When Empires Fall (50 page)

Linc considered her words for a long, silent moment. When he spoke, he realized that she couldn’t have said it any more perfectly to make him understand.

“You really
get
people, don’t you?” he mused, attempting a weary smile as he shifted away from her so he could frame her face with his hands.

She smiled in return, lifting her hands to rest over his. “That’s what Libras do, Linc. We never just choose one side; we have to have balance.”

He snorted out a laugh and kissed her lightly, relieved that she wasn’t still angry with him. He didn’t think he could stand it if she had been.

“Whatever it is, this is the second time it’s helped me. I don’t know if I deserve it, though.” His smile faltered a bit then, anger flashing in his eyes. “Your parents certainly wouldn’t think so. Part of me still thinks they are right.”

“My parents don’t control my life, Linc. They try to, but I’m breaking free of them. I can’t promise that they will stand behind you, but you shouldn’t for one second doubt that I will.”

He reached for her and gathered her close, his hands roaming over her back. “I appreciate that, Lynette.”

She nodded, her breath catching in her throat as he suddenly fisted his hand in her hair and tilted her head back, his mouth capturing hers with an intensity she should have come to anticipate from him. It was full of emotion and a fervor that shook her to the very core, stunning her into assent without question, shuddering through her like a wildfire rages through the forest. He was spontaneous and impulsive, and despite what she had always assumed, it seemed to suit her just fine.

In fact, she had begun to crave it like a drowning woman craves the surface.

She returned the kiss, gripping at his shirt and pulling him closer. As he leaned back against the sofa, she fell with him, her hands everywhere, touching, caressing, fisting as she gave in to the madness he sparked within her, the wild freeness she had never before let herself experience.

Except while dancing. Good Lord, only ever while dancing had she felt as alive as she did at that very moment. With him.

If the sky fell and the earth cracked open and the demons of Hell paraded around in the streets, she couldn’t have cared less.

She had Linc Vasser, and that was all that mattered.

When Grant arrived
home that night, he did his best to settle into his usual routine.

He set his briefcase down beside the front door on an old, antique oak bench that had been passed down through three generations of Vasser men, its intricate carvings indicative of classic French Rococo style.

His dog, Miles, trotted cheerfully into the parlor, shaggy gray and white body trembling as his tail thumped happily back and forth. With an instinctive smile, Grant bent down to rub his hands over fur and muscle, accepting slobbery kisses over his cheeks and mouth in greeting.

“Life’s so rough, isn’t it?” he asked dryly, straightening and heading into the kitchen to get dinner for Miles. As he walked, he continued to talk with his dog, a habit he didn’t even realize he had. “You get to sleep all day, get all of your meals served, have someone else clean up after you...”

He reached up into one of the upper cabinets of his kitchen to grab a can of dog food, which he then proceeded to open and dump into a bowl. Miles leapt forward and dug in the second Grant set the bowl on the slate tile floor, wasting no time devouring every last bite.

With a slow sigh, Grant leaned back against the black granite countertop and watched his dog and best friend, a tired smile curving over his lips. “If you had to spend a day in my shoes, my friend, you wouldn’t last one second.”

Miles only glanced up at him with a doggie grin, and Grant snorted and pushed away from the counter, stalking towards the wet bar in his living room for a drink. He poured himself a glass of scotch, then gratefully collapsed onto his sleek, black leather sofa.

Taking a generous sip of his drink, he eyed the room around him tiredly, his mind already falling victim to thoughts of the events that night. As much as he tried to push them away, they continued to beat their way into his brain, over and over, like a record on repeat. God, would he ever find relief?

It was at least a small comfort to finally be home, in familiar surroundings that suited him. His tastes at the office largely translated to his taste in furnishings at home, favoring traditional antiques as focal pieces while still maintaining sleek, sharp lines and modern edges for the rest of the space. Steel grays and rich golden oak accented with subtle hues of blue reigned throughout his townhouse, from the muted sapphire walls to the sturdy oak floors of his living room, covered partially by an oriental rug in shades of cobalt and gray.

A slate framed fireplace graced the wall across from him. Above it was a large flat screen television that he realized he had only watched a handful of times since he had had it installed three months earlier. The few times he actually found himself at home that he wasn’t sleeping were spent in his home office.

But maybe now that there was no goal, no future to work towards, there would be no reason to work from home any longer. In fact, maybe he’d just let Madison handle the stress and the weight of responsibility he had burdened himself with for so long, since she seemed so keen on accepting the challenge.

But no, he couldn’t do that. Mostly because he knew that work was his life and that he cared too damn much about the hotel and the family empire to just stand by while someone else did all the work. While he still wasn’t certain what Madison’s role had been in deciding her fate, part of him had been wounded by distrust and by jealousy.

And, damnit, he had never been a jealous man. He had never craved what another man had without decidedly figuring out how to get it for himself as well. But this time, with her, with his sister, the girl he had grown up protecting, confiding in, relying on…this time it was different. He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, felt she deserved at least a moment of his time to explain herself.

But part of him, the stubborn, immovable, and frigid part of him, resolutely refused.

And until he came to terms with his own obstinacy, there was little to be done except sulk.

Feeling suddenly constricted and uncomfortable, he set his drink down on his steel and glass coffee table and shrugged out of his suit jacket. He tossed it on the sofa next to him and busily loosened his tie, relieving the pressure gratefully. With a sigh, he set about emptying the pockets of his coat so he could send it out for dry cleaning the next morning, only to freeze as he pulled out the tiny sheet of notepaper with Quinn’s number written on it.

He stared at it silently for a long moment, wheels turning in his head as he considered his options. Sure, she’d said he could call her anytime, and he knew it would comfort him to hear her voice. But at the same time, he didn’t want to burden her with any more of his problems. She still was, essentially, an outsider. How much could he really trust her?

But when Miles padded over to him and sat promptly down beside the sofa, long tongue lolling out in a satisfied grin, he instantly made his decision.

Grabbing his cell phone from his other jacket pocket, he dialed the number and held the phone to his ear impatiently, his heart thrumming wildly in his chest with anticipation. It rang three times, and when she answered his eyes were on his dog and he spoke without thinking.

“I was just looking at my dog, and he smiled and it reminded me of you,” he told her, only to blink a second later as he realized what he had just said. Mortified, he smacked his forehead and cursed himself for a fool. “Wow, that sounded awful.”

She burst into laughter on the other line, full-bodied, delighted laughter, and hearing it even had a sheepish smile breaking over his face.

“
Grant, you really need to get some new pick up lines if that’s the best you’ve got,
” Quinn informed him in between more laughter.

“Yeah, well, I’m a bit rusty.” He sighed, leaning back against his sofa and shutting his eyes, relishing in her voice. Yes, he had done the right thing by calling her.

“
I’m happy you called, I was worried about you,
” she said, concern replacing the laughter in her voice.

“It’s been a long night,” he said simply, still unsure just how much he wanted to tell her.

“
Do you feel like talking about it?
”

He thought about it for a moment, weighing all the pros and cons of it in his head. It would be a relief to share the two awful truths he had learned that night with her, but then again, it would only cause her distress. Or it might just simply mortify her and scare her away, a thought that terrified the shit out of him. What if she wanted to quit her job and leave the company because the burden of the truth about his grandfather was just too disturbing to bear? What would he do without her, now that she had all but imbedded herself in his life, in his thoughts and feelings?

He couldn’t rule it out as a possibility, being as practical as he was. If, when she found out the truth, she wanted to leave, then it was completely her decision. He couldn’t make her stay.

But what he could do was postpone revealing the truth, at least for this one night. It might be the one and only thing he had to hold on to now.

“No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“
Okay.
” He could practically hear her smiling on the other line, and the cheerfulness she put into her voice calmed him in a way only she had ever been able to do. “
What kind of dog do you have? I’ve been thinking about getting one myself, but…
”

She rambled on with him interjecting only when necessary, until the eastern sky began to softly glow with pale blue morning light.

T
he next morning, they faced the first of the media backlash.

Being a Saturday, the news was a bit subdued on television due to news programs being few and far between on the weekends. But, by contrast, the internet was alive with it, with websites like TMZ and the Associated Press running wild with every little detail they could scrape together from insiders present the night before. It was a dirty sort of madness that was only funny and intriguing when it was happening to someone else.

The newspaper reporters who had been allowed inside the fundraiser had spared no details in writing up their columns on the juicy and scandalous subject, and surprisingly even reputable reporters seemed to be having a field day with the shocking confession made by Win Vasser during the event.

However, what little coverage there was of the scandal on television was by far the most demeaning, demoralizing, and destructive.

The giddy blonde television reporter on channel five at that very moment indulgently described the alarming way Grant Vasser had dragged his father off the stage after the big confession and flew from the room in a flurry of righteous outrage and disgust. Which of course was wildly exaggerated, but the public wasn’t going to know that. All they would hear would be a reporter’s wild imagination running with whatever would get the highest ratings.

Grant clenched his teeth, steeling himself from the worst of it as the reporter finished her commentary with an excited flourish, stating that perhaps the Vasser family was in over their heads and that this scandal might well be the end of one of the last great American family institutions.