“I’ve missed you,” Oliver said simply.
I rubbed the back of my neck, brushing strands of blond hair from my nape. “You have a hard time taking no for an answer.” I stepped aside so he could come in. Nodding teasingly, he walked past me, his muscular arm brushing against my breasts. My nipples immediately hardened under the contact, and I turned my body away from him and hoped he didn’t notice. “I was going to call you back.”
“No you weren’t,” he tossed over his broad shoulder.
Slamming the door so hard the stained-glass rattled, I followed him into the family room, where he sprawled out on the white Belgian linen couch. Today, I would keep my distance from him. I couldn’t handle letting him screw with my body when my mind was already so overwhelmed. Resting my shoulder tiredly against the crown molding in the doorway, I watched him furtively, willing myself to stay strong.
“I told you, you sounded upset. I couldn’t sit across town thinking of you being here alone like that because then I’d get pissed off.” He loosened his tie, his expression softening. “Let me fix this, so we can go eat.”
“I’m fine,” I argued, my pulse speeding as I processed his words. It was similar to what he’d written on the envelope he sent four weeks ago—I fix what I break. The thing was, nothing that was broken was Oliver’s doing. It was all on his mother. “I’m fine,” I repeated. “But you should probably leave.”
He didn’t budge from his spot. “Let me guess, Margaret is installing new appliances and you’re waiting for a delivery guy?”
Apparently, he had no idea his ex-girlfriend had been invited to his mother’s house, and I waffled over telling him. After all, he wasn’t supposed to be here right now. Biting my lip in indecision, I eventually shook my head. “No, it’s—”
But then the doorbell rang a second time, and I shot Oliver a warning look. “You really might want to go,” I warned.
Starting toward me, he ran his hand through his hair, tousling the light brown strands. “Not until I have your guarantee that you’ll come have lunch with me.”
“You should probably leave because—” The sound of the door opening and heels clacking across the marble floor stopped me, and I twisted to see Oliver’s tall, leggy brunette ex making a beeline toward me.
“You must be Lizzie,” she began in a sticky-sweet voice. She started into the family room, excitement springing into her hazel eyes at the sight of Oliver with his tie undone. Looking like he’d just seen a ghost, his perfectly toned body froze. “Ollie? I saw your car, but I thought—”
In a day full of surprises and disappointments, I shouldn’t have felt anything when she raced across the room with her chin-length hair flying around her delicately boned face. She practically threw herself at him. Oliver was a serial dater—I’d known that since before we met. Still, my nausea returned full force watching Finley burrow into his arms.
“I missed you while I was in Italy,” she breathed into the front of his crisp shirt, before he grabbed her shoulders and gently drew her away. “I had no idea you’d be here to meet me.”
“Fin—” he groaned, and I squeezed my eyes shut and turned away. I absolutely could not stand there and watch whatever was going to unfold between them. Grabbing my purse off the armchair beside the entryway, I rushed into the foyer, only to stop abruptly at the sight of the skinny, dark-haired teenage boy dragging in luggage.
Rolling in a couple of Louis Vuitton bags, a grin broke across the boy’s face as his eyes traveled up my body. He plucked his earbuds out his ears and tucked them in his back pocket. “I’m Mason, and—”
“And way too young,” an older male voice interjected jokingly, causing the kid to roll his dark blue eyes. Angling my body a little, I was grateful for the grand piano in the foyer, because I sagged against the side of it when I saw the man’s face.
I’d met him once before.
In his office.
His hair had been black then, and not the salt and pepper it was now, but I knew this man. I’d met him when I came to L.A. to meet my stepmother seven years ago.
The memory hit me like a ton of bricks, and this time I recalled everything—from his name, to the blue suit he’d been wearing, to the way he’d barely looked at me as he ripped my confidence to shreds.
"Your name is nowhere in your father's will, and Margaret has informed me that you and your mother have been aware of that since he passed away. You are more than welcome to contest the will, Ms. Emerson, but I'm going to warn you—you'll feel the crushing reality of all the legal fees before you can bat your pretty brown eyes. Now, Margaret is prepared to settle with you ... as long as you don't come back with your hand stretched out. You understand what I'm saying, don't you, sweetheart?"
Staring up from the back of my hands, I’d nodded. “I understand.”
“Good girl,” he’d crooned, before calling his legal assistant into the room. “Now, about the settlement—”
“I don’t want it.”
He’d chuckled, a soft, condescending noise that made my temperature rise. “You’re just upset, Ms. Emerson. Of course you want to—”
“I. Don’t. Need. It.”
The memory washed away, and I smiled despite the heavy pounding in my head. I felt like I was going to be sick. Like I was going to throw up all over Margaret’s polished foyer floor.
“You must be Mr. Scott,” I forced out politely, taking a step forward with my hand stretched out. He took my fingers in his. “I’m Lizzie Connelly. I’ve left the key to the house for you on the mantle. Is there anything you need to make your stay more comfortable until Margaret returns?” I spoke mechanically, hardly realizing what I said.
Oh, God. Why didn’t I figure this out when Pen told me Finley’s name? Why couldn’t I remember this then?
His thumb stroked the back of my hand, and acid burned its way up my throat. I was terrified. Terrified and pissed off. What if he recognized me? What if he told Margaret exactly who I was?
What would happen if I hit this man right now?
One teeny-tiny punch to the throat?
“Lizzie, this is Finley Scott.” I turned at the sound of Oliver’s voice. He stood in the doorway, looking beautifully agitated, with his ex standing a few feet away. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she worked her small teeth over her bottom lip furiously. Staring at me apologetically, Oliver gestured to the teen and then to the attorney. His eyes darkened when they dropped to our linked hands. “That’s her brother, Mason, and Michael, her father. They’re longtime friends of ... my family.”
“It’s great to meet you all.” Returning my attention back to Michael, I searched his eyes for some sign of recognition, but there was absolutely none. I pulled my hand from his grip, clenching my fingers by my side. “Margaret has said so many amazing things about you,” I lied.
“You as well, Ms. Connelly. And I think we have everything we need here. Margaret is always such an accommodating hostess.”
The laugh I released grated the tiny fraction of self-control I had left. I pulled my purse in front of my body. Digging inside, I found one of my business cards and handed it to him, making certain not to touch him again. “If you need anything at all while she’s away, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
Unable to breathe, I practically ran to my Mini Cooper, refusing to stop even when I heard Oliver call my name.
*
As I left my father’s home, my muscles so taut it was difficult to move, I should have been glad Michael hadn’t noticed me. I should have thanked the heavens that I’d made it out of that house unscathed, with a phone full of documents and a stack of important paperwork in my purse.