We always take care of our own. Family is important. It’s all we truly have.
His mother—his family—would expect him to do something to calm his ex/sister-in-law down. A Lloyd didn’t shirk his duties.
“I’ll get you a new gardener tomorrow. He can move the gnomes then,” Gavin said.
“No. They have to be moved today. They’ve just been sitting out there like this all this time.”
“One more day won’t make a difference.”
“Oh fine! I’ll do it.” She hopped off the armchair and pushed her perfectly curled hair back.
Gavin’s jaw tightened. There was no way she could move even one of the gnomes by herself. They were too large, and she was going to pull a muscle or something on top of everything else that had happened.
He yanked his wedding band off and put it on the bar. After shrugging out of his jacket and vest, he said, “Stay here, you crazy woman. I’ll take care of them.”
He stalked outside as Catherine burst into fresh tears at being called crazy.
Just kill me now.
That damned Jacob. He should be the one dealing with Catherine. Or did he think he didn’t have to since he was the “more” of the family—the older one, the more successful, the more popular, the more everything?
Is this what you meant by success, Jacob? What the hell?
Gavin started moving the damned gnomes. They were heavier than they looked. He didn’t care all that much about the personal lives of his oldest brother and his wife. They could do whatever they wanted in private, so long as it didn’t reflect badly on the family. But bigamy? Running off with a stripper, legally married or not? The scandal would hit everyone hard. Their mother would be furious and embarrassed.
As Gavin carted a gnome across the expanse of lawn he wondered what kind of shape The Lloyds Development might be in. The reports Jacob had prepared said things were fine, and so did Catherine, but she didn’t have the head for a business as big as The Lloyds Development. Not that being a bigamist necessarily made Jacob a terrible businessman. But sloppy people did sloppy things, and failing to divorce this Vegas stripper wife before marrying Catherine definitely fit. What other messes were lying around, waiting to be discovered?
* * *
Amandine checked her appearance once more in the rearview mirror as she drove to La Mer. After giving Brooke the rest of the day off, she’d gone to see her stylist to fix her hair. Her makeup was done professionally, her clothes had been selected with her stylist’s help and there was nothing wrong with the way she looked—seriously, an army of professionals had dedicated hours to making her as stunning as possible—but her palms grew clammy nonetheless.
Must’ve been nerves from being pregnant. Sort of like how she had grown teary over the gift.
It had nothing to do with the fact that Gavin’s executive administrative assistant, Hilary Rosenberg, had no idea where he’d gone or what the “urgent” business was.
“Really sorry to bother you, Amandine, but is Gavin with you?” Hilary had said over the phone over an hour ago.
“What?”
“I can’t seem to reach him.”
“But why are you calling me? Didn’t you talk to him earlier about some emergency in Houston? He left after that.”
“I’m—” A discreet throat clearing. “Oh, never mind. I just found his itinerary. Sorry about the confusion. Enjoy the rest of your day, Amandine.”
“Thanks,” Amandine had responded, but how in the world was she supposed to enjoy the rest of the day after that? Amandine didn’t buy Hilary’s excuse about a misplaced itinerary. Hilary knew Gavin’s schedule better than Gavin did.
If it wasn’t business… If it was something personal, why hadn’t he said anything?
Amandine stopped her car in front of the glitzy restaurant, and a uniformed valet opened the door for her. She climbed out and handed him her keys. The soft red silk cocktail dress whispered against her skin, the matching sandals adding almost three inches to her five-foot five. Her stylist had pulled her wheat-colored hair into a chic French twist, something she could never manage on her own. She radiated—or at least she hoped she radiated—a sophistication and elegance that befit the crowd at La Mer.
The maître d’, clad in a tuxedo that looked like cultured wealth, led her to a table in the most sought-after corner. The walls were made entirely of
Plexiglas; behind them was an enormous aquarium full of interesting sea life. Her section boasted orange and yellow coral and tropical fish of various vivid shades. The only ones she recognized was a pair of clownfish, which swished their tails to disappear into their anemone home.
Amandine sighed. It must be nice to live in a modest home, just them and their spouses, nobody to impress. The fish seemed to be in sync with what they wanted and expected from each other. Maybe it was because a clownfish never married a fish out of its league.
Like a shark.