Echo(38)

“You have any plans on selling this place?” Lachlan asks, and when I take a seat on the couch, he sits opposite me in one of the chairs.

“Why?”

“It’s pretentious.”

“Fucking dobber,” I breathe under my breath.

“I heard that, you bastard.”

“Good.”

I’ve known Lachlan since our college days. He was working on his PhD while I was working on my master’s at Saint Andrews. We were both a part of the OxFam Society and worked on many campaigns together. We’ve remained linked because of his relationship with my father. When Lachlan was my age, he worked in wealth management at one of the top firms in London, where my dad keeps his investments. Lachlan was his advisor for many years before he opted for a less demanding position and started advising small companies independently.

While I was still living in Chicago, I knew I’d soon be back here. Since I was already involved with purchasing the property in London, my father put in a call, and now Lachlan works solely for me. He handles my business finances and also a children’s education foundation I’ve had for many years now.

“Everything should be as we discussed with the bank,” he tells me as I read through the document.

“Looks good.” I sign the papers and slip them back in the file. Handing it over to Lachlan, I say, “Life’s about to get busy.”

“Good thing?”

“Very. After Chicago, I’m ready to dive into this project.”

“You ever gonna tell me what the hell happened?”

Standing up, I don’t respond. Instead, I walk across the room to the liquor cart, pull the crystal stopper from the decanter, and begin pouring myself a glass of Scotch.

“Declan?”

“Drink?”

“No,” he responds. “So, tell me. What happened?”

“Nothing to tell.”

I take a sip, relishing the twenty-one-year-old single malt. I allow the smooth smoke of the Scotch to settle on my tongue before swallowing. I appreciate its offering as it makes its way down, heat spreading through my chest.

“She leaves tomorrow, you know?”

“And your point?”

The boyish, smug look on his face grates me, along with the way he relaxes himself into the chair.

“She’s stunning.”

Tossing back the glass of whiskey, my face pinching against the burn, I set the glass down, and the clank of crystal against glass reveals my frustration.

“Remind me again why I’m friends with you.”

“Look, it’s apparent there are hurt feelings between the two—”

I stop him mid-sentence, snapping, “What are you, my f*cking therapist? Don’t pretend to have insight into something you clearly know nothing about.”

“I spent the afternoon with her. She’s easy to read.”

I laugh as I walk back over to the couch. “That woman is anything but easy to read. Trust me. Don’t let her fool you. And what the hell are you doing talking to her? I told you to watch her, not befriend her.”

The mere idea of Lachlan spending time with her and not knowing what’s being said or what their interactions are like rubs a raw spot in me. To not know, and the fact that it bothers me so much, it’s infuriating. It’s the way she was able to claw her way inside of me and burrow into the one vacant spot no one has ever been able to find makes me hate her even more. She’s a cherub of martyrdom, and I, her willing victim. Willing because, as much as I want to, I can’t let the red-headed sadist go. I doubt I’ll ever be able to because of the mark she’s left on me. I’m the unhealed remnant left in her destructive wake.

“She wants me to find her mother,” he eventually tells me, cutting the silence.

My eyes dart to his. “What?”

“I offered.”

Why the f*ck is she giving parts of her truth to him that she hasn’t given me?

“Isn’t that fantastic!” My cynical words come out loudly. “Do me a favor, try obeying my orders next time. Follow her and cut the friendly shit.”

“No need to follow. Like I said, she leaves tomorrow,” he informs as he pushes himself off from the chair. Standing in front of me, he shrugs on his coat and grabs the file. “I’ll deliver the documents.”

Leaning forward, I prop my elbows on my knees as I listen to his loafers echo down the foyer.