Page 71 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
Chapter Thirty-One
Anthony
The original plan for the day was to get Harry from LAX, then stop by Z, one of my most profitable clubs. It’s sentimental because it was my first and I built it myself—selecting everything inside, helping with the design, everything. I understand good taste, excellent liquor and the experience I want to give. I make it my routine to go there a few times every time I’m in L.A. to ensure it’s still the best, to learn who works there, get a feel for the crowd that frequents the club.
But at the moment, I can’t. I’m not in a very good headspace, and it’s impossible to oversee a business when I’m like this, obsessing about that woman.
Her delicate features. Those beautiful gray eyes. The mole underneath her plump mouth. Her scent. The hands.
That untattooed left wrist.
If I had a flower in the car, I’d rip it apart, petal by petal, while muttering, “She’s Ivy. She isn’t Ivy. She’s Ivy. She isn’t Ivy…”
So I pick the second best option—Harry. Although he can be incorrigible and irresponsible at times, he is great at auditing clubs. He understands fun and what makes people generous—even reckless—with their money. The best thing is, he’s done it before for me and pointed out areas I’d never considered or imagined were problematic. Taking his suggestions made a difference in elevating the clubs in L.A., Chicago, Rome and Paris from luxurious and exclusive to opulent and ultra-fashionable. It’s a subtle distinction, but it’s the difference between a club people think is great and a club people would give their left kidney to get into.
He answers on the third ring. “Thanks for checking up on me. I managed to get to campus in one piece,” he says, half sarcastic, but with enough humor to let me know he isn’t really upset. Nothing really upsets my younger brother.
“Uber is a boon to humanity. And especially hungover younger siblings.”
A snort, extra loud for my benefit. “So.” Harry’s voice grows serious. “Did you…uh…see her?”
Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to call him. I should’ve known he would ask. “Yes,” I say.
“And?” I can hear the tension and worry in his voice.
“And nothing. She isn’t Ivy.” Her name is Rizzy. Byron called her that. I wish I’d acted faster and punched the bastard in the mouth because he dashed my hope…a small, pathetic hope, but a hope nonetheless.
Harry sighs. “I’m sorry, Tony. I shouldn’t have shown you the video. Edgar got pissed off when I told him about it.”
Damn. Now Edgar’s going to be on my case, but I can’t very well be upset with Harry. My past behavior wasn’t exactly sane when it came to Ivy, and my reaction probably freaked him out. “It wasn’t your fault. The video went viral. Somebody would’ve shown it to me at the office.” The last part is a lie. Nobody in my office would bother me with junk like that.
And Harry sees right through me. “Right.”
“So. Are you busy tonight?” I ask, not wanting to dwell on the video or the pianist. It’s the kind of wound you lick alone, in the privacy of your home.
“Nope. Why?”
“Can you go to Z? See how things look there?”
“Oh, man!” he shouts excitedly. “Free booze, right?”
“No. Put it on your credit card. I don’t want everyone there to know you’re special enough to warrant free drinks.”
“They know I’m special enough to cut the line,” Harry protests.
“Keep it up and you won’t be able to.” He shuts up so fast that I hear his teeth click. “I’ll cover your expenses.”
His good mood immediately returns. “I can bring girls, right?”
“Within reason.” Otherwise he’ll invite half the co-eds from UCLA.
“Will do. You know I’m going to give you your liquor’s worth.”
“I’m counting on it. Thanks, Harry.”
“Hey, thank you!” He hangs up.
I almost smile at his infectious enthusiasm. It’s impossible to stay morose around my younger brother.
