Chapter 3

Istood in front of the large picture windows in the living room. My hands were tucked in the pockets of my slacks, my jacket unbuttoned. It was basically the most casual I ever got, at least that used to be the case. I was sure that would change, just like everything else in my world had lately.

The spotless glass overlooked a pristine lake tucked into the valley and surrounded on all sides by the foothills and jagged mountains that made up Pembrooke.

The house was large for only one person, almost obscenely so. Every appliance, every finish from the light fixtures to the cabinet handles, were top of the line. The state-of-the-art ZLine with seven burners, a porcelain cooktop, and Italian hinges would be any professional chef's dream. But the odds I'd ever touch the damn thing were slim to none.

The home was built to resemble a large cabin built of glass and wood and dripping with luxury. It would be most people's dream home, yet for me, it was just another investment. One I'd live in, but an investment all the same. I could have rented or stayed in a motel, saving myself the seven figures this place was going to cost me, but the idea of living right on top of other people, no matter how temporary, set my teeth on edge. This worked best for me. It might not have been my forever home, but once I was finished here, I'd find a way to make money off it. That was what I did.

As I stared out at the view that would have undoubtedly moved most other people who didn't see things in the concept of dollar signs such as I did, the realtor's voice finally came back into focus.

"As you can see, the view from every room in the house is stunning. You won't find panoramic views like this anywhere else around town."

That was just one of the reasons the price tag on this house was so ridiculous. The community it had been built in was small, boasting its exclusivity with only seven of these McMansions that lorded over the small, quaint town below.

Most of the other houses were owned by people who chose Pembrooke as their vacation spot, not their forever home. They either came here in the winter to ski or in the fall to see the leaves turn before returning to whatever city they called home. I would be the only resident of this tiny neighborhood who lived here full-time. That was the real selling point for this place—the solitude.

I wasn't exactly a fan of people, so living up on the mountain, twenty minutes outside of town, without a single neighbor to bother me, sounded like heaven.

A dislike of neighbors was why my last residence was in a penthouse apartment in Denver.

I let out an annoyed sigh as the realtor kept going on. It wasn't her fault I was so short of patience, of course. But every single one of my days was packed from the moment I woke up until I went to bed. There were no such things as breaks or vacation days in my world; it was how I preferred things and also the reason I managed to become a millionaire before the age of forty. So having to listen to her give her standard pitch was burning precious time I didn't have to waste. Also, I wasn't exactly known for having much of a poker face when it came to my moods, which worked fine for me, since being an asshole generally kept people away.

"Of course, I have several other listings for you to consider. If this isn't what you're looking for, we can try somewhere closer to town. I'm confident we can find you?—"

I held my hand up to cut her off. "This is fine. I'll take it."

She sputtered for a few seconds. "You'll take it? But—Mr. Cavanaugh, this is only the first house I've shown you. Wouldn't you like to see other properties?"

Not particularly. Dragging this process out any longer actually sounded like my nightmare. And anything closer to town—to people—was out of the question. It was bad enough I'd chosen to disrupt my entire life this way. It felt like I'd shoved a stick into the spokes of a rapidly spinning wheel for the hell of it, and now I was dealing with that inevitable crash that came afterward. To say I didn't like change was a massive understatement. I preferred routine and liked to know what was coming from one moment to the next. However one phone call from my dad, telling me he was sick, had shoved my carefully curated world off-kilter. If I was going to stay here, I was going to need my privacy.

I would be here for my father in the ways I knew how. I'd granted his request to reconnect. But I drew the line at actually being a member of the community. Even if I had been once before. That was a long time ago, and I wasn't looking to reflect on the past.

No thanks.

"That won't be necessary. Just write up the contract offering asking price. I'd prefer to close as soon as possible."

Her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish several times as she tried to process what I'd just said. "I—Okay!" she finally said enthusiastically, barely able to contain her excitement for the fat commission she was about to make. "That's—I'll get right on that."

I let out a grunt, bypassing her extended hand on my way to the door. I wasn't one for pleasantries. I had things to do, so I didn't see the need to stick around for a bit of small talk with a person I didn't know the first thing about.

I headed for my Mercedes G-Wagon parked right by the front door in the large half-circle driveway, climbed in, and started it. I caught a glimpse of my realtor from the corner of my eye as she stepped out of the house, her hand in the air, mid-wave, but I was already driving past, my mind already occupied with the laundry list of things I had to get done.

As if she sensed it was the most inconvenient time possible, my dash lit up with my mother's name as the ringing of my cellphone connected to the car's Bluetooth echoed through the speakers.

I didn't have time for her particular brand of shit, but I knew if I didn't answer, she'd keep calling until I couldn't stand it any longer and finally picked up. Best to get it over with.

I hit the button on my steering wheel to connect the call. "Mother," I said in a flat voice, using the only moniker she deemed acceptable.

Estelle Cavanaugh didn't tolerate casual endearments such as Mom. It was Mother or nothing.

"Please tell me you've come to your senses and left that podunk town in your rearview mirror."

If there was any question as to why I was the way I was, all a person needed to do was look to Mommy Dearest for the answer. If I was cold and unfeeling, my mother had a block of ice where her heart should have been. She survived solely on logic and common sense and didn't have time for such things as emotions. It was one of the reasons her marriage with my father hadn't lasted.

Where Estelle was an emotionless robot, Hershel Cavanaugh was all heart. Detrimentally so, in some cases.

The two of them had grown up here, but my mother always had aspirations of getting out. Honestly, if it hadn't been for the fact that my mother had accidentally gotten pregnant, they probably wouldn't have lasted as long as they did. My father had loved my mom in spite of her lack of empathy and overall caring, while she'd simply tolerated him until, one day, she couldn't any longer.

I was seven when my mother informed my father she couldn't pretend to love him any longer. She sat me down and explained the situation in that succinct, clinical manner of hers that would have confused most other kids, but I was used to it by then, and asked me who I wanted to live with. Even at such a young age, I already knew my tender-hearted father needed me more, so I chose to stay with him.

He was a good dad, I had to give it to him. He tried his hardest. He'd always done what he thought was best for me, but my mother came calling when I was thirteen years old and informed him it was time for me to come live with her because he was making me too soft—her words—and he hadn't the means to fight her on it, especially since he'd already remarried and had another child by then. While he'd chosen to live a normal life most people could be happy with, albeit, paycheck to paycheck, my mother had spent the years away building her empire, and her legal team would have cut my poor dad off at the knees.

So once again, my world had been rocked.

I didn't bother letting my annoyance show. It wasn't as if Estelle would care. "You already know the answer to that question, so I don't know why you bothered asking."

"You're wasting your life away in that place," she insisted for the millionth time since I'd informed her of my plan to relocate to Pembrooke in order to help care for my father and get him back on his feet.

"You act as if everything is on hold. That's not the case. All the work I do can be handled remotely. The only thing that's changed is my address, and that's temporary."

Her harrumph of displeasure filled the car. "Until you get sucked in and find yourself stuck."

I shook my head in exasperation. I always knew my mother's heart was callused, but there had been a part of me that thought maybe, deep, deep, down, a hint of feeling was still in that useless organ in her chest. I guess I had been wrong.

"He's sick, Mother. I know you hated this town and might not have been in love with him, but I thought you'd manage at least a bit of compassion for the man you were married to and had a child with."

"It's not like he's dying. He'll be fine. Eventually."

A bark of derisive laughter scraped its way up my throat. It was a wonder I was a functioning member of society at all, given the cyborg who raised me. "I wonder if you'd be so blasé if the shoe were on the other foot and you were the one diagnosed with cancer."

I imagined her face right then, her skin smooth as glass, not a wrinkle in sight, because her lack of all emotion prevented any expression from crossing her face other than boredom.

"I'm just saying, Vaughn, you have a company to run and responsibilities in Denver. It isn't like Hershel is on his own. He started a whole other family."

It wasn't the first time she'd made a snide remark regarding my father remarrying and having a second kid. Only she made it seem as though he'd abandoned his original family in order to start a new one, all but throwing me over for his new daughter. That hadn't been the case at all, but I'd been young and impressionable, and I'd let her words form a kind of scar tissue over my heart that began to harden it, especially toward my dad.

It had taken me years to realize it had been a manipulation on her part, but by that point, the damage had been done. I was an adult with a very busy life of my own. The strained relationship I had with my father was something I pushed to the back burner, forgetting most days in my pursuit of money and power.

At least until that phone call a few weeks ago.

Finding out he was sick had... changed things. It refused to stay on the back burner any longer. I couldn't compartmentalize our relationship like I had before, and to my surprise, a bit of that calcified hardness around my heart chipped away.

I didn't have the desire to get into this with her, not again, so instead of arguing, I asked, "Is there something else you needed, Mother, or were you just calling again to bitch about the fact I didn't do what you wanted?"

"Language," she clipped through the car's speakers. It was downright laughable how she thought she had a leg to stand on to scold me on the language I used. Even after she'd all but ripped me from my father's house, she hadn't done much mothering. She was too busy working and networking to spare me the time. From thirteen until I moved away for college at eighteen, I'd basically been taking care of myself.

I never understood why she fought to get me back, let alone went through with the pregnancy in the first place. There wasn't a maternal bone in that woman's body.

"As always, Mother, it's been a pleasure talking to you, but I have to go. I'll look forward to your next lecture in a few months' time."

With that, I disconnected the call and let out a heavy sigh. Then for the millionth time in the past few weeks, I questioned what the hell I'd gotten myself into.