Page 12 of In the Heir (Westerly Billionaire 1)
“I believe that was covered by my earlier promise.” As usual his mother didn’t laugh, so he added, “I won’t say anything to her.”
She lowered her voice. “I think he’s only marrying Alisha to get his inheritance.”
“Does she know that?” he asked, relieved that his mother shared his opinion. And confused by his own reaction.
“I don’t know, and that worries me. Alisha has always been a bit of a lost soul. She wants to belong so badly, and I’m afraid that’s why she agreed. I hope Spencer is being honest with her. I’ve tried to talk to both of them, but they say they’re in love. I don’t want to see her hurt. Is there anything you could say to him that would encourage him to go slower? I feel like if they have more time, they’d both realize that this isn’t what they want.”
Brett paced the living room of his penthouse long after he hung up with his mother. He hadn’t agreed to talk to Spencer about pushing his wedding date back, because he was sure he shouldn’t be the one to question how Spencer felt about Alisha. Objectivity was impossible when one had a vested interest in the outcome.
And despite how Brett tried to deny it, Alisha was becoming an obsession. His nights were lost to imagining her beside him. His ability to concentrate on work was constantly threatened by thoughts of where she might be and a need to know she was okay. He not only spent an insane amount of time thinking about her, but she was also affecting him in ways he hadn’t expected.
In all the years he’d known about his mother’s infidelity, he’d never asked her about it. Her cheating had joined a long list of things he’d never questioned—along with why she hadn’t fought for him to go with her.
Why had it been so easy to leave him behind? Did Dad force her to? Did he need to groom me to take over Westerly Corp.? He’d always assumed she hadn’t wanted him enough to fight for him, but how much choice had either of them had? Twenty years of anger . . .
Talking to his mother had answered some of Brett’s questions. She still loved my father. Had never stopped. I knew why he had pulled away from her, how he had effectively sacrificed his marriage, his family, to save the business. A business . . . over family. Something he still held fast to. But Brett still had more questions, and he wasn’t sure where that left him.
What kind of man am I?
I don’t want to be like my father. Rich. Bitter.
Alone.
Unlike Spencer. If he marries Alisha.
Fucking Alisha.
How do I get her out of my head?
Chapter Six
“Hello? Spencer?” Alisha knocked on the door to Spencer’s brownstone apartment a second time. “I know you’re in there. Open the door.” His lights were on. His car was on the street. Why wasn’t he answering? This is ridiculous. She knocked harder. Since speaking to Spencer briefly on Tuesday, he’d gone MIA. The last thing he’d said was that they needed to get a marriage license, and that might delay their plans another week. He’d suggested they go together to get it on Thursday or Friday, but she hadn’t heard from him since. No text. No phone call. Nothing. If he’d changed his mind about marrying her that was certainly not a reason to hide. She’d be relieved. Which he would know if he wasn’t avoiding me. She raised her voice. “I am not leaving until you talk to me, so you might as well open the door.”
His door finally opened, and Spencer stood there dripping wet with a sheepish smile on his face, wearing nothing more than a towel. Another woman might have found him irresistible like that, but Alisha felt nothing beyond irritation. “Sorry, Alisha. Would you believe I was on a business call?”
She rolled her eyes. “In the shower?”
His grin widened. “You got me. Hey, I don’t mean to be rude, but can we talk later?”
She put her hands on her hips and mimicked his voice, “Hey, I don’t mean to be rude, either, but no.” She stepped by him and into the entrance of his apartment. “What happened? Why aren’t you answering my calls?”
He reluctantly closed the door. “I needed some time to think. Last weekend was a lot to process.”
“Spencer, are you coming back or should I turn the shower off?” a female voice called out from up the stairs.
Alisha shook her head. Spencer had always been popular with women, and she was under no illusion about the nature of their engagement. Still, finding him with a woman when he was telling the world he wanted to marry her was insulting. She gave him a long, measured look that she hoped conveyed her feelings.
He shrugged like a child caught in the act of something he knew he shouldn’t do, but would also do again without hesitation. “Monica is a friend of mine from California. I forgot she was coming. We get together whenever she has a conference in Boston.” He studied Alisha’s expression again. “You’re not upset, are you?”
“About her? No.”
“I figured that once we get married, I should at least try to not be with other women, out of respect for you. But we could be married a while. That’s a long time to go without—” He stopped, then cocked his head to one side. “Because we would never . . . You’re not expecting to . . .”
“No.”
“Thank God,” Spencer said, then made a pained face. “I don’t mean that the way it sounds. You are completely fuckable; it would just feel wrong.”
Alisha sighed. Fuckable? I’m fuckable? Not pretty, gorgeous . . . fuckable. She knew what he meant. Still, not an ego builder.
“Spencer?” Monica called from halfway down the stairs. She froze when she saw Alisha, then smiled and purred, “Is this what you were trying to tell me earlier? Oh, I’m in. She’s beautiful.”
Alisha took a quick step back. “I’m not here for—”
Spencer laughed. “You should see your face, Alisha. Who knew you were such a prude?”
Alisha swatted at Spencer and took another step toward the door. “I’m flattered and completely accepting of other people’s preferences, but I came by to ask Spencer a question.”
The woman dropped her towel and ran a hand across her ample breasts. “Are you sure? I haven’t been with a woman in a while, but I know we’d have fun.”
After a quick fumble with the door, Alisha escaped through it. Spencer followed her, looking over his shoulder and then back at Alisha apologetically. “See why I couldn’t say no? She doesn’t care that I’m engaged. This is guilt-free. Like one last ice-cream cone before cutting out sugar.”
Alisha was on the bottom of the steps, looking up at him. “At least I know why you weren’t taking my calls.”
A hand snaked around his shoulder and across his bare chest as he stood there, and his towel began to tent. “I meant to. Time flies when you’re having fun. She leaves on Sunday night. I’ll call you then.”
“Fine,” Alisha said as she turned away.
“Alisha,” Spencer called out.
Alisha glanced over her shoulder in his direction but refused to actually look at him. “What?”
“Thanks for understanding.”
“No problem,” she answered automatically.
“Hey, I told you, you were fuckable. Monica is disappointed.” His tone was the teasing one they often used with each other.
Facing forward again, Alisha shot her middle finger back at him. The past couple of weeks had been emotional, and she’d begun to worry that they’d overwhelmed Spencer.
Apparently, he was fine.
I’m going to be, too. When Spencer surfaces from—that—we’ll talk. I’ll tell him the concerns I have about how little we’ve thought through this marriage-and-divorce thing. How I don’t want to lie to his mother or to anyone else.
And we’ll figure out where we go from there.
The more she thought about it, the more relieved she was at the reason Spencer hadn’t been calling her. He looked happy and confident, and that was what mattered most to Alisha.
She smiled. And Monica thinks I’m hot.
So at least I know the yoga is working.
After telling himself
all week that he wouldn’t, Brett parked his car in front of Spencer’s brownstone and planned what he would say to his brother. It was Friday, and no one had heard from Spencer all week.
He better not already be married.
Or?
Or I’ll be forced to be happy for him.
I don’t know if I can do that.
Brett rang the doorbell, but there was no answer. He searched the street for Spencer’s car. Shit. He was preparing to leave when Spencer’s car pulled up. His gut twisted painfully when he saw Spencer lean over and kiss Alisha. He’d never respected a man who lusted after another man’s woman, but there he was, suffering from a full-blown case of jealousy over a woman he barely knew.
Spencer exited and walked around to let Alisha out. It was only then that Brett realized the woman who wrapped herself about Spencer was a brunette. Anger replaced jealousy as Brett strode toward them.
“Spencer,” Brett growled his brother’s name.
“Brett.” Spencer’s eyes rounded. “Monica, this is my brother, Brett. Brett, meet Monica.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Brett demanded.
Monica brought a hand to her chin. Her eyes danced with mischief. “Do you really want to know? Maybe watch?”
Spencer frowned at the woman. “Monica, that’s my brother. And you shouldn’t joke like that. He’ll think we’re more than friends.”
