“Watch yourself, Jules,” he growled. “I was helping a friend.”

“Does this friend have a name, or do you even remember?”

“You know, contrary to popular belief, I’m not a man whore. And she’s a very nice woman. Works at a foundation, gives of her time to help others. You could learn something from that.”

“You sound like a right idiot. Some slag has you by the cock, and that’s why you don’t want me here. Admit it. You’d rather I trot back home so you can pull some stupid girl. ”

“Not true, and don’t call her that again. You and I both know how the old man gets. Do you want to be shut out for good? Because if you stay here with me, that’s what will happen.” When she remained mute, he continued, “He’ll do it just to spite me. You need to go home, Jules.”

Fat teardrops filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. “You’re kicking me out too?”

Oh God. Seeing those tears nearly undid him. Pressing his lips together, Cal stepped around the coffee table and approached her. “I’m not leaving for a while. I promise I’ll come visit.” He attempted to give her a hug, but she twisted her shoulder and flung him off.

“How long is a while? Three days? A week? Before I know it, you’ll be off to Greenland or something, and send me a text six weeks later.”

He wasn’t a good role model—his father was correct on that score. Cal didn’t know what Jules needed right now, or how to provide it. Damn it, he wished people would stop relying on him. “I won’t leave without giving you proper notice, all right?”

“Don’t do me any favors. This is because of your Mother Teresa, isn’t it?” she asked. “You’re not staying here for me, you’re staying for her. Typical. You’ve never cared about me, Cal, not really.”

“That’s not true. I think about you all of the time.” And he did, in his own way. Wherever he traveled, he searched for interesting and pretty gifts. He could have been around more, but his father made it nearly impossible. “I’ll try to do better.”

Jules shook her head, making the curls wobble. “You’re not capable of doing better.”

That barb found its mark. Part of him wanted to grab his passport and head to the nearest exit. Being needed by anyone was rather daunting, stifling almost. But right at this moment, the more stalwart side of his nature won by a hair. “Maybe that’s true. But I’d still like to try.”

“You won’t stick around, Cal. You’ll be bored silly with this girl of yours in ten minutes,” she said with a loud sniff.

No, he wouldn’t. Cal felt the truth of that in his gut. He would never be bored with Monica Campbell. How could he be? She sparred with him one minute and kissed him passionately the next. He never knew exactly what would come out of her mouth, and she made him laugh. Monica was a constant surprise.

“I know you don’t believe it right now,” he said, “but this is for your own good.” How many times had Babcock said the same thing to him? Too many to count. But now, as he stood before Juliette, he knew Babs had wanted the best for him, even if it meant he sometimes hated her for it. And Jules might very well hate him. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to book you on the next flight. It’s the sensible thing to do.”

Before he could say more, Jules ran out of the lounge. A moment later, she slammed the bedroom door so hard, it echoed down the hall.

Well, fuck. What was he meant to do? She needed to go home. His father would blame him for this, and take it out on Jules. Staying here wasn’t an option.

With a sigh, Cal went to retrieve his phone from his pocket, but remembered he’d left it in the bedroom. Jules needed time to calm down, so he used the house phone and dialed his father’s number. The housekeeper answered, and Cal waited a good fifteen minutes before the old man picked up.

“What is it, Calum?”

“Good to speak to you too, Father. I believe you’ve misplaced something.”

“I don’t have time for games today.” The man never had time for games. Even as a child, the only thing Cal remembered about his father were harsh, punishing silences in between heated rows with Pix.

“Jules turned up here last night.”

“And just where the hell is ‘here’?”

“Vegas. She’s fine, by the way.”

“Vegas,” he sneered. “A funfair for adults. How perfect for you. If you gamble away your grandfather’s money, don’t come crying to me.”

Cal pinched his earlobe. “I’m worried about Jules. She’s distraught right now, unsure about her future.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” Contempt coated his father’s words like grease on a filthy engine. “Juliette will make a course correction. She’s not going to turn out like you, Calum—too much money and too little smarts. She’s a bright girl. Send her back home immediately, do you hear me?”

“I will do, but I wanted to let you know what’s going on. Since you don’t seem to have a clue.”

“How dare you? Why don’t you go back to wherever the hell you came from this time? Juliette doesn’t need you filling her head with nonsense.”

Determination stiffened Cal’s spine. “I’m not going anywhere. For the time being, I’m staying in the States. And I suggest you stop acting like a plonker. Jules says you haven’t spoken to her directly in days. That stops now, do you understand me, Father?”

The old man’s breathing was heavy, almost gasping. “If you believe for one minute that you can dictate to me, you’re in for a whopper of a surprise.”

Cal felt a ping of sadness. How had they gotten here, to this place where bitter words were more normal than courteous ones? “I’m sending her home. She cocked up, and now she needs to face it with you by her side. Do the right thing.” Cal ended the call.

Next, he phoned Mr. Lawson and had him book Jules a first-class ticket for later in the evening. At least they’d have a few hours together. If she deigned to speak to him.

With his hands thrust deep in his pockets, Cal strode down the hallway. At the bedroom door, he knocked three times, but she didn’t answer. “Jules, I know you’re angry with me, but let’s talk. Jules?”

When she didn’t shout obscenities or call him names, Cal started to become worried. He tried the handle, but the door was locked. A feeling of dread washed over him. “Jules, let me in. Jules.” He listened carefully for movement, but all was silent behind the door.

Cal ran back to the lounge and dialed Mr. Lawson, requesting a key. “I need it immediately. My sister has locked herself in the bedroom.”

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” Lawson said in a flat Midwestern tone. “According to the security guard, your sister requested a cab fifteen minutes ago. She’s gone.”

Bloody hell.

* * *

“Deena Adams is here to see you.”

Monica glanced up when Stella poked her head in the doorway. “Deena? She’s here now? Send her in.” Monica stood and smoothed nervous hands over her pant legs.

In her early forties, Deena Adams was a dynamo. As a successful entertainment attorney, she volunteered her legal advice, served as a board member, chaired committees, and worked tirelessly to fund-raise. Monica wished they had three more just like her.

Deena briskly walked in a moment later, a bob of dark blond hair swinging against her jawline. She wore no makeup, and her pantsuit was a higher-end version of Monica’s. “Sorry I didn’t call first. I was driving by and took a chance that you’d be working today.” She held out her hand for Monica to shake.

“Good to see you. Please, sit. Can I get you something to drink?”

Deena propped her briefcase on the chair, checked her phone, and then speared Monica with a sharp glance. “I only have ten minutes, so I’ll keep it brief. I don’t appreciate your going behind my back.”

Monica was speechless for a second. “Excuse me?”

“I had the media covered. I’ve talked to all the entertainment reporters, I’ve gotten us interview spots on three of the top radio stations, and we have a cover story in the style section of the paper, which comes out in two weeks. But you evidently didn’t trust my committee to handle the details. Imagine what an ass I felt like when I got phone calls asking me why the foundation coordinator is trying to undermine me.”