Dare to Surrender Page 24

  She pasted on a smile. “Nice to meet you, Ash.”

  “Likewise,” Ash said, shaking her hand.

  Grandmother gave Joy’s outfit a once-over. “That’s an interesting outfit, dear.”

  “Thanks,” Joy answered, as if she didn’t know damn well that what her grandmother was really saying was, A girl with your figure shouldn’t wear jeans. Especially not to dinner.

  But Joy didn’t care. It was her birthday, and she was sick of worrying about what her grandmother thought or said about her. Tonight she’d worn the jeans Ash seemed so fond of, a colorful silk blouse, and brown riding boots. And, of course, a beautiful necklace made out of marble. She absently touched the little bird at her throat, and a happy buzz of delight went through her. She couldn’t believe he’d actually hand-carved a gift for her. Of course, that reminded her of how horrible she was for keeping her secret, but she pushed it aside. It was her birthday, a perfect excuse to ignore her problems.

  “Well. Shall we have a drink before dinner? Joy, I know how you like your aperitifs. Just remember, alcohol has a lot of calories.”

  “Yes, Grandma, I remember.” How could I forget with you constantly reminding me? Joy was still recovering from the mental beating she’d taken for eating too many mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving.

  Her grandmother led them down a hall to a sitting room. The room was painted a light yellow, and on one side an ornately carved marble fireplace took up most of the wall. Joy and Ash took a seat on a floral upholstered love seat, and Grandmother sat across from them in a matching wingback chair. The clock hanging on the far wall ticked loudly.

  There were already cheese and crackers on the coffee table as well as a bottle of chilled champagne and two crystal flutes.

  “Would you mind opening the champagne, Ash?”

  He removed the bottle of Selosse 1999 Millésime from the chiller and expertly popped the cork. Then he filled three glasses.

  Grandmother held hers up. “Cheers.”

  They clinked their glasses. Joy drank half of hers in a single gulp while Grandmother, of course, sipped daintily.

  “I’m sorry your brothers couldn’t make it tonight, Joy.”

  I’m not, Joy thought. She really wasn’t in the mood to spend her birthday listening to how successful and amazing her siblings were.

  “But they’re so busy with their careers and families, you know. It’s hard for them to take any time away from their obligations.” She took another small sip and turned her gaze on Ash.

  Joy inwardly cringed; she knew what was coming.

  “What do you do for a living, Ash?”

  Here we go.

  “I’m an artist,” he answered casually.

  Grandmother’s smile went tight around the edges. “An artist? Well, that must be nice.”

  “It is. In fact, that’s how I met Joy. She’s curating a show for me next week. You should come.”

  “Are you a painter?” Grandmother asked, and Joy could practically hear the woman’s teeth grinding.

  Joy drank down the rest of her champagne and then refilled her glass, hoping that Grandmother would be too disturbed by Ash’s occupation to notice Joy topping herself off.

  “I’m a photographer. Portraits, mainly.”

  “Ash is one of San Francisco’s leading photographers, Grandmother. He’s very much in demand.”

  “I’m sure he is.” Grandmother turned to Joy. “Dear, may I speak with you a moment in private?”

  “Um…” She glanced at Ash.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said with a smile as he made a sandwich out of cheese and crackers.

  Grandmother could barely contain the look of horror on her face as she made her way out of the living room. When they reached the study, Grandmother shut the door. “Joy. Who is that man?”

  “I told you. He’s Ash Hunter.”

  “He’s an artist,” she said with disdain.

  Joy plopped into a leather club chair. “Um, I know?”

  With a great sigh, Grandmother went to her desk and sat behind it. She clasped her fingers together and laid her hands on the desk. “The last thing you need is a starving artist sniffing around your door.”

  Joy refrained from telling her grandmother that Ash was anything but a starving artist. For some reason, she was enjoying the woman’s discomfort. Besides, Ash’s finances were none of her grandmother’s business.

  Grandmother met her gaze. “Joy, I have something to tell you. To give you.”

  “Okay… so why are we in here?”

  “Because it’s private and I don’t want someone like… that man knowing your affairs.”

  Feeling a bit disturbed by the look in her grandmother’s eyes, Joy leaned forward. “What’s going on?”

  “Well.”

  Did Grandmother actually look nervous? If so, it was a first.

  “As you know, I was the executor of your parents’ estate when they died.”

  “I know.”

  “What you don’t know is that you’re due to inherit a trust on your thirtieth birthday. Today.”

  Everything in her went still. “Grandmother, what are you talking about?”

  “Your inheritance. It’s all here in these files. Stocks, bonds. It’s quite a bit of money. I just hope you’re responsible enough to handle it.”

  Her body tense, Joy leaned forward in the chair. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

  The older woman straightened the already perfect pile of folders before her. “I was hoping you would be more settled by now, but there’s nothing that can be done at this point. It was set up so you would have access to it when you turned thirty.” She drew her lips into a frown. “Now you are.”

  Joy was speechless. “I can’t believe this—that you never told me. Why not? Why didn’t you trust me?”

  “You don’t have the best record when it comes to responsibility, Joy. Just look at tonight. Look who you brought to dinner with you.”

  “What’s wrong with Ash?” she asked in a low voice, her blood pounding in her ears. Anger raged through her, and she fought for control before she lost it.

  “Men like that—that artist—will prey on girls like you.”

  “Girls like me. What kind of girl is that, Grandmother?”

  Grandmother met her gaze. “Girls who don’t think. You’re an easy target.”

  “You told my brothers on their thirtieth birthdays, too?” Joy asked.

  Grandmother looked at her desk. “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?” Joy asked in a steely voice.

  “They received their inheritances when they turned twenty-one.”

  Joy just sat there, frozen. Her parents’ will had given her brothers their money nine years before her? “What? Why?”

  “Because your parents were smart. I pointed out that if something ever happened to them, any scoundrel could swoop in and take full advantage of your spirited nature. I didn’t want you to spend your inheritance on frivolous things. I wanted you to go to college and follow in your father’s footsteps!” she said, her expression fierce. “I wanted you to be like your brothers and become a doctor or a lawyer, not some lazy heiress.”

  Joy’s voice was stone-cold. “I love what I do. I’m sorry if I don’t fit into your idea of success, Grandmother. But I would do what I do no matter what. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had money or not. Don’t you get that?”

  “I just wanted you to be self-sufficient, Joy.”

  “I am.”

  She stared at her grandmother for a second before she said, “Why me? Why not my brothers?” She had to know.

  “They’re boys, dear. And they’ve always been serious about their studies and their careers.”

  “So was I,” Joy said in a low voice. “I went to Stanford for fuck’s sake! I got accepted into one of the most competitive art history programs in Paris!”

  Grandmother gasped. “Joy! Watch your mouth.”

  “No. I curse like a sailor, Grandma
. Better get used to it.” On shaking legs, she stood. “In fact, you better get used to a lot of things.”

  “Joy…”

  “I’m not fat. I like Ash. I’m smart. And I’m sick of you manipulating me!”

  “Everything I’ve done has been for your own good.”

  “Really? Or is it because my perfect brothers can’t even be bothered to be a part of this family and I’m all you have? So you do whatever it takes to keep me under your thumb. Let me see the paperwork.”

  Grandmother handed over the files, and Joy flipped open a folder. When she saw the various balances, her stomach dropped in shock. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me.”

  “It was for your own good,” she repeated, and Joy heard desperation there. She ignored it.

  “It was for my own good to treat me like some kind of birdbrain in this family just because I’m a girl?”

  “Because I love you.” Her grandmother’s blue eyes turned watery—was she actually tearing up? “I’ve just done what I think is best for you.”

  “This—” Joy picked up the file and waved it at her grandmother. “Keeping this from me while my brothers were all privy to the information was not best for me.”

  Grandmother stood, her tears quickly drying. “You’re a good girl, Joy. But you’re flighty and you don’t think. That”—she lowered her voice—“man out there is a perfect example.”

  “You don’t even know him.” Shaking in rage, Joy spun on her heel and yanked the door open. She marched down the hallway, not even pausing when she yelled, “Come on!” to Ash as she passed the sitting room.

  “Joy, wait,” she heard her grandmother calling after her. “What about dinner?”

  Chin raised, Joy turned and faced her mother’s mother. “Guess what?”

  Her grandmother just stared at her.

  “You’ve finally managed to kill my appetite. And you know what else?”

  “What?” her grandmother said uneasily.

  “I look fucking fantastic in these jeans!” What would have been a fabulous exit line was ruined by her frenzied digging through her purse, looking for the keys to her Mercedes. She began handing items to Ash: reading glasses, lotion, a bottle of perfume. She dug deeper, her mind so distracted by now she didn’t even realize when she took out a small but heavy piece of marble. She was about to hand it to Ash when she realized what she’d done. He stared at it, his expression one of total confusion. And then disbelief. When he looked back at her, his eyes seemed ice-cold.

  He reached out to take the sculpture, but her hands were shaking so badly she could barely hold it steady, and just before he reached for it, the beautiful sculpture dropped onto her grandmother’s slate floor, shattering into an array of chunks and chards.

  “What is this, Joy?”

  “I can explain—”

  “Where did you get this?” She’d never heard his voice sound so deadly.

  “I took it, but I was going to give it back!”

  “You took it?”

  She nodded.

  “You mean you stole it.”

  “Yes, but I had a good reason.”

  She saw him bite the inside of his cheek, fighting for control. “A good reason to steal. From me.”

  She went to touch his arm, but he jerked back. “Listen, Ash. Can I just explain?”

  “What’s there to explain? You took something that didn’t belong to you. That makes you a thief.”

  “It was for your own good!” She cringed. Hadn’t her grandmother just said those very words to her only moments ago?

  His gaze sharpened, and she nearly recoiled. “I thought I could trust you,” he said.

  “You can.”

  Slowly, he shook his head. “No. I can’t.” All the items he’d been holding fell to the floor.

  The hurt of betrayal burned in his eyes, and she felt her own eyes water. “Ash, please…”

  But he ignored her. Instead he turned and walked out the door.

  She looked up to see her grandmother, who’d silently witnessed the whole thing, shake her head and walk back to the study. Then Joy was alone, surrounded by random items from her purse and the ruins of Ash’s sculpture. There was nothing left to do now but clean up the mess and go.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  As she entered her apartment later that night, she was still reeling from the night’s events. Ash, the money, the argument. It was all too much.

  So much betrayal, so much hurt.

  She dropped the pile of files onto the kitchen counter. She’d been lied to by her grandmother and her three brothers for nearly a decade.

  A fucking decade!

  As she jerked open the freezer door and pulled out a carton of rocky road, she laughed bitterly. Just days ago, her grandmother had made her feel horribly guilty when Joy had asked her for a loan. What a joke!

  She began shoving bites of ice cream into her mouth. She could almost accept the fact that her grandmother had deceived her this way, but to know that her brothers were in on it, that they believed she was as irresponsible as her grandmother thought she was, hurt Joy to the bone.

  Was this how everyone saw her?

  But she already knew the answer; enough people had told her so. If so many people thought that, it must be true, and as she looked around her apartment, she saw in the chaos of her home what everyone else saw in her: a mess.

  She’d always thought that, even if she was a bit disorganized, at least she was a good person. But now she was even beginning to doubt that.

  Absently she began piling up papers on her kitchen table. Why was she so messy? She had a desk by the entryway; why didn’t she ever think to use it? She glanced to the writing desk she’d bought from the import store. It was piled with miscellaneous items like photographs, a bottle of water, a windup toy, a bra….

  She went to the desk and cleared the surface, putting every item in its proper place. Then she gathered the piles of mail and bills scattered around the house (why had she put her checkbook in the bathroom?) and organized the desk appropriately. Standing back, she crossed her arms over her chest and was surprised at how satisfying it was to look at all the paperwork stored in its correct area.

  The kitchen was next. She drank wine as she organized the cookbooks and cleaned the counters. There was her favorite fake-jeweled hair comb! Why was it behind the toaster? She found a basket in the fireplace and took it to the bathroom, and from then on, whenever she found a ponytail holder or other hair accoutrement, she placed it in the basket.

  It was like she was possessed. When the kitchen looked like Martha Stewart’s cleaning team had been through, Joy moved on to the living room. She gathered bag after bag of old magazines and newspapers, making about twenty trips to the apartment recycle bins. She gathered all her art history books and organized them in the bookshelf next to the fireplace. She arranged the colorful ethnic throw pillows on the sofa and draped the brightly woven blanket she’d picked up in India over the back of a chair. She stacked the current magazines she hadn’t yet read on the rustic coffee table and then positioned all the candles she’d uncovered next to them.

  Next she attacked her bedroom, sorting clothes and drawers and putting things away. She took everything out of her closet and replaced the items in a neat, ordered fashion. She even organized her blouses and skirts in sections by color, going from white to pink to red, all the way down to black.

  By the time she had cleaned the entire apartment, it was close to dawn.

  She was a sweaty mess, but she felt good. Cleansed. This was a good start; she was ready to make some changes in her life.

  Erica was grinding spices for her own curry paste when she heard a soft knock on the door. Blaine. Instinctively, she knew it was him.

  She peered through the eyehole. Her heart skipped before she could stop it. What was he doing here?

  Unsure, Erica continued to stare through the small hole of glass. Why did the man have to be so damn gorgeous? He wore another of his
tight, long-sleeved T-shirts and those damn khaki pants that seemed anything but preppy now that she knew exactly what was underneath them.

  “Erica. I know you’re in there; I can smell the curry. Now open the door.”

  She paused, her heart pounding. She wanted him to go away. And she wanted to pull him inside and wrap her arms around him.

  But that would just make everything so much worse.

  “Come on, Erica. You can’t avoid me forever.”

  “Fine, but only for a second. I’m busy.” She pulled open the door.

  “Smells amazing,” he said, entering her apartment.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”

  “To find out why you’ve been avoiding me since that day in the restaurant.”

  “I haven’t been avoiding you. I see you every day at school.”

  “Yeah, but each time I try to talk to you, you run away.”

  She moved past him, heading for the kitchen. “I do not run away. I’m just busy.”

  He grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”

  Raising her chin, she met his gaze. “Nothing. I just don’t want to be your plaything anymore.”

  He blinked slowly. “My plaything? What are you talking about?”

  She jerked out of his grasp. “Come on, Blaine. I saw you with your lawyer friends.” And that girl. “Your friend even said it: You’re going back to being a lawyer.”

  “No. What he said was that they want me to.”

  “And based on how you were dressed that day, I would assume you will.”

  “And you’d be wrong.”

  “Then what were you doing there?”

  “They were celebrating the end of a three-year case, one I was involved in.”

  She scoffed. “A messy divorce? It took a team of lawyers to divide up the Jaguars and the houses?”

  “No. It was a domestic violence case. A poor woman trying to leave her abusive asshole of a husband. A rich jerk who beat her up but didn’t want to give her custody of her three children.”