She glanced at the small crystal clock on her bedside table. Saturday morning, opening day at Pandora’s Box.
Fixing the past would have to wait a few more hours.
Like on most Saturday mornings, Drew walked through the heavy doors of the Chicago Athletic Union.
Absently swinging his racket bat, he plotted his next move with Athena. Could he trust her to keep up her end of things?
He took the steps two at a time to control his surge of adrenaline. He had no time for confusion. Regardless of their past, he and Athena needed to find those dresses together, and soon.
On the landing, he glanced up at the life-size paintings of his great-grandfather John Clayworth, the founder of the club, and grandfather William Clayworth, who had been the life force keeping the game of rackets flourishing in Chicago. Drew saluted them as he passed, acknowledging how well they’d kept their mission alive.
He and Connor were like all Clayworth males for generations, believing rackets was more than a ball game for two or four people played with bats and a hard ball in a high, four-walled slate court. It was a gentleman’s game in which they developed the camaraderie, the Clayworth loyalty, that the family had become legendary for maintaining.
They were as solid as ever, but a hell of a lot less gentlemanly, playing harder on and off the court.
Ducking, Drew stepped through the short steel door into one of three racket courts still remaining at the club.
“You’re late!” Connor called out.
“I’m still taking your money this morning,” Drew laughed, swinging his bat.
He glanced up into the galley to make sure Patrick, the rackets pro, hadn’t arrived yet to be their marker before they discussed family business. “Whoever wins decides whether or not we attend the opening of Pandora’s Box today.”
“Are you nuts? Did you get a whiff of that truth serum? They’ve agreed to keep quiet about the dresses. Let’s not give them reason to change their minds.” Connor didn’t disguise his impatience. “As Clayworth legal counsel, I advise against it.”
“Cut the lawyer crap, Connor. You know as well as I do that Ann Smith was Henry’s muse for years. She helped make the Fashions of the Hour Shop what it is today. The fact her daughters hate our guts doesn’t change anything. I told you Athena and I cut a deal. Besides, you’re the one who told me I needed to keep communication open with her.”
“I say we leave it alone.” Connor locked eyes with him, and their war of wills filled the room with tension. “If we attend, the speculation about Alistair’s retirement will start up again.”
“It’s never gone away.” Drew glanced up. “Patrick is here. Let’s play.”
His mind more on the reason for the tight band of tension between them than on the game, Drew let Connor take the point.
With each slam of his bat, and each point Patrick called out above them, Drew watched Connor and thought about Alistair Smith. So highly trusted by Clayworth’s for decades. What had gone wrong?
Could the missing dresses have anything to do with Alistair? Could Athena be involved?
Drew served hard to the corner, and Connor missed the shot.
Connor shook his head. “All right. I owe you a twenty, but you haven’t won yet.”
Drew nodded, but he couldn’t concentrate on the game. He kept thinking how Connor saw the world in black and white. To Connor, Alistair had been duplicitous and responsible for major losses at their bottom line. Did he see Athena in the same way?
Again, Drew went through his analysis of the case against Alistair. The investments gone wrong. They had been significant, but not fatal. When had Alistair decided to become a gambler, making riskier investments, trying for bigger returns to cover his losses?
Did Athena know Drew’s had been the deciding vote condemning her father and demanding he step down?
If Alistair wasn’t the one to sign off on the risky investments, it had to be one of my cousins.
The ball whizzed past Drew’s ear.
He needed to get his head back in the game, not dwell on the impossible.
He hit Connor’s next serve neat and perfect, and the game escalated into a battle of wills. The slam of the ball against the wall over and over again became the rhythm of the pure male aggression rising off them like sweat. Christ, they hadn’t played with this much concentration in championship games. No banter, just blood-and-guts competition. Forget their usual bets. Today it was all about the Smith sisters, their dad, and, for Drew, the past.
He needed to get this over with. He hit the ball hard to Connor, slamming in the winning point.
Breathing and sweating like stallions after a race, their white shirts hanging out and white shorts rumpled and creased, they both bent over, catching their breath.
Drew caught his first. “We go to Pandora’s Box. I talk to Athena. Then I’m taking the kids from the center sailing before my race.”
Connor looked up at him and frowned. “You’re racing a lot lately. What’s going on?”
Drew shrugged. “You know I love it. Clayworths are creatures of habit. Look at us.”
Connor laughed. “Yes. Sometimes I hate this game.”
Drew nodded. “Yeah, I hear you. On that note, I’m heading for a shower.”
Connor followed him. “What’s bothering you, Drew? Are you second-guessing yourself about Athena? Do you think they’re up to something?”
Some emotion Drew couldn’t put a name to swept through him. “I don’t know yet. Today is about paying our debt to Ann Smith for years of loyalty by supporting her daughters in a new business enterprise.” Yeah, and an excuse to see Athena to figure the rest out.
Connor walked away but turned back to flash one of his rare grins. “For the record, I think you’re up to something. If you ever need me to crew for you, I’m in.”
Drew slowly followed him into the locker room, feeling guilty about keeping his plans to himself.
Yeah, he was up to something. Bridget had been right. It was more than time for him to fix himself. Finally fulfill the promise he’d made to himself. A promise Athena had stopped him from keeping.
Standing in the shower, letting the hot water pound over his shoulders, Drew couldn’t stop thinking about Athena. Trying like he had a hundred times before to understand why she’d betrayed his trust. He’d told her about that first time in Cowes on the Isle of Wight in England, standing with his parents as the competitors set sail on the famous offshore yachting race—the excitement he’d felt. Forty-four hours and eighteen minutes later, when the winner sailed into Plymouth in the South of England, after rounding the Fastnet Rock off the southwest coast of Ireland, they were there to see it. The passion to be that winner burned in his gut. He’d told his parents he wanted to race in the Fastnet. Knew they could win it.
He’d explained it all to Athena, his best friend. Why had she lied and said she understood?
Closing his eyes, Drew turned his face up and let the water cascade over it. It reminded him of the two years he’d been away from Chicago, away from everyone he cared about, to sail with his mom and dad while they perfected their skills for the next Fastnet race. They’d raced through sparkling swells that tossed back a spritzing of spray and towering black mountains of water that drenched him. He had been as good a sailor as both of them, better, in fact, and they knew it.
Yet they still wouldn’t let him crew the Fastnet, even though it had been his desire driving them from the beginning.
Drew turned on the cold water, numbing the memory of that last day when he’d begged them to let him go with them. He could still see his father’s stern face telling him they had decided it was too dangerous. Feel his mother’s cool lips on his cheek as she whispered, You’re so young, sweetie. All the crews are older and very experienced sailors.