Page 53 of Just for Tonight

I get out of the car and lock it, thinking that I sound like I’m ready to trust Mr. Wickham – and we all know what a bad choice that would be.

I’m stern with myself as I walk to the house. Jake was fun. Jake is gone. Maybe the point of meeting Jake again was that he made me evaluate my own choices. Maybe there is a ‘right guy’ for me, one who understands my ambitions and would support them. Maybe I’m not finding Mr. Forever because I’ve been content to settle for Mr. Right Now.

Maybe Jake is helping me define a new plan for life, happiness and everything. Some people are catalysts. It doesn’t mean they need a starring role in my personal drama forever.

In my room, I try to save me from myself. I delete his information from my phone. That way I can’t even be tempted to call him if and when I’m in Toronto again.

My contact list looks empty, just because one name is gone. It’s like I never knew him. It’s like I’ve turned back the calendar to the day before I went to that black-tie reception.

Except it’s not. I’ve changed.

I can only hope that proves to be for the better.

13

Jake

I do not sleep again that night.

It’s not just Mackenzie. It’s not just the conviction that I disappointed her. It’s the prospect of the day ahead.

Despite my irritation, I’m not looking forward to this.

I’m up at 5:58, because what’s the point of just lying there, wide awake?

A crisp white shirt is my choice, one with French cuffs, because this day is going to be a beast. I will be the most unpopular person at Casa Cavendish and I need to plan accordingly. Madison, I know, has a nasty streak and Ethan is a dark horse. I don’t care which of them damaged my car. That’s just a detail. (Hell. It might have been Candace.)

I eye myself in the mirror when I’m suited to perfection, remind myself that I am an asshole, perhaps the greatest asshole of all time, and a fortress on an island as well. One with nuclear capabilities. Yes. That works.

I call Abbie and offer her a ride to Pearson. It’s good to hear her voice again and that makes me smile. She’s her usual cheerful self and she’s right – I have been too much of a stranger. I agree to pick her up at Cameron’s by noon and am on my way.

First stop is the office supply store in Havelock, where I get some bankers’ boxes. They’re packed flat and fit in the back seat easily. Whether they fit in the car once they’re assembled and filled is a question for later in the day.

Next, Richard Bradshaw’s office. He offers me a coffee, which I accept because it smells so great. We review the state of the union, and the various doors he has unlocked for me. I tell him about the deal I’ve made with Augustine Rhodes – conveniently omitting that Mackenzie brokered it – and he says he’ll take care of the details. We talk about my duties as executor, the need to be fair and adhere to the intention of my father’s will, even if it can’t literally be fulfilled per his specifications thanks to the lack of cash, and (because I am a Cavendish) we also talk about my liability as executor. Will my siblings sue me? Who knows? Candace might.

Richard wishes me luck and I think he means it.

Moments later, I knock at the door of Candace’s house, choosing formality since I don’t live there. The housekeeper lets me in, her disapproval more than clear. I haul the bankers’ boxes into my father’s study and start packing. Locking the door made no difference – the room looks like a tornado came through. I don’t care. All of the paperwork, receipts, bills, contracts, my father’s calendar and various little notes are packed up in record time. I even take his laptop, for all the good it will do me. I’ll go through all of it at home and sort it out all over again. No one will mess with it there.

Time is of the essence today.

I’ve carried half of the boxes out to the car when Madison steps into my return path. She’s wearing pink Hello Kitty pajama pants and a pink cotton camisole with lace edging. She looks sullen instead of cute, her dark hair hanging loose over her shoulders and her arms folded across her chest. “You can’t keep my credit cards,” she says, blocking my way back into the study.

“And good morning to you, too.” I give her a hard look and she steps aside reluctantly.

I get the next box and turn to take it to the car.

“You heard me,” she says, having taken up position in the doorway again. “You can’t do this to me.”

“Actually, I can.” I stop beside her and lower my voice. “Dad paid your bills. Dad is dead. Now I will be paying the bills out of his estate, and I won’t be covering your credit card bills because it’s not possible to do so without any cash in the estate.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Ask Richard Bradshaw.” I nudge past her and head to the car. One more box, which means all three of them will be there to confront me on my return. I’m just making it to freedom by a whisker.

“Jacob!” Candace calls as soon as I step back into the house. She’s come down the stairs in a sheer red negligée trimmed in red marabou. Her red satin mules have marabou on the toes, and her nails are a matching red. Her hair is tumbling in a tangle over her shoulder and she looks as if she just hurled herself out of bed. Yes, there are pillow creases on her cheek. She did pause to put on her lipstick, though. “Jacob, what is the meaning of this?” Her voice rises shrilly. “Why won’t you give Madison her credit cards? Where are my credit cards? What are you doing to us?”

“You don’t need the cards, Candace, not anymore,” I say calmly. “All of the accounts have been cancelled, so the cards are no good for anything.” Not quite true. I’ve cancelled the bigger ones, but these people have credit card collections. It’ll take me some time to get through to all the banks later this afternoon.