Page 69 of Careless Whisper

Reggie’s lips twitched into a smile.

This was her family, her loving family—no wonder she had such a strong core and infallible integrity while my family and Maren’s had nurtured us to pretend we were something we were not.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster—” Maren began but was interrupted by Faye, who nonchalantly announced, “Dr. Loring, after reviewing your proposed trial, the board regrets to inform you that we have decided to pursue a different direction for funding. We’re quite selective about the character of those we support.”

Maren stood frozen; her lips parted slightly like she’d just stepped off a cliff and hadn’t realized it until the ground disappeared.

Faye gave me a look that could slice through Kevlar. “Dr. Graham, I do hope you’re as good at fixing things for my Reggie as you are with a scalpel.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Stephen gave a slight cough that might’ve been a laugh. “Lancaster women are tough—I don’t think an apology will cut it, but it could be a half-decent start.”

Then, the family of four walked away, regal in their bearing.

Maren finally found her voice. “What was that?”

I looked at her deadpan. “That, Maren, was karma biting you in the ass.”

CHAPTER 25

Reggie

“What on earth are you doing here?” I demanded when I saw Elias in the garden of my grandparents’ brownstone, sitting in a wrought iron chair.

The garden was tucked behind the house like a secret, shaded from the street by tall brick walls laced with ivy that had likely been growing since the Nixon administration. The space was larger than you’d expect in the middle of a city and was impeccably kept—stone pavers that darkened to a rich slate in the rain, and raised beds trimmed in low boxwood hedges.

A narrow brick path curved through clusters of lavender, rosemary, and early-blooming hellebores—flowers chosen more for their history than flash. The hydrangeas in the corner were blooming like crazy—but they’d soon go dormant once winter set in.

In the center, a round iron café tablesat beneath a weathered pergola wrapped in dormant wisteria, its woody vines coiled like memory.

It smelled like loamy soil and last season’s leaves, with a faint trace of coffee—probably Elias’s, resting on the table beside him in one of my grandmother’s porcelain cups, the kind she saved forspecial mornings and unexpected guests.

“I came to see you,” he informed me unhelpfully.

I was still raw from the gala two nights ago in Boston.

During our flight back, I’d given my grandparents a piece of my mindseveral times. Cutting Maren to size was obviously theentertainmentG’Mum had promised.

I wasn’t petty by nature, and seeing Maren look like death warmed over when she found out I was the granddaughter of Faye Lancaster, the woman who controlled private funding for several trials around the world, had not brought me ease or peace.

But grandma was all about evening the scales, and she told me to buckle up because this was going to be a bumpy ride.

“You’re not going after Elias, are you?” I was incredulous

“Not personally, but we’re thinking of suing Harper Memorial for harassment,” Uncle Jason confirmed.

“No,” I protested.

Uncle Jason shrugged. “Probably won’t be necessary.From what I gleaned from the chairman of the board at Harper, they’re already investigating.”

Now, it was my turn to look like death warmed over. “Is…Is Elias losing his job?”

“Why do you care?” G’Mum asked with a glint in her eyes.

I threw my hands up in exasperation. “You’re all crazy. You know that?”

“And you’re just like us, darling,” Grandpa assured me.

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