His Pretty Toy by Shanna Handel

Chapter 15

Trent

That night in Paris, I ran out of the apartment, searching the streets for her until the sun came up. I couldn’t find her anywhere. Later, I had my PI find her. She was on a park bench, head in her hand, eyes bleary from crying. I let him put her in the car and get her home.

She clearly didn’t want me.

Gretchen had the dresses sent to her apartment.

They were returned, unopened.

That’s the last I’ve heard of her.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It was supposed to be the other way around. I was going to end the madness as soon as we got back, cutting all ties and forgetting about her.

She beat me to it. I still have no idea why she did.

And I’ve not forgotten about her. Not for one second.

I feel like a shell of myself. When I run, without even thinking, I head east, in the direction of her apartment. When I drink coffee, it takes me back to the window of that coffee shop, to her smile. When a pretty girl walks by in a red dress, I almost lose my shit.

This has to stop. So I do what I do best and I dive into work.

First, I stay in France, working at the roasters. I make upgrades, test new types of beans. I spend a month searching for my brother. It’s maddening—no sign of him since that one day at the roasters. I’m starting to think it was a false sighting.

But that would mean the worst might be true, that my brother might not still be alive. So, as impossible as it seems, I hold on to that delicate thread of hope, wanting it to have been him.

When I get back to the estate, I add three planes to my fleet, doubling my air freight capacity. I oversee plans for new warehouses outside the city, larger facilities with climate control so I can enhance my transport for delicate goods.

My chest gets tight when Gretchen tells me a business has already made a bid to rent the warehouse out, before we even complete construction.

It’s a high end chocolatier.

It reminds me of her. Everything reminds me of her.

My daily runs have gone from five miles to six. Barker thinks I haven’t noticed but he’s started to add butter to my meats and vegetables, trying to increase my caloric intake. I’m hungry, the food smells delicious, but when I put a bite in my mouth, it turns to ash. Despite his best efforts, I’ve dropped five pounds.

Now I’m all muscle. Muscle and anger.

Why the hell did she leave?

Was it something I said? Was it the baby? Does she have a baby?

I investigate further, finding out Charlotte and Ashley Barnes live with their grandmother, their birth certificates claim their mother as Holly Barnes, but the mom can’t seem to be tracked down. I guess that explains all her credit card charges. I’ve heard diapers and formula are expensive.

I’m relieved the kids aren’t hers. Then I wonder why I even care. Why do I care? I’m never going to see her again.

Poor Polly is getting the brunt of this breakup. Breakup—can you even call it that? I snap at her all day long. I try to make it up to her with ordering in expensive meals and all the office supplies she could dream of but what she really deserves is an apology. God, I hope she doesn’t quit on me.

I never, ever leave the office building except to ride home. I don’t want to risk wandering toward Café Leche. I don’t think I’m that weak, cruising by just to get a glimpse of her face, but I’m not entirely confident that I’m not, so I stay away.

Gretchen tells me there’s dark circles under my eyes. That I need to get some rest. In the most polite way possible, I tell her to mind her own business.

I’m sitting at my desk in my office, my eyes strained from crunching numbers. I look out over the city, my view of the lake. A yacht glides by slowly and I want to tear my hair from my head.

I slump in my seat, my forehead thumping against the pile of paperwork. “Get it together, man!”

I thump my head once more, hoping to knock some sense into my addled brain. There’s a knock on the door. I straighten up, clearing my throat. “Come in.”

The door opens. It’s a nervous Polly, staying as far away from me as possible. “Ah… so sorry to interrupt you, sir.” Her gaze rises above my eyes. “Um… sir? You have…” Her words trail off and she points to her own forehead.

“What?” I glance at the mirror on my side wall. I’ve got a red mark on the center of my forehead from where I’ve thumped it against the desk. I really am going crazy. “Don’t worry about it. What do you need?”

“Marcus, your private investigator?” She leans forward, whispering as if we aren’t the only two in the room. “He’s here.”

Marcus only calls me once a week with updates on his non-progress, save for the one false sighting of my brother. He’s never come to the office before. A flash of hope rises in my chest, quickly replaced by fear. He’s either found my brother, or found my brother’s remains.

I stand from my chair. “Send him in.”

“Yes, sir.” She flutters off to get him.

A moment later, Marcus is in my office, shaking my hand. He’s grown a mustache. It looks ridiculous on him.

I offer him the open seat across from my desk. “Have a seat. You’ve got good news for me?”

“Great news.” He smiles and I release the breath I’ve been holding. “We’ve found your brother.”

“What? Seriously?” A wave of emotions crashes over me. “Thank god. Where is he now?”

“We’ve brought him to the estate. He’s there now.” Marcus quickly fills me in on the whole story, how my brother was wandering around Europe, his pockets full of cash and his passport. It was with him when we crashed—we’d planned on going straight from New Mexico to Cabo—but I have no idea where the money came from.

Marcus finally tracked him down. He had to get local officials to convince a confused Nathan to return to the states with him. He said when he told Nathan my name and address, there was what seemed to be a flash of recognition in his eyes.

Marcus didn’t want to call me. He wanted to get Nathan settled and deliver the news in person.

“That’s great news. That’s incredible news.” I smile for what feels like the first time in six months. I stand. “I want to see him.”

His features quickly change. “There’s more.”

“What?” I sink back down in my chair.

Marcus shakes his head. “He’s got no memory of anything that happened before the accident.”

I think of how the police officers said he’d been thrown from the car. They found a Nathan-sized crater in the desert floor. Who knows how hard he hit his head? “Brain trauma?”

“Yes. We’ve already ordered the best medical care for him. You’ll have doctors in and out of the estate all day long till we get him better.” He stands. “Let me take you to him. He’s familiar with me. I’m not sure how he’ll react to you. Remember, to him, you’ll be a perfect stranger.”

A perfect stranger? I think of all Nathan and I have been through together. Our cold upbringing, being shipped away to boarding school together as children, holidays celebrated with nannies. But we always had each other. He’s the one person I know I love and now, I’m a stranger?

It makes the pain I feel from losing her double. Who do I have now? No one.

My palms sweat as we ride home, my knee bouncing up and down as I jiggle my leg. A nervous habit that my mother hated. What will he be like?

Will he know me?

We arrive, pulling around the back. A doctor is waiting for us, wearing glasses and a white lab coat. He quickly fills us in, telling us Nathan’s doing great. He doesn’t remember much but he believes us and he’s desperate to have the blanks filled in for him.

I rush to the back door, my gut telling me he’s in the kitchen catching up on lost time drinking our family’s coffee. Nathan loves coffee. He’s there, at the kitchen table, his favorite cream-colored ceramic mug in his hands. His hair is longer, curling around his ears, but his eyes are the same, that mischievous twinkle lit. They meet mine.

“Trent?” A slow smile spreads over his face.

I cross the room to him. “Nathan.”

He stands and we embrace. It feels so good to touch him, to know he’s okay.

We sit, two cups of our father’s coffee between us. He grins. “Tell me everything.”

And I do. I tell him how brave his is, how when he was a teen, he singlehandedly faced two intruders on our parents’ estate, fighting them off with what he’d learned in martial arts. I tell him that I’m the smart, angry one. He’s the fun-loving, gregarious one. I remind him of his dog, Tarte, a yellow cocker spaniel that’s staying with Gretchen for the time being. They’ll bring her over this afternoon as part of his therapy.

I ask him what he remembers of the car accident.

He surprises me with information I didn’t know.

“I was pretty tore up, after being thrown from the car, but I couldn’t have been out too long, because I remember seeing the car flee the scene. A green Camry.” His hazel eyes flit to mine.

White heat rushes over my face. “Who was driving?”

“A blond man. Our eyes met for a second before he took off. I remember—he didn’t look scared, he looked angry.” Nathan shakes his head.

I lean forward. “Was anyone with him?”

“A woman. With long dark hair. She was crying and screaming at him to stop, to go back. I remember she said,” he throws his hands in the air, “‘what the hell are you doing? What the hell!’”

A shudder runs through me. “So they hit us and ran to stay out of trouble, just like we thought. Assholes.”

“I don’t know.” Nathan’s gaze goes hazy as he shakes his head. “The man, the driver, that look in his eyes—it was strange. Wouldn’t he be shocked he hit us? Not angry?”

“Maybe he was pissed at himself for being such an idiot. I mean the whole desert and you can’t drive well enough to miss one car?” I shake my head in anger.

Nathan’s eyes hold mine. “Exactly.” There’s something brewing behind his irises.

My blood runs cold. My brother doesn’t think this was an accident. “What do you mean?”

He grins, lifting his cup. “I thought you said you were the smart one.”

I slap my palm on the table top. “Explain.”

He ignores my impatience, pouring himself another cup from the carafe. He pours in cream, lazily stirring with a wooden stirrer. “We were the only two out there that night. In the middle of nowhere. We had our headlights on. Their windows were down. They had to hear our engine.”

Can’t be. But what he says makes sense. “You think they hit us on purpose? That they planned the whole thing?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, taking a sip from his mug. “God, this is good coffee.”

I don’t bother trying to explain about our family coffee business now. I need to ask a question that’s been on my mind for over a year. My throat tightens and I clear it. “Why did you leave the scene? Did you know I was still in the car?”

“No. I was so far from the car, I assumed I was the driver. My mind was so cloudy, I couldn’t even remember my own name. I set out, finding a house and telling them about the wreck. Thank god I found that house; they were the ones who called the medics who rescued you.”

“And after that?” I ask.

“I started getting this headache, and I got paranoid. I didn’t know if that man was after me, I didn’t have any memory of the time before the accident. I freaked and fled the house. I found my ID in my pocket. It was weird—that was how I found out my name was Nathan. I spent the rest of my time wandering, finding places that felt vaguely familiar.”

There are still so many unknowns. “Where’d you get the money?”

“The day after the accident? I was wondering around this desert town and a kid ran up to me, giving me an envelope of cash.” He holds the coffee stirrer between his fingers, fiddling with it. “I made it last.”

“You think the money was from the girl in the car?” I watch his face. “Don’t you?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. She seemed pretty distraught by the whole thing.”

“If you knew our last name, why didn’t you investigate?” I’ve always wondered why he didn’t look himself up.

“I don’t know. It was all so confusing. Seeing that guy’s face, I didn’t know what I’d gotten tied up in. I was afraid to call the authorities, I was afraid to come home—wherever that may have been.”

“Damn.” I run a hand through my hair. “This is crazy. We have to find that couple. We need to know what happened.”

He takes a deep drink from his mug. “I gave your gumshoe all the information I had about the wreck. He’s already on it.”

We drink more coffee than should be humanly possible, him asking questions, me answering them with stories from his past. The doctor comes back in to take Nathan for the next part of his treatment. They’re taking him back to his place, a penthouse in the city, to meet with Gretchen and Tarte. He’ll spend the night there, with the doctors, doing some more mind exercises, then Nathan will be back tomorrow night.

The house is quiet. I’m strung up on caffeine and excitement. I go for my second run of the day. When I get home I’m dripping with sweat and endorphins.

My brother is home. I feel good. Really good. For the first time in a long time.

I shower, dressing in sweats and a tee, prepping for a quiet night in. I’m just about to open a bottle of wine and order Chinese takeout for delivery when there’s a knock at my door.

Has Nathan escaped his entourage of doctors and come back here to watch the game with me? I laugh at the thought. I wouldn’t put it past him. Nathan never stayed somewhere he didn’t want to be.

I open the door, expecting my brother to be standing on my stoop with a pizza box in his hand and sheepish grin on his face, telling me he just couldn’t take any more of the quacks.

It’s not Nathan.

It’s… her.

She stands on my stoop, her face pale. She’s wearing the red dress. The one I bought her in Paris. It’s loose. Apparently we’ve both lost weight. She’s still just as beautiful as ever.

“Long time no see.” She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. There are circles under her eyes and a heavy weight on her shoulders. She’s a different girl than the one I saw at the coffee shop that day. Sadder.

“Yeah.” I hold the edge of the door in my hand, my fingers tight around the wood. I get right to the point. “Why are you here?”

So does she. “I need money.”

“That’s nice.” I wait, holding her gaze. I’ll not make this easy on her.

“I need money. From you.” She shoves her hands in the pockets of her jacket. She bites her bottom lip and I almost take her in my arms.

I stop myself, growing cold. “Why?”

Her gaze flits to the ground. Her words are a whisper. “I can’t tell you why.”

I already know I’m going to give her the money. But I want her to hurt. My tone is ice. “Why should I give it to you?”

Her pretty brown eyes meet mine, sending a bolt of lightning through me. “One night. No rules. You can do whatever you want. Anything.”