Trillion(55)

For the longest time, I hated being called “Trey.” It was a nickname, meant to signify the fact that I was the third Pierce Ainsworth Westcott who ever existed. It made me think of the breakfast trays our staff was always delivering to my parents’ bedroom, and a kid at my prep school was always spelling it with an ‘a’ just to get under my skin.

Eventually, I learned to block out that noise.

“I think it’s a pretty nickname,” I say. I can understand not wanting to be called tray, but there’s nothing mean-spirited about Soph. “But I won’t call you that if you don’t want me to.”

“Thank you,” she says without hesitation. She rolls to her side, ending the conversation physically and otherwise.

Once again, she’s shutting me out.

One step forward, ten steps back.

I need to speak to Broderick in the morning. Since we’re fast-tracking everything, I want to ensure she receives her first payout sooner than the initial six-month mark.

She falls asleep in quiet, resisting increments. Her lips stir. Her eyes tighten. She adjusts her pillow again. And again. Part of me wants to pull her into my arms, slide my hands between her thighs, and get her out of her own head.

She can call this a partnership, but someday she’s going to realize it’s so much more than that. What we have is different. What we have is so much more than either of us bargained for. Maybe someday she’ll allow herself to see that. And I hope to God she does … because I want her.

All of her.

And I always get what I want.





Forty-Three





Sophie



Present



Mom sits straight in her chair, pushing her food, her gaze flicking across the table to Trey in the dinette of her home.

I wanted their first meeting to be here. Trey offered to host at his house, but my mother isn’t easily impressed and, if anything, the fanfare would’ve worked against him. She would’ve thought he was trying to buy her off, the way Nolan did a lifetime ago. While she appreciates his financial help over the years (and was never in a position to turn it down), she knows it came at a price.

And she knows men with money can buy anything they like …

“This casserole is delicious, Sybil,” Trey says, eyes smiling. He looks out of place in this humble home with his designer dress shirt, shiny shoes, and debonair hairstyle. But he doesn’t act it. He hasn’t stared at the stains in the living room carpet or the pile of clutter on the kitchen counter or the overwhelming scent of cheap cinnamon potpourri that hits you when you first walk through the door.

It may not be what he’s accustomed to, but it’s home to me.

I also want him to know that the woman he’s marrying is more salt-of-the-earth than corporate city girl.

Emmeline stares from her chair, taking careful bites, as if she’s self-conscious and doesn’t want to spill in front of him.

“So tell me, how did the two of you meet again?” Mom asks despite knowing the answer.

She wants to hear it from his mouth, I’m sure.

I deflect to him. I’ve been trying to get him to do most of the talking, that way they can get to know him better.

“We bumped into each other in the hallway,” he says, glancing at me with a twinkle in his hazel eyes. “Physically bumped into each other. But before that, I’d overheard her defending me to a couple of women who were saying some unflattering non-truths about me.”

Mom raises a pencil-thin brow. “Can’t say that I’m surprised. Sophie has always been one to speak up for others. You should have seen her in high school. Always protesting other people’s causes, always defending the underdog, always calling out bullies.”

“Is that so?” Trey shoots me a look.

“I’m surprised you didn’t already know that about her,” Mom says. “You two must know everything about one another if you’re ready to take that next step …”

“Getting to know your daughter has been half the fun. It seems like every day I learn something new.” He squeezes my hand under the table.

“Have you picked a date yet?” Emmeline asks. “For your wedding?”

Trey and I exchange looks.

“September seventh,” I say.

Mom takes a drink of her iced water, staring blankly out the window behind my sister. Even if she adored Trey, she’d still tell me we’re moving too fast. And I don’t blame her. She’s protective. She’s seen me at my worst and doesn’t want to watch me go through that again.

She should really give me more credit …

“Where will the two of you live?” Mom asks, snapping back into the present.

“At my family’s estate,” he answers, “just outside the city, about thirty minutes from here. The two of you are welcome any time you’d like.”

“Trey’s going to put in a special entrance for you, Em,” I tell my sister. “And there are elevators. You’ll have no problem getting around.”

My sister lights. “I can’t wait to visit.”

“Mom, you have to see his art collection.” I place a palm on her forearm. “And his conservatory … he’s got the best view of the stars.”

“Our art collection,” he corrects. “Our conservatory. And yes, the two of you should stay the night soon so you can enjoy the night sky.”