The Inheritance Test, page 17
But after the very public nature of their courtship on Martha’s Vineyard, he knew he needed to be cautious. Charlotte hated being the center of attention, although he hoped to convince her that she might like being the center of one particular person’s attention. His.
Nash followed him out of the conference room, catching up with him as he entered the stairwell. “What were you thinking back there?”
He took the stairs two at a time. “I thought it was clear. If J.J. still wants a Masterson to run the family company, you can be the new CEO and future owner. Or he can hunt down Revere. I’ll send a congratulatory fruit basket if that makes things clearer.”
His brother grimaced. Of course, that was pretty much Nash’s resting face. Nash was grumpy, surly and watched Declan’s back with the ferocity of a dragon, albeit a very well-dressed, very wealthy dragon. “You’re really going to walk away from all this because of Charlotte.”
“Yeah.” Declan shoved the door at the bottom of the stairwell open and headed for the front door. People spotted the two of them and rethought approaching them. Thunder and lightning. That’s what people called them. Nash was the large, dark and glowering brother, while he was the brighter, hotter brother.
“Holy shit,” his brother said. “You really do love her.”
“I do.” He leveled a look at his brother.
Who wasn’t deterred.
Nash sped up and got to Declan’s car first, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back on it. “So you went to sail in this big charity race because J.J. was all hot about the Jessie St. Chiles thing. I’m not sure why you thought proposing bare-ass naked and with a dollar’s worth of fake bling was going to work, but that’s a problem for a different day. So you go, you race, you partner with Charlotte and then next we hear, you’ve been discovered naked and in bed with her after being shipwrecked in a storm. You propose, she says yes and the tabloids go nuts. Did you borrow this plot from one of your movies?”
Declan snorted because it did sound kind of like a script. “The wreck was an accident.”
“And the naked part?”
“None of your business.”
His brother laughed. “So the two of you hooked up and then, somewhere along the line, you developed feelings for her, but meanwhile J.J. realized he had a use for her after all because she’s a lovely girl who doesn’t run around starting naked-picture scandals. You proposed. She said yes. So what went wrong and why are you back here blowing up your life?”
“In exchange for letting her choose the charity we would donate to if we won, she agreed to makeover lessons.”
Nash rolled his eyes. “Would you say that Charlotte is bright, attractive, funny with a side of determined? Feel free to fill in the blanks here with your favorite words.”
“She’s sexy, yeah. Curious. Willing to try new things even when it pushes her way out of her comfort zone. She doesn’t like to be the center of attention, so people overlook her. Their loss.” He shrugged. “But she’s a hell of a woman.”
Nash stared at him. “And just to be clear, you told this really amazing person that she needed to change? And you somehow thought this would endear you to her?”
He winced. “I was thinking of it more as a dare.”
“Dare someone to say something dirty to the person on their left or to eat a banana without hands. Sneak into the next-door mansion and skinny dip in the pool. Take the family helicopter on a joyride. Don’t dare someone to be a completely different person, especially if you like the original version.”
They’d done all those things and more as teenage boys.
“I made that deal with J.J.,” he admitted.
“The one where you proved you’d turned over a wholesome new leaf?” Nash snorted. “Christ, he has this whole vision of what we should be. You’d think he’d have figured out by now that people aren’t made to order. He got what he got.”
“Yeah. Well. J.J. and I signed a contract and part of the deal was that I’d do the race and rehabilitate my public image. Try to look like a real Masterson.
Nash looked at him. “We are Mastersons.”
“J.J.’s still looking for the proof of that.”
“Let him.” Nash ran a hand over the scruff on his face. “Still doesn’t change what we are and I still don’t see how that caused you to piss all over your relationship with Charlotte.”
“J.J. likes Charlotte. He said she was perfect wife material, that he’d be willing to overlook the race loss and stick to the terms of our deal since I’d landed her.”
“Yeah. There’s a whole lot wrong there.”
“And Charlotte found out. She wasn’t happy about it. She asked me to leave. I left.”
His brother gave him an assessing look. “We’ve concluded that you’re an idiot, right?”
“Pretty much.”
“So let’s fix this.” Nash spread his arms. “Assuming, based on your behavior in there, that fixing this is your number one priority. Go back. Tell her whatever you need to make this work.”
Declan swore. “Can you be more specific?”
“No.”
“Great. That’s really helpful. What exactly are your relationship credentials?”
Nash shrugged. “I am a doctor.”
Nash was one of the smartest, most analytical people Declan knew. He was not, however, a people person. In any way. Declan had always been the one who could connect easily with others. Problem was, those had been surface connections. Between living in the public eye and the constant need to travel for work, he hadn’t stuck around in one place for long—certainly not long enough to meet a woman and fall in love.
“You have a PhD in chemistry,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, which makes me a chemistry expert,” his brother said smugly. “Although if you’re having chemistry problems, I don’t want to know. She said yes once, though, so that’s something.”
“Yeah, but then she took it back.”
Nash laughed. “You have to learn to close. Remember that cupcake stand we had?”
“We made two hundred bucks.” They’d loaded up on dollar-store cake mixes and set up shop in front of J.J.’s Malibu mansion. Declan’s job had been to charm everyone into stopping for a closer look, which he’d done. Gardeners, delivery guys, two dog walkers, a rock star and a well-known director. Once he’d delivered them to Nash, Nash had sold the hell out of their cupcakes. His brother was a ruthless negotiator.
“Charlotte seems nice,” Nash said.
“She’s not interested in the Hollywood lifestyle,” Declan said. “Mansions, luxury cars and designer clothes, red carpet time—those things aren’t exactly on her bucket list.”
Nash leaned forward. “Nothing wrong with those things, but yeah. I get it. She wants something more than icing.”
“What the fuck is it with you and the food metaphors?”
Nash groaned. “I fucking missed lunch because of your temper tantrum back there. So what does she love? And put some thought into it, okay? Don’t just blurt out whatever comes into your head first.”
Declan thought, and while he was thinking a taco truck pulled into the Masterson parking lot. He slid his brother—who was tucking his phone back into his pocket—a glance.
“Everyone should have the taco lady on speed dial,” his brother said virtuously.
“Martha’s Vineyard, her foster kids, cupcakes. Those are definitely at the top of Charlotte’s like list.”
Nash headed toward the taco truck. “You putting yourself on that list?”
“I screwed up. What if I go back and just screw it up some more?”
Nash sighed and placed his order with the beaming lady manning the taco truck. “You realize I get paid five hundred dollars an hour to consult, right?”
Declan pulled his wallet out and slapped a hundred-dollar bill into his brother’s hand. Nash promptly tucked it into the tip jar on the taco truck counter. “Waiting for my advice.”
“So here’s my suggestion. Do the work to figure out how you make your life fit into hers. The whole cross-country thing is hard. The interest in your personal life is unfortunate because she seemed like the kind of woman who wants to reserve the right to go grab a cup of coffee in her yoga pants, yeah? But then you go there and you actually have a conversation with her. Tell her you still love her and that you want a chance. Ask her what it’ll take for her to give you that chance. Then do that.”
“That’s a pretty simple plan.”
“It’s authentic.” Nash paused. “Also, I’d suggest groveling. Bring her a present that’s personal, too, one that shows you’ve been paying attention to her and that you’ve got her back. And whatever you do, don’t make her feel as if you think that she can’t handle her own shit. Just make sure she understands that your goal is to be real with her—and be with her.”
Doing those things might actually help. He slid his brother a glance. “How did you get so smart?”
Nash flashed him a rare smile. “Didn’t say it worked. This is a working hypothesis only. Go prove it.”
Twenty-One
Step one in Charlotte’s change-her-life plan: conquer her fear of the ocean. Since the plan also called for accepting her limitations and loving herself as is, the steps were more like baby steps...and had her sitting in a kayak. There was no storm today and no rip current, so she felt optimistic. Or possibly that was because someone had made a large anonymous donation to Martha’s Kids. Since the donation had been made on behalf of the “Guinea Pig Appreciation Society,” she wasn’t entirely clueless about the money’s source. Declan had come through for her kids.
The teenager who’d rented her the kayak stared at her dubiously. He was ankle-deep in the water—and all of two feet away from her. “You want a push?”
“No, thanks,” she said. “I’m good.”
She liked being able to see the bottom. Each time the wave pushed her kayak onto the shore, she nudged it back out to sea with a careful prod of her paddle.
“Seriously,” the teenager said. “Happy to help.”
She ignored him because she had thirty minutes left on her one-hour rental and she estimated that was just enough time to make it to the end of the beach and back. And also, because while she was trying to ask for help when she needed it, this situation definitely didn’t count. By the time she made the return trip, her face was pink from the sun and her nonexistent core muscles had quit in protest, but she’d done it. And if she felt sad and a little teary, she’d blame that on the bag of M&M’s she’d mainlined in the beach parking lot for courage. Unfortunately, it explained why her stomach hurt but not her heart.
She made an ungraceful exit from the kayak, once again grateful that her paparazzi days were behind her. But hey, she was voluntarily in the ocean up to her ankles, so she counted that as a win, and it had been hours—half a day, even—since she’d thought about Declan. She’d moved on from compulsively stalking him on the internet and wondering what he was doing and if she’d really, really screwed up this time.
She dragged the kayak up the sand toward the rental kiosk, feeling kick-ass, if tired. A Hollywood action hero with muscles would almost have been a welcome sight. She would’ve totally asked him to do the heavy lifting. Instead, she panted and heaved and got the stupid, bright yellow kayak back to its jaded teenage protector, who turned out to be mostly interested in finding out if she really knew Declan Masterson and was the dude coming back any time soon?
She had to admit that she didn’t know.
But it was...unlikely.
She shoved that thought out of her head and walked back to her car, pretending her calf muscles didn’t ache almost as badly as her heart. Although her hair was twisted up on top of her head, she might have been wearing one of the fancy T-shirts Declan had picked out for her, which was a thousand times better than wearing the shirt she’d stolen from him.
She still wasn’t ready to call him, though, or even to text him. She’d broken up with him, so she owed him an apology. She had a draft written on her phone. She sort of, completely and impossibly wanted to see him.
And touch him. Hold him. Have him back in her life in all the ways. If wishes were horses, she’d have a large herd.
But sending him on his way had been the right thing to do. She’d thought about it and she stuck by that decision. It wasn’t her job to fix Declan and it was okay to have boundaries. Boundaries like not accepting half-truths or being anyone’s convenience. Boundaries were good. She’d worked on setting a few with her father.
Funny how she’d had to lose the men she loved in order to learn that lesson. Moving on from the past was surprisingly difficult, but she was taking it one day at a time. Look at me, she thought. She’d almost made it an entire day without thinking about him. It was as if her brain had one of those clocks. It has been one day since the last accidental thought of he-who-shall-not-be-named.
There was someone leaning against her car—a large, male someone with scruff on his jawline and a small frown on his handsome face. He looked like safety. He looked like home.
And just like that, the Declan Masterson clock reset. Zero days without a lost time accident. She sighed.
“Summer camp is on after all because a really big fan of guinea pigs made a huge donation.”
The frown turned into a small smile. “That’s great.”
Right. “You wouldn’t know anything about that donation?”
He just looked at her. “It can be from whoever you want it to be from.”
“A million dollars?”
Warm hazel eyes held hers. “Worth every penny.”
“Why?” She inhaled. Exhaled. Reminded herself that people breathed successfully every day.
“I love you.”
As reasons went, that one was undoubtedly the best and she really needed to hear him say it again. She tested the words in her head. I love you. And look at that: the sky didn’t fall, a monster wave didn’t swamp the beach and everything seemed perfectly normal. Except—
“You just came back to say that you love me?”
“Yes.” And then he paused. “Well, mostly. I needed to tell you that I failed the inheritance test.”
“Okay,” she said cautiously.
“In fact,” he said, “it might be more accurate to say I tore it up and walked out on the examiner.” She was no J.J. expert, but she had a gut feeling that Declan’s dad had not been happy with that move.
She hesitated. “Declan.”
He waited for her to say something more, but she was running on empty.
He solved that problem for her by opening his arms. “Can I hold you?”
“That sounds like a good plan.” She squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears where they belonged and stepped forward. Blindly. But it was all good because Declan had never, ever not held on to her even when she was doing stupid things like falling overboard.
His arms closed around her. “I missed this. I missed you, Charlotte.”
“We still wouldn’t work.”
She felt his mouth brush her hair and when she cracked an eye, he was smiling ruefully.
“Nash said I should make a speech here. He recommended sonnets. But here’s the thing. I love you. There aren’t any strings attached to that. No expectations. No pretty words. But I would like to spend time with you. Do you think you could make space for me in your life?”
“You want in on my life?” she said softly, opening her eyes because she had to see his face.
“Yeah.” He smiled at her. “In your life. In your heart. Whatever you’ve got for me, I’ll take.”
“I’m a little short on trust right now,” she admitted. “I have a hard time believing Prince Charming is as good as he looks. Or that he’s not going to get back on that white horse of his and ride away, with my heart and the good silver in his saddlebags. I’m...” She didn’t know how to explain, but she knew she had to try. “I’m a work in progress and I don’t know if I want a fairy tale anyhow. I’m going to screw up. I’ll never be perfect and I’m working on being okay with that. I’m not sure I’ll ever be good at asking for help.”
“I don’t want you to be anyone other than you,” he said. “And I’m not perfect, either.”
There were a million things she should be asking him. Or telling him. Starting with all the reasons why they shouldn’t rush into a relationship—again—and ending with, well, she didn’t know what.
Because face-to-face with Declan, she didn’t want to think about endings. Or that he’s still a Prince Charming and you know you shouldn’t trust those...
“You haven’t asked me why I’m not perfect,” he said. “But I’ll give you a hint. I told you that I would always hold on, even if it hurt—and then I didn’t. You told me to leave and I did. I’d like to prove to you that I’ll never let go of you again. You’re not window dressing. You’re so much more than that.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Cupping her face, he lifted it to his. “I made a plan to get you back. Do you want to see it?” he asked. “I know how you love lists.”
What she loved was him.
“Only if you really mean it,” she said. “I can’t—I don’t...”
“It’s a heartfelt plan,” he said and then he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out an honest-to-God list.
The list had been rolled up like a scroll and stuck through a ring. Their ring. She unrolled the list with trembling fingers. Declan had written in a bold, decisive scrawl:
Tell Charlotte I love her.
Tell Charlotte I love her.
Tell Charlotte I love her.
Buy a house in Martha’s Vineyard with a tower. Or at least a turret.
