The Singles (28 page)

Tell me about it,
I thought. To Pen, I replied, “He’ll be here in an hour, but he’s leaving for business tomorrow.”

She patted the book I held close to my chest. “Good, then we’ll have plenty of time to go over all this this weekend.”

*

T
rue to her word, Pen was gone when I came out the shower half an hour later. As I’d washed my body, the full weight of what was inside the binder had finally hit me, and it left me a trembling mess. It seemed like there was one surprise after another when it came to Margaret, and I prayed we’d just reached the final one.

Donning a simple pair of jeans and a sweater, my stomach pitched violently as I caught the reflection of the white book on my bed.

I reprocessed Pen’s words. Margaret had moved around over eight million dollars from Emerson & Taylor in the last twelve months. And the Halloween ball she had me harass an event planner over was nothing but a farce. I wondered if my father had realized what a fucked up woman he married?

If he’d known what a piece of work his attorney was?

My doorbell rang, and I stepped away from my dresser, rubbing shaky hands over my damp hair as I walked into the foyer.
Keep it together,
I told myself, opening the door for Oliver with a soft smile that belied the storm within me.

Dragging me to his warm body, he cupped the back of my neck. “I’ve thought of nothing but this perfume all day, and it made work very distracting,” he growled against my temple.

“Which must have been the reason you spent all day emailing me. Margaret left me with a Christmas list longer than my arm to take care of while she’s away.”

“You didn’t have to email me back,” he pointed out, leading me to my living room where he sat on the couch. He glanced around inquisitively. “Your roommate isn’t here?”

“She’s never here. Give me twenty minutes to finish getting dressed, and I’ll be ready to go.”

“Twenty minutes.” Rubbing his hand over his mouth, he nodded his approval. “After that I’m coming in after you.” As I headed toward the hallway, his voice followed me. “By the way, you look beautiful today, Gemma.”

My heart soaring in spite of everything, I called out, “Since you put it that way, I’ll be out in
fifteen
minutes.”

––––––––

I
t wasn’t until my hand was on my bedroom door that I reexamined precisely what Oliver had just said to me.

“By the way, you look beautiful today, Gemma.”

Ice rushed down my spine, freezing me where I stood. I couldn’t have heard him correctly. With everything going on, my mind had officially started playing tricks on me, and I was hearing things—things I wasn’t prepared to listen to coming from Oliver’s mouth.

That was it, right?

Breathing in through my nose, I returned to the living room to find him leafing through the copy of
Stardust
I kept on the coffee table. Although he didn’t glance up, his self-assured grin instantly put my fears to rest, and I relaxed my shoulders.

“Thought you were getting dressed,” he said.

“I am.” Holding the nape of my neck in an effort to scrub away the uneasiness crawling over my flesh, I forced a laugh. “I’m just an exhausted mess and hearing things. Give me a few.”

“Wait.” He laid the book on the table and moved forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You weren’t hearing things, Lizzie. I called you
Gemma
.”

Someday, when I thought back on this moment, I’d immediately recall how I felt as if my heart had stopped, how we both seemed to be made of glass as his words flitted between us.

“Gemma,” he repeated, creating the first chink in my fragile armor.

I dug my fingernails into my skin. “Another ex-girlfriend, Oliver?”

“I know who you are.
Gemma
.” His words caused another crack, this one larger than the last, and I squared my shoulders.

“You should leave. It’s fucked up to come in here calling me another woman’s name.” But my voice faltered, and I had to fight every instinct in my body not to turn and go myself. “Leave!”

He drew himself to his full height. The closer he came to where I stood in the hallway, the harder my pulse throbbed, the clearer it was to see his grin was only a façade. The corners of his lips trembled. When he reached for me, pulling me to him so hard I couldn’t breathe, the rest of that glass encasing me shattered.

Suddenly, I felt my heart again, and I swore it was seconds from exploding.

Oliver knew, and everything was ending right now.

“We’re going to talk,” he said, his light blue eyes stabbing into mine. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

But I said it anyway. I said it, and I shook my head in denial. “No.”

With one swift motion, he scooped me into his arms like I weighed nothing. A second later, I was on the couch. My stomach tightened as he knelt in front of me, trapping my legs with his upper body. I could feel his heart beating fitfully against my knees.

I clutched my hand over my own chest.

“Stop looking at me like I’m going to hurt you,” he growled, dragging his hand over his tan face. “That’s not my intention.”

“Oliver—”

“And don’t open your mouth with lies.” Hauling his phone from his pocket, he typed in the security code before shoving the device in my direction. I looked down. And what I saw sent another tumultuous wave of emotion through me.

On the screen was a copy of my driver’s license and
everything
was there—my real date of birth, the address to my Vegas apartment, my
name
.

“I have
everything
else on you, if you need more convincing.”

From the way he said that, I knew he was aware of the phone sex and the escorting, but did he know why I was in L.A.? Because I didn’t know what would happen if I opened my mouth to ask, I chose silence, glaring at his phone as the waves of nausea held me under.

“I knew there was something about you, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.” His rough voice was the softest I’d ever heard it, and it terrified me.

“Even after you told me about that scar on your chest, and I remembered Greg mentioning his kid having to go to the hospital after something similar happened. Even
after
I heard some motherfucker propositioning you, calling you
Alice
in the middle of our date—I was still too stubborn to let myself believe you might be deceiving me.”

I finally discovered my voice, but when I murmured his name he shook his head.

“But the other night when Finley mentioned what your father used to tell you, I knew for sure. He said the same thing to me when I told him I was sorry for getting into his liquor stash when I was fourteen.” He touched his chest, fisting a handful of fabric. “I told you I wouldn’t have Easton look into you, but I couldn’t sleep beside you not knowing.”

“How long did it take him?”

“Two hours. In two hours he had everything, and I have no fucking clue how you’ve managed to fool Margaret this long.”

“You’ve already told her?” Raking my hands through my wet hair, I released a strangled noise. “You told her, and—”

“I haven’t.” When my head whipped up to look at him, he sneered. “I wanted to know why you were doing this before I said a word to anyone. Is it more money? Is it—”

Before I could stop myself, my fingers were on his shoulders. I tugged him closer to me, my world spinning uncontrollably. “What do you mean
more
money?”

“The money you’ve asked Margaret for over the years.”

I laughed, but it hurt. Everything about this moment hurt. “I’ve never taken anything from your mother other than the paycheck I earned from working.” Loosening my grip from his broad shoulders, I jabbed my finger to my chest. “I’ve never taken
anything
. She’s the one who’s taken everything from me!”

His nostrils flared, but his expression faltered. “What do you mean?” At my muteness, he held my chin in his hand and made me look at him. “I’m not going to let you say something like that just to back down.”

“Get out, Oliver.”

Even though he moved away from my body and stood, he didn’t head for the door like I hoped. Instead, he followed right behind me when I stumbled by him and into the foyer.

“Get out!” I repeated, pointing at the exit.

Planting his palm firmly against the door, he swallowed hard. “Not until you tell me what you have to gain from all this.”

It was all too much.

It had always been too much—I just hadn’t realized that before now.

Fury beating against my chest, I shouted, “Answers!” Lowering my head to the floor, I watched as the first tear fell to the laminate between our feet. “I don’t want any money that belongs to your mother, I just want answers. I wanted to know why I felt abandoned by my father for fourteen years and why the woman he married hated me so much to turn me away. I wanted all that.”

He sucked in a breath before he implored, “Then give me answers.”

When he framed my face with his large hands, it was to force my gaze to his. Staring up at the anger and disappointment in his blue irises, the tears started to run freely down my cheeks.

“Dammit.” As he backed away from me, dragging his hands through his light brown hair, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands. “Why did you come here?”

“When are you telling Margaret?”

Realizing I wasn’t going to tell him why I came to L.A., he hunched forward and exhaled raggedly. “I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m giving you two weeks, Gemma—two weeks—to tell me everything.”

When he jerked my door open and stepped into the hall, I heard myself wheeze, “Why wouldn’t you do it now? Why two weeks?”

“Because if you’re here for answers, you’re not going anywhere.” He didn’t turn around, but I was glad he didn’t. Glad he couldn’t see the harsh emotions tearing through me. “Because the last two weeks have been the best of my fucking life.”

*

T
he next week floated by almost too quickly—a combination of working for a woman I couldn’t stand to even look at, and agonizing over the parting words of a man my chest ached for. Lies had backed me into a corner I wasn’t sure I could wiggle out of, and it was hell. With every day that passed, I knew I was drawing closer to the rest of my world crumbling around me.

I needed to help myself—finish what I started to stop that from happening.

“I didn’t want to give this to you yesterday because it was Thanksgiving,” Pen started ten minutes after we took a seat at a bar downtown on Friday night. “But I have a theory I thought you might want to hear.”

When she’d talked me into going out with her, I’d assumed she only wanted to get some alcohol in me to take my mind off Margaret and Oliver. Once she slid a piece of paper next to my beer, I realized she was mixing pleasure with business—business that probably wouldn’t have me dancing in excitement on the bar counter.

“What is it?” Running my tongue over my lips, I grabbed the printout and unfolded it carefully to reveal a photo of my father. He was with a blonde I didn’t recognize—no surprise there—and on the other side of them stood Michael Scott and a brunette woman. They were all grinning and holding champagne flutes. “Where’d you get this?”

“Old newspaper clippings.” Pen tapped her finger on the picture. “I’m not sure who the woman with your father is, but the lovely brunette hanging on Michael Scott’s douchebag arm is his ex-wife, Robin.”

“Finley’s mother,” I said, and she nodded.

Trailing her finger down the page, she stopped once she reached the center of the photo. “Look at this.”

The bar lighting was seedy at best, and I had to lean down until my nose practically grazed the paper to see that my dad’s arm was around Robin Scott’s waist. Snorting, I took a swig of my beer. “Nothing makes the holidays more festive than having your father’s hobag status blatantly pointed out to you,” I laughed unevenly. “W-when was this taken?”

“New Years Eve in Eighty-one.” Pen opened her mouth to say something else, but she hesitated.

“You’re about to tell me something that’s going to break me down, huh?”

“I’m sure as hell hoping it won’t.” She nibbled her bottom lip anxiously. “Do you want to hear it tonight?”

Shrugging, I sighed. “Go ahead. Give me
everything
.”

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with Robin for a few days—you never know if she might be a talker—but no luck so far.” Spreading her fingers on the bar counter, she blew out a slow breath. “I think Finley Scott might be your sister.”

My back straightened, and I blinked. Searching my best friend’s slate blue eyes closely, my heart dropped to my stomach. “You’re not joking, are you?” I eventually whispered, my voice hoarse.

“Afraid not.”

Over the last several days, I knew Pen had been working on figuring out the elusive Finley Scott, but I hadn’t stopped to consider she might reach a conclusion that would forever link Oliver’s ex-girlfriend to me.

I took another careful look at the photo, focusing my attention on my dad’s hand on Robin’s waist. It was a friendly enough gesture, but who the hell knew if it had eventually crossed into something more.  Refolding the paper, I returned it to Pen.

“Dammit,
” I snapped.

Grabbing her glass, she held it between us like a shield. “Don’t take out the messenger!” She downed most of her wine and placed the glass on the middle of the counter. “Trust me, I don’t want it to be true. Still ... given when this picture was taken, it’s a possibility. Your dad might have hooked up with Finley’s mother and that might be why Margaret’s funneling money to her and Michael.”

“I guess it sort of makes sense.” As much as I hated to admit that, it was the most believable theory either of us had reached to date—even if it did curl my stomach and my chest into a series of knots. “But it still doesn’t explain why Margaret would give her money. If anything, I’d think she’d loathe Finley even more.”

Like she loathes me,
I added silently.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Pen replied. When I started breathing heavily, she jerked my bottle off the counter and pressed it against my palms. “Drink.”