Page 81 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

MADDOX

I sleep terribly. Finally, at six in the morning, I give up and get out of bed. A cold shower and three cups of coffee later, I feel human again.

My phone buzzes. It’s a text from my mother. We’re still on for breakfast?

Fuck. I’d totally forgotten. Still, I’m up anyway. Sure, I reply. Where?

The Jefferson, she replies. I made reservations for us at eight.

I groan again. Kiki Wake isn’t pretentious. We’d eaten in a greasy spoon last week, after all. But she’s got a soft spot for the downtown hotel, one I don’t share. The breakfast menu is uninspired, and I’m not a fan of starched formality.

Fine, I type. Next time, I’m picking the restaurant.

“I liked the diner better.” It’s true. After a life on the road, I’ve learned that the best meals aren’t necessarily in the fanciest restaurants. The most amazing bowl of soup I ever had was at a roadside stall in China.

My mother laughs at the expression on my face. “I know, I know. This isn’t your style.”

“And it’s yours?” I look around the room. Two tables over from us, Lorna Pritchett is seated with three of her friends, women I vaguely recognize. Lorna runs DC’s biggest gossip blog and had been one of the most avid gawkers during the trial.

She gives them a dismissive glance. “I’m quite fond of the Jefferson,” she says. “Stuart and I got married here, you know. The patrons, on the other hand…” Her shoulder lifts in a shrug. “Tell me what’s going on with you.”

I met a woman.

“Nothing much,” I reply. “It’s been quiet. I’m heading to Miami for three days next week.”

“Work?” she asks, interested. “What are you shooting?”

“The Everglades,” I reply. “It’s going to be hot as hell. What about you?”

“The Dermot Gallery is showing a collection of my most recent paintings,” she replies, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “The opening is in six weeks.” She gives me an amused glance. “Any chance you’ll be around?”

I exhale. “I don’t know.”

And that’s the truth. Six weeks at home is a bit of a record for me. Usually, by about this time, the itch to be somewhere else would have hit me.

It hasn’t this time around. I’d almost wanted to pass up the Miami job. Last night, I’d realized at some point in the evening that even if I wanted to invite Avery to my condo, I couldn’t. I had no furniture, no paintings on the wall, no bookshelves overflowing with books.

That’s never bothered me before. Being unencumbered by possessions has always felt like freedom to me. After yesterday, I’m not so sure anymore.

Fourteen weeks with Avery at Club M. Three and a half months. That’s what I’d asked for. But will I stay?

She nods. “I’ll send you an invitation just in case,” she says.

Lorna Pritchett has noticed us. She’s straining to hear our conversation. “Hag from hell,” my mother says calmly. “Ignore her.” She rummages through her bag and pulls out a newspaper. “This was in last week’s Arts and Culture section,” she says.

I look at the article she’s holding out to me. Damon Ettenberg is exhibiting some of his work at a DC gallery next week.

My biological father is going to be in town.

“I thought you didn’t want me to see him,” I say cautiously, trying to feel my way around this conversation. “Last week, you seemed upset about the idea of me contacting him.”

“I was wrong.” She butters her toast carefully, not looking at me. “I was jolted by the idea, and I’ll admit, I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

She gives me a wry smile. “Of losing you, of course, darling.”

“That’s not going to happen. You know that.”

“Fear isn’t rational,” she responds. “I’ve had a week to get used to the idea.

I had no business putting any kind of pressure on you, Maddox.

But thinking of Damon takes me back to a time in my life when I was desperately unhappy.

But as much as I’d like to pretend that it never happened, that’s not fair to you.

You’re an adult, capable of making your own choices.

And if you want to make contact with Damon, you should. ”

“I’m just curious.” I try to make my mother understand. “You’re a homebody. Dad was too. All my life, I’ve felt different because of the wanderlust running through my blood, and now, it turns out I get it from him.”

Her smile is strained. “You’re more like Stuart than you think,” she says. “You might move around a lot, but you don’t shirk your responsibilities. You came home when Stuart got sick. You were here for him when he needed you.”

Her voice is sad. Neither of us likes to think of those twenty months. Or the two years afterward.

“Did you ever end up talking to Gage?”

She shakes her head. “No.” She makes a face. “I should talk to him, I suppose. He is my son, after all. But Maddox, I don’t want to.”

“So don’t. You owe him nothing. Not after what he did.”

She inhales sharply, and her shoulders stiffen. “Speak about the devil,” she says softly. “Guess who’s making his way over to our table?”

You have got to be kidding me.

“Hello, mother. Maddox.” Gage pulls a chair up to our table and sits down without waiting for an invitation. “It’s been a while.”

My mother’s face is pale and set. Any accusation I think of making about this being an ambush fades the moment I see her reaction. She’s just as shocked as I am.

“What the fuck do you want?” I growl, keeping my voice low.

Lorna Pritchett’s eyes are practically bulging out of her head, and her phone is out on the table now.

No doubt she’s taking our photos, and we’ll be front page news on her gossip blog tomorrow.

The last thing I want to do is give her more fodder than she already has.

“I’m assuming this isn’t a social visit. ”

“It’s not.” He pulls two envelopes from his jacket pocket. “An invitation to my engagement party,” he says, loud enough that the tables next to us can hear. Knowing Gage, that’s not an accident.

In fact, knowing Gage, he probably tipped Lorna Pritchett off that he was going to be joining my mother and me for breakfast.

He puts the invitations on the table in front of us. I make no attempt to reach for it. “What makes you think I have any interest in attending?”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you don’t.” This time, his voice is low enough that he can’t be overheard. “But if you spurn my invitation, it’s bound to set off another round of gossip. You might not care about that, Maddox, but I’m quite sure mother does.”

“You’re blackmailing us into attending your engagement party?” Fucking Gage. This apple fell a fucking mile from the tree.

“Blackmail is such a sordid word.”

Our waiter appears at our table and asks Gage if he wants a menu.

“Just a cup for coffee, please,” my brother replies.

“I won’t be eating.” He waits for the waiter to retreat out of earshot.

“Show up to the party, satisfy my future father-in-law that there’s no estrangement between us.

Have a couple of drinks, make some conversation. ”

“Or what?”

“Don’t test me, Maddox,” he replies, as cold as ice. “You have the luxury of getting on an airplane and disappearing into some far-flung corner of the world until the gossip dies down. Our mother, on the other hand, does not.”

I put my hand over my mother’s. “After everything you did, you cannot seriously be pretending to give a shit about her.”

“I intend to marry Melissa Lee with her father’s blessing,” my brother replies. “To make that happen, I’ll do whatever it takes. You can play ball for one evening, or we can do this the hard way.”

He gets to his feet. “I’ll see you at the party. It’s in two weeks. Wear a tux.”

We’re both silent for five minutes after Gage leaves. Finally, my mother draws a long, shuddering breath. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” I signal for the check. Right now, the only thing I know is that I’m going to Club M with Avery in less than three hours. Gage’s bullshit can wait.