Ben was still mulling over Ezra’s words several hours later at home when his doorbell rang. Engaging his home’s smart app, he rolled his eyes at the devilish, grinning face of his best friend, Davis Yates. Striding from his home office, he crossed the living room and kitchen and descended the short staircase to open the front door. “Look what the cat dragged to B-more!”
“Benji!” Davis held up his curved palm and Ben took it, pulling the other man in and slapping him on the back. “How’s it going?”
Ben winced at the dreaded nickname, but let it slide. “I’m good. You?”
“I can’t complain. Well, I could, but no one would give a fuck.”
“Truer words . . .” Motioning for Davis to enter, Ben waited for the other man to pick up the duffel at his feet, before closing the door behind him. “Dude, you’re always welcome to my guest room when your latest kicks you out, but it’s a long way from New York.”
“Ha. Ha. I had a meeting with a few lawmakers in DC. Thought I’d stop by to see one of my best friends on my way back home.”
Ben wasn’t fooled by the calm tone or the considerate words. Especially because Davis wasn’t known for either trait. Davis was loyal, charming and always down for a good time, but one didn’t go to him looking for comfort.
That was Ben’s forte.
He turned and headed up the stairs knowing Davis would follow. “You want a drink?”
“Hell yeah. I always need to take the edge off after dealing with fucking politicians.”
Ben laughed and headed into the kitchen. “I guess water’s out. Beer, wine, bourbon, or tequila?”
Davis leaned an elbow on the counter. “Yes.”
It was barely five thirty. Knowing he had a couple hours of work ahead of him and Davis still needed to travel home, Ben opened the fridge and grabbed a local brew. He popped the top off the bottle and handed it to Davis.
“Should’ve known you’d play it safe. Join me?”
Ben grabbed one for himself and leaned back against the island, crossing his feet at the ankle.
Davis took a long pull. “I needed that.” He cleared his throat then loosened his tie while surveying the space. “I haven’t visited since you moved. This is much nicer than the place you had in Annapolis. Bigger, too.”
“Thanks.” Ben studied Davis, noting the way he pulled on his ear, scratched his shadowed jaw, and fidgeted with the bottle’s label. “Why are you really here?”
“I told you, it was on my way—”
“Bullshit. I’m seeing you next week, so this little detour wasn’t necessary.”
“So, you are planning on coming?”
“Of course. Why would you doubt it?”
He exhaled. “Because my mother spoke to your mother, who didn’t know you were going to be on the Vineyard.”
Fuck! Ben shoved a hand through his hair. He kept communication and contact with his family to a minimum. “What am I, fifteen? My parents don’t need to know my comings and goings. There was never a question about me being there next week.”
“I hope not. Palmer and Bronwen would be upset if you didn’t show. It’ll be a while before we’re all in the same room again.”
Which was why Ben wasn’t going to miss this trip. He, Davis, and Palmer had known each other since they were children, their parents having all met while vacationing with their families during the season on Martha’s Vineyard. Palmer had met Bronwen in college and it wasn’t long before they were a package deal.
In two weeks, Palmer and Bronwen were both traveling across the world for three years to head up bridge and water projects, respectively, through Engineers Without Borders.
“I don’t understand this need you have to ignore your family. You already separated from the business and proved you can be a success on your own. What purpose does it serve to keep them ignorant of your life?”
“Dealing with my parents is like engaging in a game of mental chess. It’s tiring and I refuse to play any longer.”
“But they’re the only parents you have. My parents have their issues, but these past few years, I’ve noticed they’re not as invincible as I thought. Especially my dad.” Davis lifted a shoulder. “I know you. You’d be gutted if you didn’t settle the discord between you while you still had the chance.”
He appreciated Davis’s perspective, but they’d had different experiences growing up. Despite their issues with each other, in the eyes of the Yateses, Davis could do no wrong. Ben’s parents believed wrong was all their son did.
“So”—Davis trailed his fingers in the condensation streaming off his beer bottle—“are you still seeing that preschool teacher?”
Jennifer?
Hadn’t Nic asked about her, too?
He’d met Jennifer at the gym. She was pretty and sweet, and he’d enjoyed being with her. In the beginning. Though she’d possessed many of the characteristics he was looking for in a wife and partner, he’d had to admit he’d begun finding her company . . . unstimulating. When he’d realized he preferred staying home to meeting her at the ballpark, or the aquarium, or the museum, he’d known it was time to end things.
“No. We broke up a few weeks ago.”
And she’d taken it with the same graciousness she’d exhibited the entire time they’d dated. What was wrong with him? Jennifer was the type of woman he wanted to be with.
Then why weren’t you still together?
“Is there anyone else you’re spending time with?” Davis pressed.
His mind spun through a roulette wheel of images and quickly settled on Nic. He preferred spending time with her more than anyone else, but Davis’s question seemed to imply something beyond the scope of friendship. Which wouldn’t describe him and Nic. The more Ben thought about it, the more he realized their association was contained within these four walls. Granted, she didn’t have a lot of free time, but as far as anyone outside of this house was concerned, their friendship didn’t exist.
He kneaded a spot on his chest to ease the sudden tightness. “No.”
“You’re single, then?” Davis confirmed, his innocent expression incongruous with the sharp planes and angles of his face.
Ben narrowed his eyes. What the—
He straightened and deliberately placed his beer on the counter behind him. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
He wasn’t buying it. “If you don’t spill, I will post the picture of you on the beach wearing that lime green Borat mankini.”
Davis scoffed. “You don’t have that picture.”
He was right, but . . . “How do you know? Are you willing to risk it?”
Davis tilted his head. “You wouldn’t.”
Ben didn’t flinch. “Try me.”
Davis’s icy blue eyes—the feature women seventeen to seventy had deemed “dreamy”—widened.
In their group of friends, Ben was the keeper of the peace, the ringmaster of resolutions. He wasn’t one for seeking out conflict or making waves. He was even-keeled, easygoing.
Until he wasn’t.
They stared at each other for several long drawn-out moments. Ben almost expected to hear an ominous twanging instrumental score followed by the sight of tumbleweed drifting across the room.
Davis broke first.
“Damn you! Sometimes I think you’re a fucking robot!” He sighed. “I don’t know the specifics, but Bronwen invited Tinsley.”
Ben closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.
Fuck.
Tinsley was the girl everyone thought he should marry, and, for a time, he’d agreed. She was from a prominent New England family and like him, she had certain ideas about what her future would look like. Unfortunately, her picture of her future hadn’t been with someone who’d left their family’s guaranteed fortune and struck out, unpredictably, on their own.
“Jesus Christ! You’re a Van Mont! Why would you give that up to start over?”
She’d broken off their engagement a month after he’d opened his business, informing him she had no interest in “struggling.”
“And Palmer didn’t say anything?” His friend had to know how Ben would feel about this development.
Davis waved off his words. “What was Palmer going to say?”
Not much.
Palmer adored Bronwen. Had from the moment he’d seen her long dark ponytail streaming out behind her on the lacrosse field. If she wanted Tinsley to come, Palmer would make it happen.
And why shouldn’t he? Ben and Davis weren’t the couple’s only friends. It wasn’t Ben’s place to curate Palmer’s guest list. But dammit! A week in a house on Martha’s Vineyard with his ex was not Ben’s idea of fun.
“Are you still in love with her?” Davis asked.
“No.”
Had he ever been in love with her? He’d thought so. She was beautiful, cultured and well-traveled. She’d wanted to get married and have children. And his parents had approved of her.
Wholeheartedly.
“Are you sure? Because she seems to think you are.”
Ben jerked back. “What did she say?”
“She told Bronwen you asked her out when the two of you ran into each other in Manhattan.”
Ben wanted to grind his teeth. This is what he was afraid of. Tinsley wasn’t interested in just celebrating her friends. Not when she could stir up mischief, too. His ex loved drama, would create it for herself even if none was present.
“It wasn’t in Manhattan. I saw her when I went skiing in Vail with Rick and Hunter.”
“I remember that trip! I was going to crash it but I ended up having to go to London.”
“It was the first time I’d seen her since we’d broken up the year before. I didn’t want things to be awkward, so I invited her to have dinner with a group of us, hoping we’d be able to get along. She agreed but bailed at the last minute.”
Typical Tinsley move.
Drama.
When they’d been together, that particular stunt had usually been followed by Ben searching her out and convincing her to spend time with him. Sometimes the convincing took an hour or more and when she eventually conceded—as she always did—she’d make it seem as if she’d generously granted him a favor. Looking back on it, he realized that dealing with Tinsley had been just as tiring as dealing with his parents. Maybe that’s why he’d stayed with her so long.
The dysfunction had felt familiar.
“She seems to have regretted that action,” Davis said.
Ha! Because she hadn’t gotten the response she’d wanted. He hadn’t chased after her.
“All she could talk about during her lunch with Bronwen was your business and how well it was doing.”
“I was raised to expect a certain standard of living, Ben. Now you want me to live beneath that? When I don’t have to?”
He flicked a glance skyward. “Not interested.”
“Then good luck. Tinsley was always ruthless when it came to getting her way.”
He gestured palm up toward Davis. “I’ll hang out with you. You can be my reverse wingman.”
“Yeah, about that . . .” Davis grimaced and pawed a hand through the hair at his nape.
“You’re bringing someone?”
It had never occurred to him to ask. Bringing a date for the week seemed to imply more commitment than Davis had ever seemed interested in exhibiting before. Not a surprise considering his parents’ acrimonious divorce when Davis was a teenager and his father’s subsequent multiple marriages.
“Yeah. Sabine.”
Davis and Sabine had been hooking up casually for the past few years. According to Davis, it was an arrangement that worked well for them.
“Wait. Everyone will be boo’d up?”
Except him.
And Tinsley.
Maybe he could fly out and surprise Palmer and Bronwen in Fiji . . .
Davis pointed at him. “I can see your brain working. Don’t you dare back out now. Why don’t you bring someone?”
“For what?”
“To discourage Tinsley!”
“You think that’ll work?”
“No, but it’ll be better than if you show up alone.”
When had his life turned into some teenage rom-com? That wasn’t him. He didn’t like playing games.
“I’m not dating anyone.”
“It doesn’t have to be serious. You’re rich, good-looking. It shouldn’t be hard to find someone who’d be willing to spend a week with you in a beachfront house on the Vineyard.” Davis glanced at his watch. “My train leaves Penn Station at seven thirty. Let me hit the bathroom and then you can treat me to dinner at the Capital Grille before you drive me to the station.”
“What if I had plans?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
Ben shook his head and laughed. “Fine. There’s a half bath back near the door.”
Davis loped off and Ben searched for his phone and keys. He was slipping into his shoes when the front door opened, and the heavy tread of footfalls running up the wooden stairs thundered through the space.
“Ben!” Nic’s husky tone was brimming with anger. She rushed into the kitchen, dressed in black tapered pants and a white collared shirt, her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing as they skittered around the room.
He’d never seen Nic look so totally out of control. “What’s wrong? I thought you were on call tonight. Are you okay?”
“You won’t believe what that little fucker did! He ran to his daddy! And now they’ve sent me home while they look into the ‘situation,’” she said, curving her index and middle fingers in the air.
“Hold up.” He gripped her upper arms to still her incessant pacing. “What are you talking about? Who’s the little fucker?”
She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “There was nothing inappropriate about my actions. And they want to take that intern’s side over mine? I’ve never heard of that. Ever!”
She was talking so fast—frustration swamped him. How could he help her if he didn’t understand what happened?
“Slow down, Nic. Please. It’ll be okay.”
“No! It won’t!” She pulled away from him. “I did the right thing. Whitaker deserved to be reprimanded. And to think I hesitated to write him up, considered the ramifications on his career, and that motherfucker went and reported me!” As hot as she’d burned, she suddenly cooled, her shoulders slumped, and her chin trembled. “I’ve worked so hard to get where I am and I’m damn good at my job. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
Without a second thought, he opened his arms and Nic stepped into them. She gripped his T-shirt in her fists and rested her forehead against his chest. Her trim body shook and he hugged her close, hating her distress and wishing he could take it on himself.
However, even in the midst of consoling her, he couldn’t help but acknowledge how great she felt against him, fitting him perfectly, like a newly found puzzle piece. The faint scent of honeysuckle teased his nose and he inhaled, drawing in her fragrance.
“What’s this froufrou lotion in the bath— Well, well, well. What do we have here?” A grinch-like smile creased Davis’s face. “Benji, I thought you said you weren’t dating anyone.”
Dammit.
Nic froze in his embrace and then jerkily, as if some invisible being was controlling her movements, she backed away and turned to face Davis. Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head to the side, staring up and down at his friend, as if assessing him. Curling her lip, she jammed her hands on her hips.
“Benji,” she said, placing special emphasis on the nickname, “who in the hell is this and why is he using my expensive, specially ordered castanha oil hand cream?”