“What’s up with the building anyway?” I demand. “I’d have thought he’d make his move by now. Everything is too stagnant. I can’t take it.”
“Calm your tits, woman.” He laughs at himself and then says, “My brother doesn’t announce his moves before he makes them. He prefers to arrange all the dominoes just so and then thunk.” He makes a flicking motion. “He watches them all topple into each other one by one.”
“Win and his games,” I grumble.
“It’s one of the things you love about him.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “That list is small.”
“I thought you were Cinderella, not Pinocchio.”
“Fine. I enjoy his mastermind. Happy?”
“Unbelievably so.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and flashes me an evil grin. “Now, what is it you want to know about Leo? If we’re going to scheme, we have to do it the right way.”
“Which is…”
“Ulrich. I’m pretty sure it was his ass who tattled on me for wrecking my dad’s sailboat once. He’s Mom’s creepy eyes—all seeing.”
“Giant scary guy?”
“That’s the one.”
“Seems like maybe he’s seeing things for Win too.”
“Told you,” Perry says with a grin.
“We need to find out why Leo was at my house the night of the birthday ball. What is his connection to the triplets?”
“Speaking of the psychotwats, what ever happened with them?”
I shrug, trying not to think about the fact that Dad hasn’t returned my texts since our visit the other day. I even sent him the address to my apartment and invited him to dinner. The message was read but he didn’t respond. He chose Manda and let me fend for myself. It hurts more than I care to dwell on. Something on my face must have the perceptive Perry Constantine sniffing out my pain because he gives me a firm glare that’s as serious as I’ve ever seen him.
“You’re Team Constantine now,” he assures me. “You have us.”
“Not all of you.”
“Win will come around. Trust me.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Winston
Layla Reynard waits by the hostess stand of an upscale bistro that’s more my mother’s taste than mine. I’m usually not caught dead in a place like this—quiches and muffins and flavored teas. But this was my idea, not Layla’s. Apparently it’s where all the rich bitches like Meredith like to go.
There’s a method to my madness. There always is.
“Layla,” I greet, offering my hand. “Thanks for agreeing to lunch again.”
“Lunch with the most notorious man in New York City,” she says with a pleasant smile. “How could I refuse?”
I chuckle and then hold up two fingers to the hostess and tell her my last name before turning my attention to Layla. “My lawyers are working to keep my notoriety at a more manageable level.”
“They certainly have their work cut out for them.” She flashes me another friendly smile.
The hostess guides us around to a table I’d called ahead to request. It has a great view of the entire restaurant. Once I’ve pulled out a chair for Layla, I take my seat across from her. My phone buzzes and I pull it out to check to see if it’s anything from Ulrich or Mother.
Ash.
It’s a selfie of her and Perry. They’re both discreetly flipping the bird at the camera. I’m half-tempted to send her five hundred bucks before remembering I called a time-out on everything Ash related.
“Haven’t ever seen that smile on you before, Winston.”
My frown chases away the stupid grin on my face. “My brother.” And the gorgeous fucking girl right beside him.
“Ahh, brothers. I have three myself. They’re all annoying as can be.”
Our conversation is paused as the server comes by to take our drink order. Thankfully, when we return back to talking, I’ve regrouped and am not distracted by Ash Elliott.
“How have things been?”
“Hard,” she admits. “Everyone wants me to move on. But…”
“You can’t move on from someone who was such an important part of your life. The hole is too gaping.”
Her gaze softens and she nods. “Your dad?”
I give her a clipped nod. “It’s been five years. Still a gaping wound.”
“You’re different than I remember from prep school.”
I certainly don’t tell her I can’t even remember her. Which was part of the reason for wanting to have lunch with her again. I’d been curious as to what her motives were in all this. She was clearly roped into our initial lunch date, but I get the sense she’s just a distraction and nothing more. This woman doesn’t have ulterior motives. Just a pawn in someone else’s game.
“So,” I say, changing the subject, “what are you doing these days?”
She takes a sip of her martini and sighs. “Whatever I can to stay busy. I want to go back out on the yacht but I’m afraid it won’t be the same.”
“It won’t,” I tell her honestly. There are many things that I can’t do now that Dad is gone. “But you’ll find other things.”