Now he understood why he was blocked at every psychic turn. This wasn’t something he could see into or through. The only way to move forward was to be present in real time and let the situation play out.
“Fate, destiny, whatever you call it,” Hadley reminded him. “We all face it whether we realize it at the time or not. If this woman is the one, and you take up the challenge, remember who you are, Darnell. It’s really that simple. Remember who you are.”
Well, who he was at the moment was a disgruntled Wanamaker with a trunk full of suitcases and travel bags, speeding along in the back of a luxury limousine. It was too fucking early in the day to start drinking, but that didn’t stop him. Not when the limo service provided a convenient pitcher of Bloody Marys along with a brunch platter consisting of mini bagels with lox and cream cheese, a blueberry Danish, and some cut fruit.
He ate because why the fuck not. Someone else was driving, so he felt no qualms about slugging down two very large Bloody Marys. This was, after all, exactly why he used a car service.
His phone rang, and “Teenage Dream” filled the back seat with memories. Every time he thought about switching his ring tone to something that didn’t rip his heart out, he changed his mind.
Feeling less likely to tear out someone’s throat for no reason, Arnie took the last hefty guzzle of the Bloody Mary and answered.
“Yo, Dad. Whaddup?”
“Please tell me you’re on the way. Reinforcements are needed.”
Arnie’s buzz immediately backed off. He sat straighter and gripped his temple with one hand. “How bad is it?”
“Well, let’s see. Uncle Eddie is pontificating about decorum. Unbelievable, considering he’s doing his secretary.”
Arnie snorted. Edward, yes, that’s a stick up my ass, Wanamaker was three years younger than Arnie’s dad and wore sibling jealousy like a war medal pinned to his chest. The two brothers barely tolerated each other, a dismal way to live and a part of the reason he was so determined to salvage his relationship with Stan. He didn’t want their brother dynamic to be a decades-long battlefield.
“What?”
“Patty Murgen,” his father drawled. “Moved her way up through the secretarial pool in the Philadelphia office. Last year, she stepped in temporarily when Eddie’s regular had surgery. Whispers around the water cooler suggest she fit quite nicely under his reproduced Resolute desk, if you catch my drift.”
“That stupid desk,” Arnie grumbled. “I mean, come on! What kind of pretentious twat drops a shitload of Benjamins to have a replica made of a presidential heirloom, size adjusted to fit his fat ass?”
“My brother, that’s who. He’s a fucking caricature of what bad behavior in the upper class looks like. Office blowjobs are tacky. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg heading for a collision with the S.S. Wanamaker. Senior isn’t fucking around this time. The hammer is dropping, and I can’t handle the fallout alone.”
“Where’s Stan? Why isn’t he on backup duty?”
“Oh, yeah. And then there’s that,” his dad snarled. “Giselle rode in on her venom-powered broomstick and started shit right away.”
“Fuck.”
“Yep. And while Aunt Lou took the opportunity to castigate me yet again for not legally excising Giselle out of Stan’s life—a battle I was never going to win, by the way —she took enormous delight in re-enacting a scene Giselle caused at the bed and breakfast where she’s staying.”
“She’s not at the house?”
His dad snorted. “Oh, god no. My father is a crafty devil. By forcing everyone to Connecticut and then only permitting a few to invade his home, he ensured a free-for-all when it came to nearby accommodations. The Marriott is full—the big one with the on-site spa. Giselle wasn’t happy with being shuffled to the Courtyard Marriott and threw a fit. That was how she ended up at a B&B. Lou said the lawyer Giselle leads around on a leash got ripped a new one. I was wrong about him.”
“How so?”
“I thought she was sleeping with the schmuck. It turns out, he’s got brains and boundaries.”
“Stan thinks he’s going to turn.”
His dad’s hearty chuckle came through the phone loud and clear. “We think a lot alike. Bruce Wells is an ingratiating slimeball whose saving grace is a conscience. If he turns on Giselle, I’m totally down with tossing him a lifeline. Everyone needs a slimy lawyer from time to time.”
Giselle played her cards to maximum advantage from day one. By not cheating on her marriage