Only to be immediately replaced with my brother Gabriel.
He strolls into my office wearing a fancy suit and that charming smile of his. I want nothing to do with the pink box in his hands. Nothing to do with how flawless and pressed and happy he looks today.
“Good morning, Mason. You must be starving.”
“All I want in the world is for you to get out of my office.”
Gabriel puts the box on the desk in front of me with a flourish and sits down, raising an eyebrow with an amused gleam in his eyes. “You must also need a nap.”
“What do you want?” I snarl. “And what the fuck is this?” Charlotte would like this box. She’d think it was cute. I know it without asking her, and I loathe that having it on my desk reminds me of her. Again. The same unsettled feeling creeps across my gut. I told her we weren’t finished. I told her it wasn’t over. I don’t know whether she’ll cut and run or return to me on Friday.
“Can’t a guy visit his brother and bring him pastries?”
“No.”
“But you canceled brunch, Mason. It’s the most important event of the week. I thought you might be dead.” He leans forward in the chair. Everything about his posture is casual. Everything about his expression. It’s bullshit. He’s watching me, and I don’t want him to see a thing.
“You’re not here because you thought I was dead. You’re here because you want something. Tell me what it is so you can leave.”
Gabriel leans back. Smiles indulgently. “Fine. I want a favor from Phoebe Walker at City Hall.”
I glare at him, willing him to disappear. Willing him to be elsewhere. I can’t fully commit to the idea, which is infuriating. If any of my siblings were to vanish from the face of the planet, it would be a disaster. “And why would I be able to do that?”
“What? You dated her. You must have something in common.”
Yes. Two years ago, I briefly dated Phoebe Walker. She asked me out. I thought—maybe. Maybe I could be the kind of man who went on normal dates with very normal women. But she wanted commitment, and I was already committed. To my work, yes. To my family, yes. And to revenge. The endgame for Phoebe Walker is a house in the suburbs and pictures of her kids on social media.
I have no idea what my endgame is anymore.
I left Cyrus Van Kempt alive. His presence in the world festers. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to get retribution for my parents’ murders. I knew it would take time. It would take money. It would take information. We all had to survive long enough to make it happen. I got everything I needed, and look. It’s turning out to be like a deceptively simple renovation. All it needs is a new coat of paint until you discover the floors have to go. And the drywall. And the fucking thing has three additional floors you didn’t know about.
“If you want a favor from Phoebe Walker, talk to her yourself.”
“Why would I do that when you’re so desperate for family togetherness?”
“What the fuck does family togetherness have to do with this?”
“It’s all connected.” Gabriel threads his fingers in front of him and grins at me. “I’m still your brother, even when you’re at the office.”
“And if you merged your company with mine, I would consider calling on your behalf.”
“If you considered calling her, I would consider a merger.”
“Bullshit.”
He laughs. “You’re right. It’s bullshit. But you should do it for me anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because you canceled brunch. They’re from a good bakery.”
The pastries. Jesus Christ. I ignore the fancy box. This is going to be the end of me. My brother being an obnoxious twit on the longest Monday of my life. I don’t often admit to desperation, but I’m desperate not to be here. I want to stop smelling smoke every five seconds. I have no desire to be anywhere but my penthouse. Even that is complicated by the presence of a full cleaning crew. I had them come this morning to try and put everything back together. I know it’s a futile exercise. Cleaning my carpets won’t un-burn Cornerstone. It won’t un-kill my parents. My knee throbs.
And I’ve been quiet too long. Gabriel leans in. He’s got that look in his eyes I hate more than anything.
“What happened to you?” A driving spike of irritation, down through the kneecap. He knows what happened to me. We lived through it. I’m about to say so when I realize he’s talking about the scrape. “You get into a bar fight?”
“Fuck off, Gabe.”
He tilts his head a fraction of an inch. There’s no way he’s walking out of here without an explanation. I canceled brunch because I was planning to avoid my brothers until the scrape healed. It was a ridiculous idea. I wasn’t thinking.
“You don’t go to the bar,” muses Gabe. “You almost never have a good time.”
“The Cornerstone development burned down.”
This surprises him. Wide eyes. The smile drops off Gabriel’s face. “It burned down?”
“Did I use words that were too difficult to understand? What could be more clear?”
“Your properties don’t burn down.” The charming facade has partially dropped. He’s like a shark that’s scented blood in the water. Gabriel lets the statement hang between us. I shift my foot on the floor and the pain in my knee moves to a different spot.
“There’s no such thing as a fireproof building.”
“There is such thing as a Mason Hill property, so don’t bullshit me about this. What happened? Did a contractor fuck up?”
“It wasn’t a contractor.”
He watches my face. Hawklike. Obnoxious. “Somebody burn the building down, Mason?”
I lean back in my chair and watch him back. Gabriel is a charmer. He practices the skill at every opportunity. I’ve always considered it to be the core of his personality. Something he turns up to his advantage, but it’s real at its heart. The look in his eyes now says otherwise. And what I’m about to tell him…
I know how Gabriel the charming, easygoing asshole will react. The Gabriel sitting in front of me now will be different.
“Cyrus Van Kempt set the fire.”
He absorbs this in silence. “Van Kempt signed the deal with you.”
“It was more complicated than I let on.”
It has always been more complicated than I let on. After I met with Cyrus Van Kempt to ask him for help with Remy’s school so many years ago, I went back to the motel we were staying in until we could move into the Brooklyn rental. Gabriel and Jameson stayed with Remy. She’d fallen asleep between them on one of the shitty, queen-sized beds. There were many things I didn’t say at the time. That I’d met with Cyrus in the first place. That he’d turned me down. That the walk from the nearest train station to the motel made my knee feel like shattered glass. It took all I had to get to the other queen bed and fall onto it.
“Any good news?” Jameson was the one to ask.
“No.”
In the present day, Gabriel takes a deep breath, and his easy expression slides back into place. “I don’t have any plans for lunch.”
Wonderful. That means he’ll sit his ass in that chair until I explain exactly how it was more complicated.