he should at least do you the courtesy of ending the engagement before debauching Lindsay, but he’s like his father. My husband was also only ever loyal to Quaid Enterprises. Everything and everyone else… Well, I was aware of Kingston’s shortcomings as a husband. Even though it made me a fool, I still loved him.”

  Miriam knew her husband was unfaithful and accepted it? I blink in shock. I would care—very much. The West I know would, too. He doesn’t seem like the sort to fuck around for a cheap thrill. He was never unfaithful when we were engaged in the past. But her charge of West using his good looks and his prowess in bed to further the company hits a little too close to home for me not to listen.

  I swallow a lump in my throat. My stomach turns.

  This woman is my enemy, I remind myself. She’s probably twisting everything around to suit her purposes, and I refuse to second-guess my commitment to West based on anything she says. He swore she’d come at me. I assumed that would be a straightforward, full-frontal assault. Perhaps she’s simply being more underhanded. It’s her word against West’s, and I’m siding with the man I plan to marry.

  What if you’re being naïve because you want to believe in him and your happily ever after so badly?

  I shove the voice down and regard my future mother-in-law. “Thank you for your explanation. I’ll keep all that in mind.”

  Miriam squeezes my hand. “You seem like a very nice girl. You clearly have feelings for my son, and as a mother, I want that for West. But I also don’t want to see you disillusioned. You may not know this, but if Kingston hadn’t died flying that silly plane of his, I intended to leave him. I thought the sex between us would be good forever. And if not, at least I would have money—something I hadn’t grown up with. But I soon found out that there wasn’t enough money in the world for me to overlook his transgressions.”

  “I’m not interested in money.”

  “Oh, I’m not implying you are. I’m simply worried about you. How will you feel when you hear about or see West with other women? How will you deal when you’re hosting a party and have to welcome his mistress as a guest in your home because she’s someone who can open doors for Quaid Enterprises? That happened to me more than once. It wasn’t easy to cope with. So before you say ‘I do,’ think long and hard about the pitfalls of being Mrs. Weston Quaid. I love my son, and if you genuinely believe you can live with his flaws, then by all means, marry him.” Suddenly, she pastes on a smile. “Listen to me. I sound like Doubting Debbie. I don’t mean to dissuade you. Let’s talk about happier things. Have you set a wedding date?”

  “Saturday.”

  And I’m beyond stressed. We found a chapel to host the event. Unfortunately, it’s next door to a 7-Eleven, but it’s the best we could get last minute. The day we agreed to the venue, the only thing that mattered was being West’s wife.

  Now, I hate to admit it, but I’m having second thoughts.

  Miriam gasps. “He’s not giving you a lot of time to think this through, is he? But you love him. I hope very much that I’m wrong about everything and that your marriage is the fairy tale you’ve always imagined. If I could give you one piece of womanly—dare I say, maternal—advice, I would urge you to watch him for the next few days. Now that I’ve told you the truth, look at your relationship through that lens. Talking to him won’t do any good. Every one of those Quaid men, my own sons included, are silver-tongued devils. They know how to say exactly what you want to hear.”

  Miriam stands. Head racing, I follow suit. I have no idea what to think, but I’m reeling. My chest hurts. God, I want her to be lying about all of it.

  “Thank you,” I manage to say.

  She smiles. “My pleasure. Shall we see if—”

  “Eryn?” I turn to find West standing in the patio door, eyes pinned on me, his expression concerned.

  Irrational relief fills me. Somehow, he’s going to put me at ease. Everything will be all right. “Hi.”

  “Mother?” he drawls.

  “Is that any proper way to greet us? Come
over here and give your lovely fiancée a kiss.”

  Scowling, he approaches us slowly, scanning my face as though he’s trying to read my thoughts. I’m shell-shocked, and I suspect it shows.

  As he draws closer and stands under the patio lights, I notice that West is flushed and sweaty. And he’s very definitely late.

  “Where have you been?”

  “I had a meeting with Olivia Martin. She’s on the board. It ran long, and when I got here, the elevator was broken. So I walked up forty flights of stairs. It took a while.”

  “Olivia?” his mother drawls. “Oh, Paul Martin’s widow. She’s so young and beautiful. What a tragedy. I hope she won’t be alone for long. She must be so lonely… But you’re merely interested in her vote. I’m sure she’ll give it to you.”

  My heart seizes up. West was holed up all afternoon with someone’s pretty young widow? I don’t want to distrust him, but the elevator story seems thin. That sucker was working twenty minutes ago. Sure, it might stop functioning at any time, but…what are the odds?

  What if West has an entirely different reason for being winded and red-faced? One that involves doing the horizontal tangle with a board member days before the no-confidence vote?

  Eddie stumbles out onto the patio. “What kind of piss is this Scotch, boy?”

  West turns, and the moment is broken as he tries to good-naturedly defend his brand of booze.

  “Excuse me. I need to check on dinner,” I murmur to make my escape to the kitchen.

  West tries to follow me inside, but the doorbell rings again. With a curse, he veers off to admit his brother and sister. And it seems the elevator is magically working again…

  I don’t know how I make it through the uncomfortable dinner. I manage to smile in the right places and act engaged in the conversation, even happy when Gen and Flynn congratulate us on our upcoming wedding. I feel nothing but a weeping hole of confusion and anguish seeping in my chest. I want to ask West for an explanation almost as badly as I’m worried whatever he says will be a lie.

  This is one time I’m thankful for the role of hostess, so I can use clearing the table and starting coffee as an escape from West’s prying gaze. The minute he ushers his family out, I run, fleeing to my bathroom before shutting and locking the door.

  Moments later, West pounds on it. “Eryn, what did my mother say to you? Don’t tell me nothing. I know better.”

  “I’m tired,” I lie because I need to think this through. “I’m getting a migraine.”

  “Honey, don’t shut me out. Let’s talk about this.”

  “There’s nothing to say.” I flip on the shower to drown him out.

  He curses and punches the door as he storms away.

  I hide in the bathroom with my iPad for almost three hours. I leave pleading texts for both Echo and Ella, who are arriving tomorrow for the wedding.

  It’s after one a.m. when I finally venture into the bedroom to find West sprawled across the bed, illuminated by the muted light on the nightstand, looking so gorgeous and male in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. I ache to talk to him, ask him to hold me and make all my doubts go away. But I can’t. I really should observe him as impartially as possible over the next few days and decide for myself—without his well-placed words and panty-melting lovemaking crowding out my protests—whether he’s the love of my life or a lying snake I need to purge from my heart. And I need to decide in the next two days, before I say “I do.”

  WEST

  I don’t know exactly what’s upset Eryn, but I know my mother is behind it.

  The next day, I’m distracted at the office when I can’t afford to be. The board’s vote of no confidence is tomorrow. True, Uncle Eddie shouldn’t be a threat…if the board members are being objective. But my meeting with Olivia Martin last night proved very interesting. Apparently, my father’s playboy younger brother has been “comforting” the widow for the past two weeks. And when he pushed her to vote for him, it finally occurred to her why he’d been so “helpful” lately.

  After a lot of embarrassment and a few tears, I produced spreadsheets to show her the improvements in our bottom line, particularly in the last six months. Since Olivia is a social creature, she attends events and galas with a lot of the other board members. She helped me hone tomorrow’s presentation to address the others’ concerns about my youth and lack of experience. She has my eternal gratitude, and I think the vote is more likely to be favorable now that I can address specific objections. So I couldn’t rush Olivia out the door when she needed to talk about what a douche my uncle is. And especially when she divulged the creative, despicable ways he’s been trying to woo votes. Then I arrived at my complex to find the freaking elevator not functioning…

  Obviously, Eryn was alone with my mother far too long.

  All through dinner last night she looked pale and shaken. She sent me glances both startled and accusing.

  What the fuck did my mother say? I have no idea, and Eryn isn’t talking.

  She also won’t let me close enough to kiss her.

  As I step off the elevator at my condo complex, I rake a hand through my hair. I had every intention of coming home early so my fiancée and I could talk things out, but I received some new financials that were too good not to put into tomorrow’s presentation. So more than three hours later, I’m late—again.

  When I open the front door, I find a small crowd. Eryn is there, avoiding my stare with an expression that’s both angry and sad. Echo flanks her on one side, looking boho chic with her long brownish hair arranged in a complicated mix of twists, braids, and wavy tresses that cascade down her back. Her slender form is draped in flowing lace and Birkenstocks. On her other side, Ella stands in a muted-pink wraparound shirt, black slacks, and kitten heels.

  Her sisters both look at me like I’m the devil.

  Fuck.

  On the other side of the room, two men stand, looking out the windows at my view of the Strip. They couldn’t be more opposite. One wears an impeccable suit. The other sports black sweat pants with a matching zip-up jacket, a gray shirt, and athletic shoes.

  “Carson?” Ella calls.

  The suit turns, then catches my gaze and smiles.

  I send one last look at Eryn—yep, still avoiding me—then step forward to meet this guy. “You must be Ella’s new husband. I’m Weston Quaid. Just call me West.”

  “Carson Frost. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” His face says most of it isn’t good.

  “Nice to meet you, too.”

  The guy dressed like a jock saunters closer. He’s a couple of years younger than me. As tall and solidly as he’s built, it’s obvious he’s been an athlete most of his life. “Hayes Elliot.”

  “Glad you’re here. You’re Echo’s…boyfriend?”

  He looks across the room at her with a frown, then shakes his head. “No, her best friend. We’ve been super tight since we were, like, seven.”

  The two don’t appear to have anything in common. Hayes looks like a traditional college campus man, complete with stockbroker haircut and fashionable five-o’clock shadow. Echo looks as if someone plucked her out of a Vogue circa 1971. But when Eryn’s younger sister sends Hayes a sunny smile, he gives her a head lift and a grin back.

  They aren’t romantic? Because that’s the vibe I’m getting…

  Then I see what must be Hayes’s duffel and a hanging bag containing his suit draped across the sofa.

  “You don’t mind if I sleep here, do you?” he asks. “I gave Echo the bedroom.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that maybe they should try sharing it, but it’s none of my business and I have bigger problems. “Absolutely. No worries. I should say hello to my bride since I’m so late. Everyone has eaten, right?”

  “Yeah,” Carson assures me, then grabs my arm. “Why don’t you show us this view on the patio for a minute?”

  Man-speak for “let’s talk.” I met this guy five minutes ago. I can’t imagine what he has to
say to me, but I shrug. “All right.”

  I cast Eryn one last glance, which she still doesn’t meet, before the three of us step outside. The dry, cool wind hits my face as we look out over the familiar lights brightening the night sky.

  “What’s up?” I ask Carson. Hayes seems more detached from the situation.

  “You tell me. Eryn doesn’t seem like a happy bride.”

  “My mother got a hold of her last night and said…something. Eryn won’t tell me what. Do you know anything?”

  Both guys shake their heads.

  “I’ll work on Ella,” Carson assures me.

  “Echo might confide in me,” Hayes offers. “She does that a lot since, you know, I’m not a ‘threat’ or whatever.”

  “Thanks. I’ve been racking my brain, but my mother… There’s no telling what she’s said or done.”

  After a pair of nods, it’s clear they’re not sure whether to believe or trust me, but they’re willing to give me the benefit of the doubt—at least until I screw up. For the next few minutes, I point out different hotels and attractions, talk about upcoming changes to the view, and invite them to have a drink. Both decline, and we wander back inside.

  I’m immediately drawn to Eryn. I can’t not be close to her. Not knowing what she thinks I’m guilty of is killing me. Actually, knowing she suspects I’m guilty of anything at all hurts most.

  As I march across the room, Ella tries to intercept me, smiling as she puts her body protectively between Eryn and me. “Hi, West. It’s been a long time. Why don’t we catch up?”

  I bypass her with a sharp shake of my head. “I need to talk to my fiancée, and you know it.”

  “Actually, I don’t think you do.”

  “With all due respect, this is between Eryn and me. I appreciate that you’re being a protective older sister, but now I intend to be the concerned husband-to-be. Excuse me.”

  I no more than pass Ella up when Echo intercepts me. “She needs girl time.”

  The hippie chick has steel in her eyes. But it’s nothing compared to my resolve.