Promises We Meant To Keep (A Lancaster Prep Novel)
Promises We Meant To Keep: Chapter 10

I’M SITTING at my desk in my office at Donato Enterprises when there’s a knock on my door. Before I can ask who it is or wonder why my assistant didn’t call with a warning first, the door swings open and Whit Lancaster strides inside, impatient as ever.

He comes to a stop in the middle of my office, resting his hands on his hips as he takes in the interior. Me sitting behind the grand desk that used to belong to my father. Until he bought a bigger, grander desk to sit behind and gave me the old one.

Whit grins. “What the fuck, Spence? Who are you now?”

I slam my laptop closed and lean back in my chair, contemplating him. “While you’re off traveling the world for your month-long honeymoon, some of us have to work for a living.”

“We were gone for three weeks.” Chuckling, he wipes the smile off his face with his fingers, falling into one of the chairs that sits across from my desk. “This is unbelievable. You’ve really come up in the world.”

I ignore his statement. “How was the honeymoon anyway?”

It’s been well over a month since the wedding. Since I last saw Sylvie in the flesh. Moonlit and dancing with roses in her hair. Beautiful, infuriating Sylvie.

“Amazing. Exhausting.”

“All the sex?” I arch a brow.

“My wife is pregnant,” he says indignantly, like I offended him. “And we took August with us.”

That was your first problem, is what I want to tell him, but they are a solid family unit and do everything together. It’s not just Whit anymore. It’s Whit and Summer—and August. Eventually, there will be another baby joining their ranks.

I can barely date the same woman twice in a row, and here’s Whit, the most selfish asshole I ever knew, now a solid family man.

Life is wild.

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Well, August kept us busy, I can’t deny it.” Whit grins. “But Summer is in her second trimester, so she’s horny as fuck. Wants to jump me all the time.”

“Spare me the details,” I mutter.

He shrugs. “You’re the one who asked.”

True. My mistake.

“Why did you want to see me anyway?” I ask, changing the subject. Feeling impatient. It’s a busy day—when is it not—and I don’t have time to shoot the shit and catch up with my friend, despite my wanting to do so.

Whit frowns. “So formal. Can’t I just want to talk to my old friend?”

“There is always a reason for an unexpected appearance,” I remind him, knowing that Whit doesn’t show up out of the blue just for kicks.

“I wanted to make an appointment, but you’re booked. I even called your secretary.”

“My assistant?” I check my watch. “I do have a meeting in ten minutes.”

“Of course you do.” He sounds irritated.

“Come on, Whit.” My voice softens. “You get it. I know you do.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I do. I’ll be quick.” Whit leans forward, amusement alighting his eyes. I’m sure he’s tripping out that I’m the one with the upper hand in this particular situation, which is a rarity. “I need your help.”

I lean back farther in my chair, angling it so I can look out the window at the cityscape spread out before me. The buildings’ windows glitter in the sun, the towering Manhattan skyscrapers vast and seemingly never-ending. “Not sure I’m the one who can offer assistance.”

“I didn’t even say what I need help with,” Whit points out.

My gaze returns to his, momentarily startled by the serious expression on his face. Guess he actually means business. “Donato Enterprises only assist others in…certain circumstances. You know this.”

The family business is not quite on the up and up, and that’s why Lancasters never get involved in business with Donatos. Oh, we have some legitimate avenues of income. Corporate holdings in various investments, including commodities trading, plus a global hedge fund. We’re worth hundreds of millions and edging closer to the billion-dollar mark, which is my ultimate goal.

But we also dally in things that are…sketchy at best, absolutely criminal at worst.

“It’s personal.” The jovial façade drops, and Whit’s eyes are now full of…is that worry? “It has to do with my sister.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Nope.”

He rears back. I’m sure that’s a word he doesn’t hear too often. “Let me explain.”

“If it has anything to do with Sylvie, I cannot be involved.”

“What if it’s about Carolina?”

“Still can’t be involved.” I won’t touch either of those Lancaster sisters. To help Carolina would make Sylvie horribly jealous. And I can’t help Sylvie. I just…

I can’t.

This isn’t about Carolina though. It’s got Sylvie written all over it. I know it. That’s why Whit came to me. I’ve always been the overeager puppy ready to do Sylvie’s bidding.

Well, not anymore.

“Look, no one understands Sylvie like you do,” he starts, but I interrupt him.

“I don’t know about that. She married someone else. I’m sure he understood her far more than I ever could.”

Whit barks out a laugh. “Not quite. You know that wasn’t a marriage born out of love.”

“Right.” It doesn’t matter what it was born out of. It happened. She ran off and married that fucker after having sex with me.

After giving her virginity to me. Like that’s some sort of parting gift before she became someone else’s wife.

Fucking weird if you ask me.

“Our mother paired her with that man. He wasn’t Sylvie’s choice.” Whit sneers. “And he creeped me out. Something about him was off.”

“I don’t want to talk about Sylvie,” I snap, earning a hard glare for my tone. I shrug. “If that’s the only reason you came here, I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

Whit slowly shakes his head, his disappointment palpable. “I never thought you’d turn me down when it came to Sylvie.”

“The minute she took another man’s name, it was done.” A sigh leaves me and I sit up straighter, hating that little break of emotion.

“She’s run away, you know,” Whit admits softly.

“I don’t care.”

Curiosity blooms but I shove it aside. Fuck it.

I really do not care.

“No one knows where she’s at.”

“Not my problem.” It’s not.

“She planned it—even cashed out before she left. Took out a bunch of money before she disappeared. They have footage of her going to the bank and walking out twenty minutes later with a Chanel backpack stuffed full of cash.”

Sounds like something Sylvie would do.

“Again, like I said, not my problem.” I keep my expression as neutral as possible, refusing to react.

“Damn.” Whit makes a disbelieving noise, rubbing at the side of his neck. “Summer warned me you might react this way, but I didn’t believe her.”

Point for Summer. She understands what it’s like to come at a Lancaster from the other side. “Your sister isn’t my problem anymore, Whit. She hasn’t been for a long time. And what could I do for her in this situation, huh? Sounds like you need a private detective, not me.”

“You’re as good as one though, aren’t you? When it comes to Sylvie at least? You two always know how to sniff each other out.”

I hate the way that sounds. How he said that. Maybe we were like that when we were teenagers, but that was a long time ago. A lifetime ago.

“We’re not on the same wavelength. We haven’t been for years.” I check my watch again, not caring if I seem rude. I don’t want to talk about her anymore, though I can tell Whit isn’t finished. “I need to prepare for my meeting, Whit. If you want, we could meet for drinks later this afternoon?”

Whit shakes his head, not budging from the chair. “I can’t believe you’re not going to help me.”

“I can’t believe you’re trying to replace her by asking for my help. You have more money than God, and you’re telling me you don’t know where she is? Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”

Whit snorts. “Clearly. Look, I found Summer after she ran out on me. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. I know you can do the same for Sylvie.”

“The circumstances are different. You were in love with each other.”

“And you’re not in love with Sylvie now?” The doubt in his voice is strong.

I slowly shake my head. Fuck, I’m such a liar. “She’s not in love with me either. It’s been years, Whit. Years. We’re older now. She married someone else. She’s had lovers. So have I. We’ve both moved on.”

“Such bullshit,” Whit mutters as he rises to his feet. “You two drive me insane.”

“Sorry to put you through it,” I say, not sounding sorry at all.

“Fuck you,” he spits out before his demeanor changes in an instant. “Come on. Help me out. I’m your best friend. She was your first love.”

It’s funny, hearing him speak of love. It’s not something he’s normally comfortable with, though that all changed once he had August.

“Right. My first love who fucked me over and got married without telling me.” I don’t tell him what she really did to me—coming over to my place naked, like some sort of offering that I didn’t hesitate to take. That’s our secret to keep, and none of his damn business.

“She didn’t tell anyone she was getting married, you know. Like I already said, that was some sort of weird plan concocted by her and our mother.”

“Well, maybe she concocted this plan with her mother as well,” I point out.

“No.” Whit shakes his head. “Our mother is freaking the fuck out. She called me and asked if I knew where she was. My father called too. No one knows where she ran off to.”

“She probably took a little vacation.”

“Sylvie’s been missing for weeks. Packed her shit, turned off her phone and we haven’t heard a word from her since. For all we know, she could be dead.”

“Weeks?” The alarm that threatens to choke me is sudden. Nearly debilitating. Thank Christ I’m sitting down. “You didn’t say she’s been gone for weeks.”

“Well, she has. Look, she’s run away before, but not like this. Never like this.” He leans forward, his expression earnest. “It’s fucking scary, Spence. And nothing scares me, unless it has to do with my family. Sylvie and I have had our struggles before, but things have been good between us. She’s been repairing her relationship with my wife, and she adores my son. She came to my wedding, which was the first family event she’s been to in a while. She avoids them because of our mother, but she wanted to be there for me and Summer. It was a breakthrough. Then she just up and disappears. It’s not normal. It’s not right.”

“This makes no damn sense.”

“I know. So help me make sense of it. Help me replace her.” Whit swallows hard. “Please.”

Now there’s a word you don’t hear a Lancaster say often.

Silence fills the room, and while it probably lasts no longer than thirty seconds, it feels longer. Like minutes. Hours.

Whit is waiting me out. Waiting for me to give in. And like the sucker he knows I am…

I do.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I say stiffly. “But I’m not making any promises.”

“Right now, I’ll take what I can get.”

It’s late, and I’m nursing a glass of scotch, scrolling on my laptop, bleary-eyed and exhausted. Still at the office, though everyone else is long gone.

I’m trying to think like Sylvie Lancaster, which is an odd headspace to be in. Where would she go, what would she do? What would make her run away like this? Did something happen?

Or is it more like someone?

The someone part rankles, but that’s just my jealousy rearing its ugly head. I mentally tell myself to forget about it and focus on the clues.

There aren’t many.

A vast amount of information pertaining to Sylvie is on the internet, but the majority of it is meaningless. Endless photos of her in the society pages, including a few of her with her old ass, dead husband. I scroll right past those, hating the anger that boils my blood when I see her smiling, standing next to an old man who she called her husband.

Did she actually have sex with that guy? How deep do her daddy issues go? Did I even really ever know her?

No, not really, is what I tell myself.

I do a little deeper digging. Pulling up her marriage license. Searching for other legal documents involving Earl Wainwright. There are plenty, including various lawsuits over the years, and the divorce with his first wife. He’s bought and sold a lot of properties in Manhattan the last thirty years or so. And a single purchase in…California?

That’s a one-off—and an odd purchase for him to make.

I open Google Maps and enter the address, startled to realize it’s nothing but acres and acres of thick forest with a house nestled deep in the trees. It sits right next to the Pacific Ocean and he paid ten million for it.

What the hell was he going to do with a house on the California coast?

I search through deeds, first in New York, then in Monterey County in California, and that’s when I replace it. The clue I needed to replace Sylvie.

Her husband switched the property into Sylvie’s name a little over a year ago. I check the dates—the transaction occurred just prior to his death. Is that where she is? Holed away on the coast? Maybe she needed a change and decided to start over in California.

Or maybe she ran away and hoped I would pick up on the few legal bread crumbs left behind.

I shut my laptop and lean back in my desk chair, thrusting my hands through my hair as a deep exhale leaves me. The temptation to follow after her is strong, even though there’s no guarantee she’s even there.

My senses are telling me she’s in California. At that house. Hidden away so no one can replace her.

I could take our private jet to Big Sur. There’s an airport in Monterey and I could rent a car. If she’s not there, I could detour to San Francisco and handle some business I have there. Or Los Angeles. Hell, I could visit both cities and get some work done.

Donato Enterprises has business partners on the West Coast. It wouldn’t be a totally wasted trip.

Though I know deep down, I shouldn’t go. It’s what she wants, and I’m tired of always giving Sylvie exactly what she desires. She’s a spoiled brat, and I’ve indulged her every whim ever since I first met her.

Despite it all, next thing I know, I’m on the phone, booking the plane for first thing tomorrow.