All Our Tomorrows (The Heirs Book 1)
Chapter 15

It wasn’t Piper who was shaking, it was him. He’d walked into the house expecting to confront Melissa, and instead heard raised voices with nasty accusations and a dog barking in a way that you’d only expect when they were about to rip someone in half.

When he realized that Melissa had cornered Piper in the bathroom, an unexpected rage filled his entire being.

That red-hot anger soothed the moment his eyes landed on Piper after Melissa was gone. All he wanted to do was gather her in his arms. He felt her head lean into his palm and saw her eyes fall for a half a second longer than a blink. There was no mistaking the look in her eye or the feeling it gave him when he saw it.

This attraction went both ways. He knew it as much as he understood the sun would rise in the morning.

Chase filled a glass with chilled water from the refrigerator and brought it back into the living room.

He found Piper sitting on the sofa, Kit curled at her feet.

Chase sat on the coffee table opposite her and handed over the water. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

She brought the water to her lips and took the smallest sip of water he’d ever seen.

“Your color is coming back.”

“She’s a real winner, that one,” Piper said, laughing off his words.

“She had no right to even be here.”

“It wasn’t my place to tell her to leave.”

No, it wasn’t. But a confrontation with his dead father’s wife wasn’t in Piper’s job description either. “I’ll get someone in here to change the locks.”

Piper shook her head. “Already done. They should be here . . .” She glanced at her watch. “In an hour and a half.”

Chase sat back, his hands on his knees. This woman never ceased to amaze him. “When did you manage that?”

“When she was upstairs collecting whatever it was she forgot.”

“You’re incredible, you know that?”

Piper closed her eyes, her lips in a straight line. She placed a palm to her forehead. “I don’t feel so incredible right now. My head is pounding.”

He stood. “I’m sure there is something in this house for a headache.”

She started to protest, but he left her side in search of pills.

The first place he looked was the kitchen. Opening and closing cupboards like a man on a mission. Which he was. When he didn’t replace what he was looking for, he double-timed his steps up the stairs and down the hall into his father’s bedroom.

Chase had been avoiding that room since he stepped into the house. He’d glanced into it briefly during the funeral but dove in headfirst now. It was hard to slam doors and drawers when they had soft-close features, but he tried. Sure enough, he found a bottle of ibuprofen and jogged down the stairs. “This should work,” he said to Piper, handing her the bottle.

Her eyes narrowed, as if the light was making her headache worse. “I can’t take this.”

Chase accepted the bottle when she handed it back. “You’re allergic.”

“No . . . yes.”

“Which is it?”

“Tylenol. I can take acetaminophen.”

Back up the stairs he went. He searched more drawers in his father’s bathroom. Nothing. Melissa’s bedroom.

More ibuprofen.

He moved down the hall to a guest bedroom. One of the bigger ones. He was about to give up and drive to a store when he found what he was looking for in the third guest room he checked.

Kit looked up at him as he approached Piper. By now, she was lying on the couch, a hand draped over her eyes.

“Piper?” he said her name quietly.

She held out her hand without looking at him.

Chase opened the bottle and dropped two pills into her palm. She propped herself up long enough to swallow the pills. “There’re some crackers on your dad’s desk. Can you—”

“Got it.”

He found the saltines on the desk and brought them to her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I need to keep the pills down.”

“Is this a migraine?” Chase didn’t have them, but his mother had on occasion, and he recognized the behavior.

“I’m not . . . I don’t know.”

“You don’t have migraines?”

Piper pulled a cracker out of the packaging without opening her eyes and nibbled on one.

“I just need a few minutes.”

Kit took that moment to nudge Chase out of the way, climb up on the couch, and wedge himself to Piper’s side.

Her hand fell on the dog.

Chase grabbed a pillow from another sofa. “Here.”

She opened her eyes briefly and lifted her head when she saw the pillow. “Thanks.”

“Better?”

“Uh-huh.”

Kit let out a huge sigh and laid his head on Piper’s stomach and closed his eyes.

As much as Chase wanted to stay close if she needed anything, he knew if she opened her eyes to replace him staring, that would only add a layer of stress to whatever she was dealing with.

Chase quietly pulled himself away and left her in the silence.

He called Stuart the second he was out of earshot. “What do we need to do to keep Melissa from showing up at the house or the office?”

Piper pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and burrowed into the warmth it provided. The slow snoring of Kit encouraged her to go back to sleep. She felt rested and comfortable for the first time in what felt like forever.

And hungry.

Not nauseated, which was a huge relief.

The low whispering of voices made her open her eyes.

She was on a couch. Not her couch.

Stone’s.

She’d fallen asleep.

At work.

The memory of Melissa and Chase . . . and all the graphic detail flooded back.

Her eyes drifted open. The light from outside wasn’t as bright as it had been when she’d fallen asleep. It didn’t feel late, but she’d done more than take a short nap.

She’d slept.

Piper pushed herself into a sitting position, dislodging Kit’s head from her thigh.

She stretched her arms over her head and felt at least one vertebra in her back snap, thanking her.

“We woke you.” Chase walked into the room from the foyer. “The locksmiths are here.”

“What? I slept for an hour?” She glanced at her watch.

“Closer to three.”

She blinked, her eyes finally focusing on the time. It was nearly five. “How did that happen?”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Chase had shed the suit jacket and tie. His sleeves were rolled up, his shirt unbuttoned a couple of notches. After-work casual. “Don’t be. How are you feeling?”

She covered a yawn and blinked away the sleep. “Embarrassed . . . and hungry.”

“That’s a good sign. The hungry part.” Chase motioned toward the front door. “They’re on the last door.”

“How long have they been here?”

“Turns out there are a lot of keyed doors in this house. We saved this one for last since you were asleep.”

“Mr. Stone?”

Chase smiled at her. “I’ll be right back.”

Piper pushed the blanket away and realized that Chase must have put it on her. This was not the kind of living room that had a throw on the back of a sofa for curling up on. She’d be surprised if anyone had napped in the room before her. She all but rolled off the sofa and then folded the blanket. Kit stretched beside her and shook off the sandman.

“You have to be hungry,” she said to her pet.

She started toward the kitchen, where she’d left Kit’s food, and realized she didn’t have shoes on.

Glancing back at Chase, she wasn’t sure what emotion was stronger . . . embarrassed or grateful. The sleep was desperately needed and not something she’d gotten a lot of in the past several weeks. Even though a headache of monstrous proportions had triggered the slumber, she was grateful for it.

Piper opened a can of organic dog food and mixed in a small portion of pumpkin, a few peas, and his kibble. She hunched down to Kit’s side and patted his head as he dug in. “You took care of business today, buddy.” She kissed the top of his head and left him to eat in peace.

“All done,” Chase announced when he walked into the kitchen. “Melissa will have to hop a fence if she wants to come in here.”

“She doesn’t seem like the fence-hopping sort.”

Chase looked down at Kit.

Piper followed his gaze and wiggled her bare toes. “You took my shoes off and covered me with a blanket.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, you didn’t look comfortable.”

She leaned against the island and crossed her arms over her chest. “That isn’t exactly boss behavior.”

“Today hasn’t exactly been a boss–employee kind of day.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

Chase’s smile put a flutter in her belly. The kind she welcomed even though she shouldn’t.

“You said you were hungry.”

“Yeah. I should get going.”

“I owe you dinner.”

She tilted her head. “How did you conclude that?”

“Today was above and beyond. It’s the least I can do.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “C’mon, Piper, let me get you some food. There’s a lot of choices just down the hill. We’ll leave Kit here, pick him back up when we’re done.”

The day had been about pushing envelopes. Besides food within the hour versus the drive home and then cooking . . . “Let me put my shoes on.”

A few minutes later, they were climbing into Chase’s truck, with Kit’s nose stuck to the glass framing the front door of the house.

Within twenty minutes, they were being seated in a steakhouse that Piper was entirely underdressed for.

Chase encouraged her to walk in front of him and then pulled her chair out for her before taking a seat.

“This place is fancy.”

“Fits the neighborhood.” Chase disappeared behind a menu. “I could use a drink. What about you?”

Her mouth literally watered. “That sounds great, but . . .” There’s a fetus growing inside of me, and that’s a big no can do. “I don’t want that headache coming back. I’ll stick with water.”

Chase looked at her over his menu. “You sure?”

No! “Positive.”

Piper studied the menu, searching out the chicken options. Or as she was used to doing, picking the least-expensive thing on the menu.

Only there was a fundamental problem with her proven date-night strategy. “Is it me, or are there not prices on this menu?”

“I’m paying for dinner.”

She nudged her menu toward him. “But there are no prices.”

He glanced at her menu and went back to his own. “There are prices on mine.”

It took a second for that to register. “They assume you’re paying?”

Chase lowered his menu and made a point of looking around the dining room. “This isn’t the kind of place where a woman pays the bill.”

“What?” Piper looked to her left and right. “That’s sexist.”

“Don’t blame me, I didn’t make the rules.”

“How am I supposed to figure out what to order?”

“What are you hungry for?”

“That’s not how it works. You tell me what you’re ordering, then I pick something on the menu that’s cheaper . . . since you’re paying.”

His smile went all the way to his eyes. “Are those the rules?”

“Of course they are.”

“What if I only order a salad?”

Her shoulders slumped.

The waiter arrived and asked what they were drinking.

Chase ordered a bourbon, Piper stuck with water, and the suit-wearing waiter retreated.

“Order whatever you want, Piper. I’m a gazillionaire, remember?”

Yeah, she remembered, but still. It wasn’t how she was raised and went against her grain.

She studied the menu and debated her options in silence.

The waiter returned with Chase’s drink and asked them what they wanted.

“You first,” she said to Chase.

“Oh, no. Ladies first.”

Piper glared at him. “I’ll go with the chicken.” Boring baked chicken put on a fancy menu like this to satisfy the dieting Beverly Hills housewives that were afraid to put on a pound for fear their husbands would leave them for their secretaries.

Chase cleared his throat.

“Anything to go with that? A starter, perhaps? Caesar salad?”

She could always hit a fast-food place on the way home if she was still hungry. “Whatever it comes with is fine.”

The waiter turned to Chase. “And you, sir?”

Chase looked directly into her eyes as he ordered. “The New York, medium rare. Loaded baked potato. Start with a shrimp cocktail.”

Piper literally felt like Pavlov’s dogs with how much her mouth was watering.

“Probably dessert, but I’ll figure that out later.”

The man was goading her. Daring her to eat the chicken when he picked what was likely the most expensive thing on the menu except the lobster.

He’s a gazillionaire, Piper.

“I changed my mind,” she said without breaking eye contact with Chase.

“Okay,” the waiter replied.

“Eight-ounce filet mignon, medium rare, with that peppercorn sauce on it. Garlic mashed potatoes. Does that come with vegetables?”

“Grilled asparagus.”

“Perfect.”

Chase raised an eyebrow.

“And a Caesar salad.”

“Will that be all?”

What else could she make Chase buy? “Fancy water,” she said.

“Miss?”

“The bubbly kind.”

“Pellegrino?”

“Sure.” She was thinking of the kind from a can at the local supermarket, but what the hell. “In a wineglass with lemon.”

The waiter collected the menus and left them alone.

Chase leaned forward. “Did you just break the rules?”

“All of them,” she replied.

He rubbed his hands together. “Good.”

The waiter arrived with her water and fresh sourdough bread while Chase was telling her about his plans to move his business to the Stone building. “Seems a waste to have a completely empty floor in a building that size.”

“How do your employees feel about the move?”

“We haven’t told them yet. I need to make sure there are no obstacles.”

Piper put a generous portion of butter on the bread. “Do I need to remind you again that you own the building?”

“Probably.”

The bread literally melted in her mouth. She let out a moan and closed her eyes.

“That good?”

“Divine.”

Chase reached for a section and followed her example. He took a bite. “It is good.”

“Have your assistant at CMS call me. We’ll get a design team to reconfigure the floor to your needs.”

“We have a design team?”

“Of course. It’s a hotel empire. Design teams are a phone call away.”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“That’s why you pay me the big bucks, boss.” She washed the bread down with the bubbly water. “Will you use that floor as your primary office space?”

“I haven’t thought that far yet. Alex and I sharing an office upstairs will eventually get uncomfortable.”

“That’s fixable, too.”

“Oh?”

“If you can handle a slightly smaller office on the top floor, we can shift everyone over one space, remove the meeting space in the middle . . . it really doesn’t need to be there. The larger meeting room, the one where we hold the board meetings, is plenty of space.” She visualized the finished project within the blink of an eye.

“You sure you’re not part of the design team?”

“Design is kind of a hobby.”

“A hobby is reading or gardening.”

“Or losing yourself for hours in a design program,” she argued.

The first course arrived and interrupted their conversation.

Piper had to remind herself to slow down. Now that her body was accepting food, she realized just how famished she was.

“Did you want to be an architect?”

“Those are two different skill sets,” she said between bites. “I like to point and suggest a wall go here, a window go there, and not worry about if the load-bearing wall will carry the weight.”

“That sounds architectural to me.”

She shrugged. “It’s fun. And even better when you’re spending someone else’s money to make it happen.”

He smiled. “I bet you do that well.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll get a chance to see me in action.”

They moved from office design to what she’d accomplished in the day before Melissa had shown up and put a stop to everything. “The thing is, I’d have been happy to commiserate with her if she’d given me a chance. Seeing the size of the bank account she was used to having and knowing that was all stripped away must be a part of her anger.”

“Don’t feel too sorry for her. She got a very big check.”

“He took her house away.”

“Five million and then some.”

Piper’s jaw dropped. “Oh.” That was a lot of money.

“Cars, jewelry . . . lots of things.”

“Oh.”

“The things I heard her saying to you were inexcusable.”

“She caught me off guard, it won’t happen again.”

Chase pushed the empty martini glass that held the shrimp to the side. “You’re right, it won’t. Not if I can help it. The attorneys are talking, and if she so much as shows her face again, we’ll replace a reason to file a restraining order.”

“That’s a bit extreme.”

“I don’t think so. She had you cornered in a bathroom and was harassing you. In a house she was told not to come back to. Do you have any idea what she left with?”

“None. There didn’t seem to be that much left in her bedroom, but I didn’t sift through any of the drawers. Maybe she wanted the bed linens.”

Chase shook his head. “I doubt that.”

“Did you go up there and look?”

“No.”

“Have you been up there at all?”

He looked to the side, picked up his drink. “No.”

There was something to unpack in that. “I have. I didn’t replace any keys. I did replace your dad’s watch collection. He has . . . had a lot of them.”

Chase nodded but didn’t comment.

“That got me thinking, though.”

“About?”

“Well, you carry keys with you, right?”

He nodded.

“Keys, your cell phone, a wallet. Your dad drove himself to the hospital, right?” She didn’t spell out the facts she knew. Aaron Stone drove himself to the hospital and, within seconds of getting there, went into full cardiac arrest and died before they could get a heart surgeon scrubbed for surgery.

“That’s what we were told.”

“So where is his stuff? From that day? You go into the hospital, and they shove all your things into a bag. A man as rich as your father likely had a wallet, a watch . . . car keys, at the very least, on him. Maybe the keys we’re looking for are in that stash.”

Chase looked directly at her. “It’s a good place to look.”

“Where are those things?”

“Melissa would know.”

Piper rolled her eyes. “She isn’t helpful.”

“In his car, maybe.”

“Where is that?” Piper asked.

“The garage?”

“Have you looked?”

“No.”

“When we go back, we should look.”

The waiter arrived with their dinners and ended the conversation about a dead man’s personal possessions on the day of his death.

Piper thanked the waiter and picked up her knife and fork and found Chase staring at her.

“When we get back, we’re going to collect your dog, set the alarm, and leave the search for tomorrow.”

Chase’s way of changing the subject was noted. “Okay.”

He cut into his steak and brought a bite to his lips. “Can you come in at noon?”

She followed his lead and sliced into the filet. “Doesn’t my day start at eight?”

“Not tomorrow. I’m keeping you late tonight.”

“Yeah, this is such a hardship.” Sarcasm dripped from her lips. One bite, and she was in heaven. Exactly what her body needed. “God, this is good.”

“Better than the chicken,” he teased.

She sliced into the tender beef a second time. “With the right bank account, I could be a very high-maintenance girl.”

“You’re not now?”

“Oh yeah, I clean out Target every chance I get.”

Chase was smiling again now that they’d gotten off the topic of his father.

Piper really liked his smile.