The Collector
Page 67
“He did something nice, something thoughtful—and given he’s a baker, something that fits. He wanted to make you smile, and think of him because he thought of you—and I bet he smiled. Instead, it worried you.”
“It did worry me—it does—even though there’s a rational woman in my head shouting, ‘Stop being stupid. Just stop, stop, stop.’” She tossed back some wine. “I wanted it to be a fling. Simple, easy, grown-up. And the minute I saw that damn muffin . . .”
“You’re still in love with him.”
“I’m still in love with him. It would never have worked with Maxim—I knew it, wouldn’t accept it, when I married him. It wouldn’t have worked even without you sleeping with him. Bimbo slut.”
“Clueless wife.”
“Luke would never cheat. It’s not in him. And last night, it was like coming home, but everything fit better, made more sense.”
“Then why aren’t you happy?”
“Because I don’t want to be here, Lila. I don’t want to be this woman who can’t let go of this”—the hand circled again—“this frothy illusion of the past. I could’ve handled the sex. I was handling the sex.”
“And the muffin changed that.”
“I know that sounds ridiculous.”
“It doesn’t.” Lila laid a hand over hers. “It absolutely doesn’t.”
“I guess that’s what I needed to hear. I should’ve accepted the thoughtful and sweet—because that’s all it was—and left it alone instead of wondering if it meant more. Hell, wanting it to mean more even as meaning more scared me.”
“Second chances are scarier than first chances, because the second time you know how much you’re risking.”
“Yes.” Julie closed her eyes. “I knew you’d get it. I’ll have to smooth it over with him, especially since he’s close friends with Ash, I’m yours. And I’m a crappy friend today because I haven’t asked anything about how you’re feeling. About you and Ash.”
“I feel great—but then I didn’t get a muffin. I did scramble eggs for both of us.”
“You look so good together. I didn’t say so before, because you’d start putting up blocks.”
“No, I wouldn’t, and yes, I would,” she corrected before Julie could. “Probably. Look good together? You really think so? He’s so gorgeous, both ways.”
“Both ways?”
“The artist—jeans, T-shirt, a couple of paint smudges here and there, a couple days of scruff on his face. And the wealthy heir apparent, polished up in an Armani suit. Or it might’ve been Armani. What do I know?”
“Yesterday? Tom Ford. Definitely.”
“You’d know better.”
“I would. And yes, you look good together. You’re both gorgeous.”
“Only my best friend, and maybe my mother, would say so. But I can look pretty good when I put some time and effort into it.”
“You have amazing hair—a yard of it, fabulous eyes, a very sexy mouth and perfect skin. So shut up.”
“You’re so good for my ego. Last night was good for my ego. I think he’d have made a move—you know how you can tell.”
“For good or ill.”
“But I made it first—or opened the door. He walked through and . . . it wasn’t like coming home. It was like discovering a new continent. But—”
“Here come the blocks.” Julie lifted her glass to the Chrysler Building.
“No, no blocks—I’m still exploring the new world. It’s that he’s carrying all this guilt, Julie. It’s not right that he carry so much. But as I’ve gotten to know him—and especially after seeing the family dynamics for myself yesterday—he’s really the head of the family. His father’s the figurehead. Ash is the go-to.”
“From what Luke told me, it’s been that way for years. His father runs the businesses, but Ash tends the family. Luke says ‘Ashton will handle it’ should be the family motto.”
Lila let out a breath, sipped some wine. “That’s an issue—not a block,” she insisted. “He takes over a little too much for me—it’s his wiring. He decides I’m staying at his place because Luke was at yours—and that made sense. But ‘discuss’ is better than ‘decide,’ and he sent for my luggage before any of the discuss.”
“His perspective?”
“Crap, reap what you sow.” She stuck out her chin, tapped a finger on it. “Okay, hit me.”
“Dealing with the details, and yes, looking out for you. It’s not a bad thing to have someone look out for you, as long as they’re willing to learn where the lines are, and you’re willing to let some of the lines flex.”
“Maybe. I know he’s painting me now when I didn’t think I wanted him to, and now I do. So I ask myself, Do I want him to paint me or did I get roped into it? And I’m not sure. I am sure I want to be with him, and I’m sure I want to see this whole strange Fabergé thing through with him, and I want to sleep with him again. Those are definite check marks.”
Putting her wine down, Julie leaned over, tapped her hands on Lila’s cheeks. “Look at that face. You’re happy.”
“I am. It tells me something—not sure just what—that I can be happy even with all that’s going on. Three people are dead, two who were important to Ash, and he’s got a priceless Fabergé egg hidden away. And there’s a ridiculously gorgeous Asian woman who killed or helped kill those three people who wants that egg. She knows who I am, she has your perfume.”
“I think she’s ruined that scent for me. I know you want to help Ash. We all do. But as much as I like him, you’re my girl. You have to be careful.”
“I am. I will. The woman may be looking for us, and the egg, but the cops have their eye on us. Plus, think about it. Killing Oliver and his girlfriend didn’t get her what she wanted. Why would she make the same mistake twice?”
“I don’t know, because she’s a killer. Potentially a psycho. You can’t depend on logic, Lila.”
Considering, Lila nodded—Julie had a very big point. “Then I’ll be smarter. I think I am—and don’t give me that eye roll. I think I am. It wasn’t smart to take things from your place. If she hadn’t, we’d never have known she was there. It wasn’t smart to wear your perfume when she broke into Ash’s loft—though part of that, I accept, was luck that we came in soon enough after she’d been there for it to linger. It wasn’t smart to leave that thug alone with Vinnie after he’d already demonstrated his lack of control with Oliver’s girlfriend. All that’s arrogance and impulse, Julie, not smart. I’ll be smart.”
“It did worry me—it does—even though there’s a rational woman in my head shouting, ‘Stop being stupid. Just stop, stop, stop.’” She tossed back some wine. “I wanted it to be a fling. Simple, easy, grown-up. And the minute I saw that damn muffin . . .”
“You’re still in love with him.”
“I’m still in love with him. It would never have worked with Maxim—I knew it, wouldn’t accept it, when I married him. It wouldn’t have worked even without you sleeping with him. Bimbo slut.”
“Clueless wife.”
“Luke would never cheat. It’s not in him. And last night, it was like coming home, but everything fit better, made more sense.”
“Then why aren’t you happy?”
“Because I don’t want to be here, Lila. I don’t want to be this woman who can’t let go of this”—the hand circled again—“this frothy illusion of the past. I could’ve handled the sex. I was handling the sex.”
“And the muffin changed that.”
“I know that sounds ridiculous.”
“It doesn’t.” Lila laid a hand over hers. “It absolutely doesn’t.”
“I guess that’s what I needed to hear. I should’ve accepted the thoughtful and sweet—because that’s all it was—and left it alone instead of wondering if it meant more. Hell, wanting it to mean more even as meaning more scared me.”
“Second chances are scarier than first chances, because the second time you know how much you’re risking.”
“Yes.” Julie closed her eyes. “I knew you’d get it. I’ll have to smooth it over with him, especially since he’s close friends with Ash, I’m yours. And I’m a crappy friend today because I haven’t asked anything about how you’re feeling. About you and Ash.”
“I feel great—but then I didn’t get a muffin. I did scramble eggs for both of us.”
“You look so good together. I didn’t say so before, because you’d start putting up blocks.”
“No, I wouldn’t, and yes, I would,” she corrected before Julie could. “Probably. Look good together? You really think so? He’s so gorgeous, both ways.”
“Both ways?”
“The artist—jeans, T-shirt, a couple of paint smudges here and there, a couple days of scruff on his face. And the wealthy heir apparent, polished up in an Armani suit. Or it might’ve been Armani. What do I know?”
“Yesterday? Tom Ford. Definitely.”
“You’d know better.”
“I would. And yes, you look good together. You’re both gorgeous.”
“Only my best friend, and maybe my mother, would say so. But I can look pretty good when I put some time and effort into it.”
“You have amazing hair—a yard of it, fabulous eyes, a very sexy mouth and perfect skin. So shut up.”
“You’re so good for my ego. Last night was good for my ego. I think he’d have made a move—you know how you can tell.”
“For good or ill.”
“But I made it first—or opened the door. He walked through and . . . it wasn’t like coming home. It was like discovering a new continent. But—”
“Here come the blocks.” Julie lifted her glass to the Chrysler Building.
“No, no blocks—I’m still exploring the new world. It’s that he’s carrying all this guilt, Julie. It’s not right that he carry so much. But as I’ve gotten to know him—and especially after seeing the family dynamics for myself yesterday—he’s really the head of the family. His father’s the figurehead. Ash is the go-to.”
“From what Luke told me, it’s been that way for years. His father runs the businesses, but Ash tends the family. Luke says ‘Ashton will handle it’ should be the family motto.”
Lila let out a breath, sipped some wine. “That’s an issue—not a block,” she insisted. “He takes over a little too much for me—it’s his wiring. He decides I’m staying at his place because Luke was at yours—and that made sense. But ‘discuss’ is better than ‘decide,’ and he sent for my luggage before any of the discuss.”
“His perspective?”
“Crap, reap what you sow.” She stuck out her chin, tapped a finger on it. “Okay, hit me.”
“Dealing with the details, and yes, looking out for you. It’s not a bad thing to have someone look out for you, as long as they’re willing to learn where the lines are, and you’re willing to let some of the lines flex.”
“Maybe. I know he’s painting me now when I didn’t think I wanted him to, and now I do. So I ask myself, Do I want him to paint me or did I get roped into it? And I’m not sure. I am sure I want to be with him, and I’m sure I want to see this whole strange Fabergé thing through with him, and I want to sleep with him again. Those are definite check marks.”
Putting her wine down, Julie leaned over, tapped her hands on Lila’s cheeks. “Look at that face. You’re happy.”
“I am. It tells me something—not sure just what—that I can be happy even with all that’s going on. Three people are dead, two who were important to Ash, and he’s got a priceless Fabergé egg hidden away. And there’s a ridiculously gorgeous Asian woman who killed or helped kill those three people who wants that egg. She knows who I am, she has your perfume.”
“I think she’s ruined that scent for me. I know you want to help Ash. We all do. But as much as I like him, you’re my girl. You have to be careful.”
“I am. I will. The woman may be looking for us, and the egg, but the cops have their eye on us. Plus, think about it. Killing Oliver and his girlfriend didn’t get her what she wanted. Why would she make the same mistake twice?”
“I don’t know, because she’s a killer. Potentially a psycho. You can’t depend on logic, Lila.”
Considering, Lila nodded—Julie had a very big point. “Then I’ll be smarter. I think I am—and don’t give me that eye roll. I think I am. It wasn’t smart to take things from your place. If she hadn’t, we’d never have known she was there. It wasn’t smart to wear your perfume when she broke into Ash’s loft—though part of that, I accept, was luck that we came in soon enough after she’d been there for it to linger. It wasn’t smart to leave that thug alone with Vinnie after he’d already demonstrated his lack of control with Oliver’s girlfriend. All that’s arrogance and impulse, Julie, not smart. I’ll be smart.”
