Page 21 of The Sculptor

“Where are you headed?”

I glance up from my duffle bag, where I finished stashing the “unhealthy bauble,” as Vance calls it. I don’t trust leaving it in my desk anymore. Not after the heated conversation we had last week in the elevator.

“Vegas,” I respond casually, holding Vance’s accusing stare.

He hasn’t brought up Ramsey since we kept Astor’s daughter for the day, but I know it’s only a matter of time before he revisits the topic.

“What’s in Vegas?” Pushing his way into my office, he tries acting like he isn’t surveying the room for clues—which he doesn’t need. He knows I’m up to no good.

“What’s in Vegasotherthan Ramsey, you mean?” Let’s not pretend Vance cares that I’m headed to Vegas, where I’ve visited a million times. He only cares about one thing—being involved in another scandal.

“You’re getting brave, little brother.” Vance chuckles darkly.

“And you’re getting nosy.” I flash him a grin. “Don’t tell me things have grown boring between you and Hal, and you now need to hear about my weekend exploits.”

The fact that my brother doesn’t threaten me about commenting on his sex life tells me his mind is preoccupied—with me.

“Is that what you’re doing? Having an affair with the congressman’s fiancée?”

I scoff. “I wish. But you see,” I shake my head in mock shame, “Ray has this thing about being a good person. She wouldn’t sleep with me if I begged her wearing nothing but acrylic paint.”

And damn, if thinking about her upstanding morals doesn’t make my dick hard.

Vance moves in front of me, holding my stare. “Is that what you’re doing? Do you intend to beg Ramsey for scraps of attention? You’re better than that, brother. You deserve a woman who wants to be with you—not one who leaves when things get rough.”

I know he means well; I do. Vance and Astor were the only people who stood by my side when the news ripped me apart, and the school took back my scholarship. But neither of my brothers knows the story of what really happened that winter.

I’m not the man they think I am.

Sighing, I flash Vance a sarcastic smile. “Fine. You caught me. I was sneaking off to kill the congressman.” I shrug. “My dick and I decided we couldn’t settle for her scraps of attention.”

I know the minute I’ve slipped past his barrier of patience. He slams his fist on my desk. “I’m serious, Duke! Leave this girl alone! She’s already destroyed you once.” His arm trembles, and his entire body vibrates with controlled emotion. “I won’t watch her destroy you again.”

Halle and Remington suddenly appear in the doorway, checking on their boy.

I wave them off and face the concern in my brother’s eyes. “Ramsey did not destroy me. If anything, I destroyed her.”

Vance snaps. “Is she the one I dropped off at rehab for six weeks? Or was she the one who slept on my dorm couch when our father kicked him out?”

Inhaling, I try not to lose my calm. “You don’t under—” He doesn’t let me finish.

“I understand perfectly, Duke. I understand that she went back home with her father and left my brother, the valedictorian of his class, looking like a fool. Where was she, Duke? Huh? Where was she when you delivered pizzas to pay your way through school? When you could only sleep two hours a night without waking up screaming?”

The muscle in his jaw ticks erratically, and I know I need to stop this.

“You’re right,” I tell him. “Vegas is a bad idea.”

“Damn right, it’s a bad idea,” he snaps, folding his arms and seeming to relax.

I nod like he knows best, even though he doesn’t.

It’s true. All those things did happen.

I did go to drug rehab and suffered from insomnia when I worked long hours through med school.

And you know what? I’d do it all again… for her.

Halle has finally had enough and steps behind Vance, wrapping her arms around his waist. His hands go to the top of hers, visibly calming down. “How about you come over for dinner tonight? I’m making Vance’s favorite—chicken pot pie,” she encourages.

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