Page 42 of The Women of Wild Hill

The Mogul

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Brigid lay on her back and fumed.

She hadn’t had a vision of her own death, but there was little doubt she was going to bite the dust soon.

Over the decades, she’d devoted a fair number of days to sex.

In fact, she’d long considered herself a connoisseur.

But nothing had ever compared to sex with Liam.

She couldn’t get enough of the way he smelled.

And she liked being with him even when they weren’t in flagrante.

She found his jokes funny. Fuck. It couldn’t be anything other than terrible news.

That’s how it worked in her family. Anyone dumb enough to fall in love died.

Aside from Phoebe, of course, but she was the golden one—and Lilith, who’d always forged her own path.

But Brigid knew that wasn’t how things were going to work for her.

No, there was no telling what horrible fate the Old One had in store for poor Brigid.

AT NINE A.M. THAT MORNING, she’d woken to the sound of a chain saw. When she went downstairs to check it out, she found Phoebe and Sibyl sitting side by side on the front porch, watching two strapping young men carve up the tree that the storm had blown down across the drive.

“Liam must have sent them,” Sibyl said by way of explanation.

“You think it’s a good idea to let them remove it?” Brigid asked.

“The gate was open when they arrived,” Phoebe said. “I figure Bessie let them in. Besides, aren’t we just supposed to follow the path we’re on now?”

“Besides, there’s no television or internet out here,” Sibyl added without taking her eyes off the two men. “This is the best entertainment we’ve got.”

Phoebe looked up with a twinkle in her eye. “You’re going to have sex with Liam today, aren’t you?” she asked.

“None of your business,” Brigid responded and Sibyl snickered.

“Go ahead and get it out of your system,” Phoebe said.

“Better make it quick, though,” Sibyl told her. “Mom’s right. We’ll probably have to kill him.”

“Fine by me,” Brigid replied. “While I’m gone, why don’t you two figure out which one of you is going to do the honors?”

“Funny,” Phoebe said.

“Wasn’t joking,” Brigid told her.

SHE CYCLED AWAY FROM WILD Hill on a bright yellow ten-speed she’d ridden as a teenager.

The gates to the Geddes estate, three miles away, were considerably newer—and open just enough to slip through.

There was no one stationed at the guard booth.

The grass hadn’t been mown for at least a week, and it was tall enough to sway in the breeze, flashing silver on one side and a darker green on the other.

Brigid wondered if it might be sending her a message. If so, she couldn’t interpret it.

She continued down the drive, between flowering rhododendron bushes and feral boxwoods that were growing into misshapen monsters.

Then the house appeared at the end of the drive, a gorgeous modern structure composed of white concrete and glass.

There were no cars in the drive and no people milling about behind the glass walls.

And yet the front door was open. Brigid walked straight in.

From the threshold, she could see through the glass on the opposite side of the house and over the ocean.

“Out here,” called a voice, and she followed it.

Liam lay on a lounge chair beside the pool, wearing nothing but salmon-colored swim trunks and a pair of sunglasses. He had the kind of physique Brigid’s actors had to train for months to achieve.

“Didn’t you have a head wound a few hours ago?” she asked.

Liam ran his fingers over his unblemished forehead. “It seems your sister has a magic touch. By the way, that’s for you,” he said, pointing to a drink on the table next to the neighboring chair.

“You saw me coming?”

He lifted his phone and showed her the feed from a camera positioned to show the front gates. “Gave everyone the week off for the funeral. I’m on security duty today.”

Brigid picked up the glass and smelled the liquid. He’d made her a Dark ’n’ Stormy. “How’d you know what I like?”

“Guessed,” Liam said with a smile that said he was lying. A man with a giant research department at his disposal would have no problem having someone find out for him.

Brigid put it back down. “A girl shouldn’t drink anything she didn’t watch being made.”

“Ah, right.” Liam reached over and picked up the glass. Then he took a swig of the drink and handed the glass back to her. “If I pass out, please be gentle,” he told her.

How many women had been won over by that charm? Brigid didn’t want to admit she was amused. “You clearly don’t know who you’re talking to. Have you seen any of my movies? Gentle isn’t my thing.”

“Oh, I’ve seen all of your movies,” Liam said. “I’ve been your biggest fan from the very beginning. You can quiz me if you like.”

“No thanks.” Brigid took the lounge beside him and sipped her drink. Then she pulled a joint out of her dress pocket. “Is it okay if I?”

“Do whatever you like,” Liam told her. “It’s my house now. I’m an orphan.”

“Yeah.” Brigid took a deep toke and passed the joint over. “How’s that working out for you?”

“So far?” His grin widened. “It’s everything I hoped it would be and more.”

Brigid exhaled. “Where’d you bury the old man?”

“Want to know a secret?”

“Not particularly.”

“That’s what I was doing last night when I crashed. I was spreading his ashes in the water off your estate.”

Brigid was shocked. “You’re fucking kidding.”

Liam shrugged. “It was his last request. I had to do it. The last thing I want is that old bastard coming back to haunt me.”

Brigid hoped every last atom had been washed out to sea. She didn’t want one speck of that man anywhere near Wild Hill. “You know he tried to buy our estate after our mother died.”

“I’m not surprised. He told me once that her spirit was still there. Dad even considered buying a place out on Culling Pointe, but he hated Leonard Shaw. He built this house so he could be close to Flora.”

“So you think he really loved her until the end of his life.”

“As much as he loved anyone in his later years. He was never the same after your mother’s death. I think his heart shriveled. Whatever soul he had left went into his work.”

“Do you think he felt responsible for her death?” Brigid asked.

“Absolutely,” Liam admitted. “But he didn’t kill her.”

“I know he didn’t,” Brigid agreed. “But I’m curious how you can be so certain.”

“Easy. I read his diary,” Liam told her. “I set it aside for you. Would you like a look?”

“Is that why you wanted me to come over?”

Liam smiled. “Well, one reason,” he said. “Grab your drink. I’ll take you for a tour.”

“A tour of your bedroom?” They both knew that was where they were heading. As far as Brigid was concerned, there was no reason to tap-dance around it.

“Not quite yet. I know I’m irresistible, but you’ll have to wait just a little longer.”

Brigid wished she could stomp out and never come back. When she didn’t, it was as good as a confession. Liam was right. She was fucking hooked.

THE FIRST STOP WAS JUST on the other side of the glass doors.

She hadn’t looked around much on her way through the living room.

Like other rich people’s homes, it was a museum of someone else’s good taste.

The decor had been handpicked by an expert whose single-word brief must have been manly.

Sleek leather furniture of the sort that had inspired decades of knockoffs.

A two-thousand-year-old Roman war helmet.

An early Picasso nude. The only work that didn’t seem to fit was a portrait of a pudgy old man in judge’s robes.

He peered down imperiously at them from above the fireplace.

“Who the hell is that? And why would you want him in your living room?”

“Dad was best friends with Antonin Scalia,” Liam explained. “They were on holiday together when Nino died. I believe Scalia’s widow gave that painting to my father.”

“It’s vile,” said Brigid.

“And astonishingly lifelike,” Liam added, pausing to sip his drink. “That’s exactly how slimy he was in person.”

“You met him?”

“Of course,” Liam said. “I know the whole gang.”

“The gang?”

“My father’s friends. Billionaires, senators, justices, dictators. There’s a group of them. They make all the big decisions together. They gather for a weekend in a place like this and determine the fate of the world. Everything’s decided long before the public ever gets wind of it.”

“These are conservatives, I’d imagine.”

“And you’d be wrong. There are a few people out there who have real political convictions, but they’re rarely the ones with real power. The left and the right don’t mean much anymore. When you boil it all down, there’s just the superrich and everyone else.”

“I have a lot of money,” Brigid said. “Could I join the club?”

Liam shook his head. “Sorry, sweetheart. We have enough tokens. Only boys are allowed in at the moment.”

He seemed to be joking, but it still left her fuming. “Of course,” Brigid muttered. On her trip up the Hollywood ladder, she’d heard the same sentiment phrased a thousand different ways. “I assume you’re a member?”

“I own AMN. Not only am I a member, I’m their favorite boy.”

“I see. So what are you going to do with AMN now that you’ve inherited it?”

“Run it. Keep owning the libs. Make a bazillion more dollars.”

Brigid hated herself for being even slightly surprised. “Then I guess we’ll just have to be enemies. In fact, in the spirit of full disclosure, I might have to kill you someday.”

“Fair enough.” Liam took a step closer. “But do you think we can call a truce for the afternoon? In fact, do you mind if we cancel the rest of the tour? There’s something I would really like to do to you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since last night.”

She could smell him. That same earthy scent she’d picked up on the plane, mixed now with rum and pot and salt water. It made her weak in the knees. “Oh really? What’s that?”

His warm hand closed around her own. “Come this way, and I’ll show you.”

THE BEDROOM WAS STARK AND modern, with nothing out in the open but a bed, a nightstand, and a chair. There was only one reason to be there.

“You’re awfully presumptuous,” Brigid told her host.

“Am I?” He kissed her.

“How long have you had this all planned out?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for decades,” Liam told her as he unbuttoned her dress.

“You’re not a crazed stalker, are you?” Brigid asked. Her dress fell to the floor.

“No,” Liam told her. “Just a fan. I was twenty-two years old when I saw your first movie. I didn’t recognize the name. I didn’t even know who you were. But I knew one day, we’d end up in bed together.” He lowered her back onto the mattress.

“Why did you wait so long?” Brigid asked.

“I figured I didn’t stand much of a chance while my father was around.”

“You’re probably right,” Brigid confirmed.

“So far, I’ve been right about everything,” he told her. “You’re exactly what I was hoping for.”

FUCK. IT HAD ALL BEEN too good to be anything but bad.

“I should go,” Brigid announced, though there was nothing she wanted more than to stay.

Liam watched as she slid into her underwear and fastened her bra. “Will you come back soon?” he asked.

“When?” Brigid asked.

“How about tomorrow? I’m throwing a little goodbye party for my father. All his fancy-pants friends will be there. Bring your sister and niece.”

“I’ll ask, but I doubt either of them wants to hang around with a bunch of old fascists.”

“There will be young, hot fascists, too,” Liam promised.

“I’ll be sure to tell them.”

Liam rolled over and kissed her. “But you’ll come?”

Brigid couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “I wouldn’t miss it,” she told him. Follow the path you’re on, her mother had told them.

“May I brag that you’ll be my date for the evening? A movie star should increase attendance dramatically.”

“You think?” Brigid slipped her dress back on.

“Oh, I know,” Liam said.

“Then brag away.”

“By the way, I left a gift for you on the table in the foyer,” Liam told her.

SHE KNEW WHAT IT WAS the second she saw it. He’d given her his father’s journal. Just to make sure it was the right one, she flipped to the first page. Investor meeting set for the morning. James says the board wants to discuss the vision for AMN.

The handwritten entry was dated May 2, 1993. The day Calum and Flora first met.