Trade It All(36)

It had been a very long day and the idea of working with Kate was a welcome one. Willa didn’t want to play twenty questions every day with a boss who didn’t actually need an employee.

Her next question was an awkward one to ask, but she’d promised Lexi she would help with the bills. Whether they continued to live together or if she moved out, Willa still needed a job that would support her. “Will I still get paid?”

Clay nodded authoritatively. “Absolutely. In fact, I believe your salary should be doubled. Isn’t that right, Dax?” He quoted a monthly amount that was equal to what had once been Willa’s annual salary.

Dax shot Clay a skeptical look. “For an assistant to my secretary?”

“Little sisters are expensive.” Clay shrugged. “She could always still work for me.”

Dax pinned Willa down with a serious look. “Don’t say a word to Kate about your salary.”

“I won’t,” Willa promised. “But you don’t need to pay me that much. I’m okay with whatever the regular rate for someone in that position would be.”

Clay smiled proudly. “Isn’t she the cutest?” His expression darkened. “I still want to punch Lance.”

“You can’t,” Willa interjected quickly. If there was one sure-fire way of bringing the past into the forefront, that would be it.

“He won’t,” Dax said in a tone that delivered a warning to his friend as well.

That evening, Lance parked his car outside the proposed Capitol Complex site. He found a bench near it and watched people move through the area in front of it and between the side buildings. His head was churning with questions. He visually calculated the space, cataloguing permanent structures as well as those that could be removed to improve the flow. It calmed him. He did his clearest thinking when he distracted himself with mathematics. Things that appeared random made sense. Events could be predicted.

Some architects were artists. They envisioned something and then sought practical methods to make them possible. Lance started with a solid foundation and worked his way up. He was often brought in on projects as the voice of reason. Some called him the Dream Crusher.

His office building had been his sole creation and represented his preferred style. Its structural strength, though, and how he’d designed the building to be able to withstand almost anything in nature, hadn’t impressed Willa. She’d said it lacked warmth, which from a business point of view had never been important to him. His buildings were in demand because they were brilliantly designed.

But they don’t connect with people enough that they want to return to them?

Is that how she sees me?

Clay had canceled their meeting without explanation. If the reason had been Clay’s, Lance was reasonably certain he would have told him. Even if only to stir up trouble. The excuse about being too busy was bullshit.

Why would Clay bother with an excuse?

Did Willa say she didn’t want to see me?

Is she with him now?

His phone rang. He checked the caller ID. Ian. Shit. Thursday. I forgot about family game night. He let it go through to his voice service.

He checked through his text messages. There was nothing from Willa.

He rummaged through his computer bag for a moment and pulled out the leather journal he’d intended to give her that morning. His aunt had never done anything for his family while she was alive; it made sense that her journal wouldn’t either.

He opened the top cover and the black card fell onto his lap. He turned it between his fingers. The woman who’d left the card had expressed disappointment in his lack of curiosity. His team didn’t know who she was, but he should find out. Historically, at least where family shit was concerned, the Barringtons didn’t ask questions. Personal topics were minefields that were best avoided completely.

He used to agree with that philosophy, but that was a roadblock that had stopped him from forcing the truth out of Willa earlier. I would have done so many things differently had I known Lexi was the reason for the switch. I would have never called her immature or dismissed what she felt for me. I thought it was a childish prank and my pride had been hurt.

I should have made the truth a priority. My body knew it wasn’t her that day, I should have known that Willa wouldn’t have lied to me.

A part of me knew, but pushing Willa for answers risked bringing the wrath of my family down on me and I hadn’t been willing to do that back then.

Because peace must be maintained.

Fuck peace.

He turned to the page of the journal and began to read with a somewhat defiant interest. If there is something here I’ll find it. By the time he was halfway through the entries he was certain of one thing—the planet was better off without his aunt. The pages overflowed with bitterness, paranoia, and cold decisions to make people pay for betraying her. Strings of numbers, possibly phone numbers, were written with no explanation in the margins. None of it was written in the linear fashion of a sane person. Some numbers appeared scattered, seeming to start on one page and continue on another. There were also several references to his mother being pregnant with twins, then pages had been torn out. He now saw why Emily had wanted to ask his mother about her sister. The animosity his aunt had had for his mother was disturbing. Had that played a role in his mother’s breakdown?