'Tis the Season (7 page)

“I don't ever want to drink again. After she left the study—fled the scene, to be more accurate—and I realized what we'd done, I drowned myself in a bottle of scotch. I was sick as a dog most of the next day.”

“I'll bet.” Dane set his cue against the wall and turned back again, intently scanning his brother's features. “Are you okay?”

“No, I'm not okay!” Charles spat. “I'm a fucking mess. I can't believe what I did.”

“What you
both
did,” Dane corrected him. His eyes widened a fraction. “Unless . . . you're telling me you forced her . . . ?”

“
What?
God, no. It wasn't like that!” Charles raked his hands through his hair and glared back. “I can't believe you think I'd—”

“I don't!” Dane cut him off. “That's why the thought of it horrified me. Because that's
not
you.”

“Dane,” Charles growled, “I'm an idiot, but I'm not a rapist.”

“I know that. Calm down.” Dane's voice softened, and he reached for his cue again. “So clarify it for me.” He gestured to the table. “Take your next shot and tell me what happened, starting at the beginning.”

As the brothers played, Charles told his story, glad to have the game as a distraction. It was easier to get out the words with his eyes glued to the colored balls, the ornate light fixture over the table, the soothing green of the cloth. Dane didn't interrupt, just let him keep talking until he grew silent.

Finally, Dane eyed the last ball on the table. He called it, shot hard, and sent it sailing into the corner pocket.

“Well done.” Charles reached for his wallet, pulled a hundred-dollar bill from it, and handed it to his brother. It was their usual wager. As Dane pocketed the money, Charles reached for the triangle to set up a new match.

Dane watched him, hip leaning against the table. “What's really going on with you?” he finally asked.

Charles reached beneath the table for the balls, placing them two by two back on the table. “What do you mean?”

“This whole thing. It's not like you.” Dane pinned him with a knowing stare. “What happened with Lisette . . . it's a symptom of a bigger problem, not the disease.” He twirled the cue between his fingers. “Something bigger is going on.”

Charles froze at the accuracy of his brother's words. “What makes you say that?”

“Because someone as reserved and tightly wound as you doing your kids' nanny on a couch? That's an act of rebellion, if I ever heard one. Or a cry for help.” Dane reached for the small blue cube and chalked the end of his stick. “You know, Charles . . . a lot of people tend to start reassessing their lives when they hit milestone birthdays. And forty is supposed to be the worst of all. Coincidence? I don't think so.” Casually, Dane put the chalk back and glanced at his brother again. “You never
had
a rebellious phase. You were too well disciplined, and you weren't allowed to do anything crazy even if you wanted to. Not as a kid, not in your teens . . . The most—the
only
—rebellious thing you've ever done was marrying Vanessa.”

“And we all know how well that turned out,” Charles grumbled. Feeling his throat tighten, he finally reached up to the knot of his tie and loosened it, then popped open the top button of his shirt.

“That's beside the point, Chuckles. Look. You just told me the play-by-play of what happened with Lisette. But what you didn't tell me is why you went home feeling sorry for yourself in the first place. You'd just been to a big party, for
you
, with everyone who knows you there. That's, like, supposed to be a happy thing.” Dane's eyes narrowed, crinkling at the sides. “Talk to me, man.”

“I'm fine,” Charles growled.

“The hell you are.”

“I didn't come here for you to play psychoanalyst.”

“Yeah, actually, you did. You just can't admit it, because you never ask anyone for help. You're too proud.”

Charles glared at his brother. Unfazed, Dane added, “You trust me more than anyone in the world. And you should. No one on this planet knows you better than I do, or cares more about you, other than Tess.” His voice and expression softened. “I'm worried about you.”

“I just . . .” Charles started to say. He tore off his glasses with one hand and scrubbed a hand over his face with the other. “I'm tired. Tired of . . .”

“Of what?”

After a long pause, Charles sighed and put his glasses back on. “Everything.”

Dane put the cue stick in its notch on the wall. Turning back, he splayed his hands on the table, and demanded, “Talk to me, goddammit.
Talk
.”

“Well, how about we start with how Thomas hates me,” Charles said. “He's just like Pierce was as a kid, and that scares me. I saw it at the party, how fucking pissed he is at me. But then I watched him happily go to his uncles for hugs . . . and it hit me. He's turning into Pierce, and I'm turning into Dad. And that's not a good thing.”

“It's a fucking horrible thing,” Dane agreed. “If it were true. Which it's
not
.”

“Isn't it?” Charles started to pace the small room, hands running through his thick hair, tousling it. “Just like Dad, I have no love life, but a bitch ex-wife who took me for my money, had a few kids, and split the scene without a look back. I also have children who are angry and hurting, and I don't see them enough because I'm working all the time.
All the time
, to secure a future for them like Dad did for us . . .” Charles stopped and looked up at Dane to murmur, “. . . and, just like him, I'm alone. With kids that resent me a little more each month, and no partner at my side.”

Charles's shoulders slumped, and he exhaled a forlorn breath. “I'm forty years old, half my life's gone by, and on Saturday night, I realized I'm just like him. When I was a kid, that was all I wanted. Now . . . no. God, no. He's bitter, he's ruthless, he's . . .” Shaking his head, Charles moved to the one long window and stared balefully down at the people who walked along the bustling Manhattan streets. “The truth is, I'm getting tired of the whole thing. Being the ‘heir to the throne,' as you've always called it.” Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, he looked out at the sparkling lights of Manhattan. “So, yeah, Dane, I don't know what to do with all that.”

Dane went to stand next to him. “You listen to me,” he said, his voice low and determined. “All your life, you've done the right thing. You've been a dutiful son, a dutiful corporate leader, doing all the right things without complaint.” Dane sighed in sympathy. “That's got to be exhausting.”

Charles flicked a glance at his brother and murmured, “You have no idea.”

“I don't. You're right. I was lucky. I was born second. Very little pressure on me. It was all about you.” Dane moved to one of the couches, motioning for Charles to join him. “I've always admired how you took the mantle with dignity and grace, even when we were kids. I was also grateful as hell that since Dad pinned all his expectations on you, I had much more freedom to do what I wanted. You never did. He controlled every bit of your life.”

“Yup.” Sitting across from Dane, Charles leaned his elbows on his knees and sighed.

“It's really no wonder you married Vanessa. Hell, she was fucking stunning. A fireball, a rebel, not a blueblood. Exactly what Dad didn't want for you.” Dane grinned mischievously. “I was kind of proud of you for going through with it, truth be told. I wasn't sure you would, once Dad really started throwing threats around.”

Charles shrugged, sitting back against the leather cushions. “He needed me too much. He'd spent my whole life grooming me; he couldn't afford to lose me. You were off doing your own thing; he'd never let a woman run the company, so Tess was out; and Pierce . . . was Pierce.” They both grinned at that. “Of course, later, after Vanessa tore me apart, I wished I'd listened, but whatever. It's history now.”

“Yup.” Dane stretched out his legs. “As for the kids . . . yeah, they're a handful. But that solution is not only simple, but doable. You want to see them more? Make the time. You want them not to resent you? Spend some quality time with them.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Charles mumbled.

“Because it is.” Dane snorted. “I don't have kids, but I understand human beings. They all need attention, to feel wanted and important. I'm not telling you how to be a father to your kids, Charles. I'm just telling you how easy it is to not be like Dad.”

Charles nodded in slow agreement.

“So, let me guess.” Dane sat back, crossing one long leg over the other. “You turned forty, you looked around, and you didn't like a lot of what you saw. Yes?”

“Yes.” Charles felt the tension ebb a little from his shoulders. Dane knew him so well, it was uncanny. He and Tess were the only people who knew the
real
him. And right then, looking at his brother and best friend, Charles was so damn grateful for that.

“So you're all ‘woe is me,' get a little drunk,” Dane added with an amused smirk, “and the mishap with Lisette isn't surprising, really. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I suppose.” Charles studied his hands as he admitted in a husky murmur, “But the other problem is . . . I can't stop thinking about her.” He didn't look up. He couldn't. “It was like wildfire. Once we started, I don't think either of us could've stopped. She was so . . . God, she was gorgeous. And
hot
. Passionate. After that night . . . knowing now what she's like . . . I can't look at her the same way. I don't think of her the same way. And worse . . .” He swallowed hard. The truth was turning his insides into knots. “I want more of her. And I shouldn't. I
can't
.”

Dane snorted, making Charles raise his head. “Gee,” Dane taunted lightly, “you have the hots for someone who works for you? Can't get them out of your head, think about them all the time, have to have them, even though you know on paper it's totally wrong? Tell me, what's that like? Because I have
no
idea.”

Charles had to laugh wryly at the parallel Dane presented. When Dane and Julia had first gotten involved, she had been the singer he'd hired for his new hotel lounge. Several times, Charles had warned Dane about the perils of getting involved with someone who worked for him; and, even though Dane had known he should, he hadn't listened. The similarity of the situations was more than ironic. It would have been kind of funny if it weren't so serious.

“I was drawn to Julia like no other woman in my entire life,” Dane reminded his brother. “I couldn't stay away from her.”

“But Lisette isn't an unattached woman I see a few nights a week at work,” Charles pointed out. “If this blows up, the ripple effects . . . She lives in my
home
. I see her every morning and every night. She takes care of my children.” He huffed out a breath. “Hell, she spends much more time with them than I do. She knows them better than I do.” The admission pained him, but he knew it was the truth. “I can't ever go near her again like that, for a hundred reasons. But most of all for my kids' sake, if nothing else. If she ever felt like she had to quit . . . I'd never forgive myself. They need her.”

“They need you more. You're their father,” Dane said. “Look, you're being noble, as always. But just admit it to yourself: you want her again, and you want her bad. If you didn't, we wouldn't even be having this part of the conversation.”

Charles scowled and ran his hand across the back of his neck. “Well, shit.”

“Sorry to break it to you, Chuckles, but you're a flawed human being after all. And merely a man, at that. With some women, once you've had a taste . . .” Dane shrugged and shot him a crooked grin. “Good luck with that.”

“Thanks a lot,” Charles muttered.

“Hey, big brother?” Dane's brows arched. “From what I've seen, Lisette is caring, bright, and just plain nice. She's quiet and sweet, but capable of taking care of your three little whirlwinds day in and day out. Which, let's face it, must be an exhausting job, but she does it well. Add to all that the fact that she happens to be really easy on the eyes?” Dane shrugged again. “You could do a lot worse, you know. Just sayin'.”

Charles blinked, stunned at the implication. “She's. The.
Nanny
,” he ground out.

“Ohhhh. Okay.” Dane's eyes narrowed, his stare piercing. “So really it's about her being below you in social stature. That's the issue?”

“Hell no!” Charles snapped. “That's not the problem at all.”

“Isn't it, though? One of the bigger problems, anyway. Of course it is.” Dane arched a brow haughtily and continued, “I mean . . . what would people
say?
Right? You're the COO of a powerful, well-known international conglomerate, and she's your kids' nanny. It's so fucking cliché, it's gauche. The gossip would be epic.”

“Shut the hell up,” Charles hissed. “For the record, just hypothetically—if I ever did get involved with her, I don't care about what people would say. Let them gossip. I don't give a rat's ass.”

“Sure about that?” Dane asked.

“Yes! She happens to be a fantastic woman,” Charles said, suddenly all fired up. “It's more than just her being kind and taking excellent care of my kids. She's a real sweetheart. She makes me smile, a lot. She's smart, and she's educated. And she—”