Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(91)

“Lila.”

The sound of a throat clearing makes me glance up.

I blink in surprise when I see Duncan standing there, looking much more himself than the last time I laid eyes on him. The black eye has mostly faded, he’s showered and shaved, and his clothes no longer look wrinklier than an octogenarian’s ass.

“Kiddos,” I say slowly. “Go throw the ball with Fenway by the tree, where I can see you. I’ll be there in just a minute, okay?”

The twins are happy to oblige, grabbing Fenway’s leash and walking over to the clearing. I watch them for a moment before turning to look at my brother. He’s staring at the puppy.

“Fenway?”

I shrug. “He needed a name.”

“I’m glad you kept him.” His eyes move to mine. “You’ll make a much better owner than I would’ve.”

“Duncan. What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you.” He swallows. “To make things right.”

“Did you get my messages? There are some bad people looking for you. They came after me, nearly kidnapped me from Phoebe’s wedding!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Duncan’s face is the picture of remorse. “I didn’t think, in a million years, they’d actually target you.”

I dart a glance around, on high alert — just like I’ve been for the past week. My phone is rarely out of my hand, always ready to call for help if necessary.

“Duncan, you need to be careful. The two who attacked me are in custody now, but there could be more of them.”

“There won’t be more.”

My brows lift. “What?”

“I took care of it. Paid off my debt.”

“You took care of a hundred-thousand-dollar loan.”

He nods, looking speculative. “Almost two hundred thousand, actually, when all was said and done. Interest is a real killer.”

“Where did you get that kind of money?” I feel my face pale. “Oh my god, you robbed a bank, didn’t you?!”

He snorts. “No, I didn’t do anything illegal.”

“Explain.”

“ThinFlection,” he tells me, voice hushed with excitement. “My patent. I sold it to a huge beauty supply company. They think it’s going to be huge. Bigger than peel-off face masks!”

“As in, the mirrors that make you look skinny even if you’re not?” I ask doubtfully.

“Yes! I told you, if I could just find the right market…”

“Are you serious?”

“As a ten-million-dollar heart attack.” He grins and tosses his hands up. “I’m rich, sis!”

I blink at him in total silence.

“That’s what I’ve been doing these past few weeks,” he explains. “Finalizing the sale, clearing my debt, buying a new place out in LA. It’s sweet! You have to come visit when I’m all settled in.”

“Wow. I’m really happy for you,” I say, but it sounds hollow.

His grin fades a bit. “I don’t blame you for being pissed at me. Franky, I deserve it after what I put you through—”

“True,” I can’t help but agree.

He shoots me a look. “But, if you’ll give me a chance, I want to make things right.”

“How do you mean?”

“I already paid back Mom and Dad. I’d like to do the same for you.” He pauses. “Plus interest. In the form of a million dollars.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.” He grins. “You can keep your apartment. You can have your old life back, Lila, or hell, buy a better one. Everything can go back to how it was before I messed things up for you.”

Wow.

Of all the ways I expected this conversation to go, this one has caught me totally by surprise. I think about his offer for a minute, mentally tallying all the things I could buy with a million dollars.

Lifetime supply of MAC cosmetics!

A new Mini Cooper convertible!

All the designer bags and shoes I sold on eBay!

My pretty Crate & Barrel couch!

A bright pink moped, with a sidecar for Fenway!

The inventory flashes though my mind like a slot machine spinning numbers. The prospect is so tempting — not having to worry about money, restoring my life to its former chic glory. And yet, as thrilling as the prospect of unlimited funds is, in theory… the more I think about it, the more I realize I don’t want to recreate that life I used to live. I don’t want everything to go back to the way it was, even if it means living below my means.

Six months ago, I was a lonely party girl surrounded by pretty things, with a closet full of designer clothes and a heart full of crippling fear of abandonment. I couldn’t commit to anything more serious than an ice cream flavor, consumed by worries that loving anything meant dooming myself to a life of loss and misery.

I don’t miss that girl one bit.

Now, I have a job I adore, an adorable puppy who is growing so rapidly it makes my head spin, and an amazing man I’d sell my soul for, if he asked. Which he won’t, because he loves me. Unconditionally. Flaws and all.

Would I trade that in, for a million dollars?

“No,” I murmur.

My brother’s brow furrows. “What?”