much every continent on the globe since he’d turned his back on Alexander Technologies and everything that went with it. He’d sought out places most people in their right minds fled. And those who didn’t faced them armed with a hell of a lot more than just their wits. He was nuts, some said.
If anything he did showed he was nuts, it was coming back to Chilton.
He’d known he was in trouble when he’d heard his mother’s voice crackle over the phone. The fact that Olivia Alexander had tracked him down on the back side of nowhere was impressive in itself. In the places he frequented, he wasn’t Aubrey Pierce Alexander III, he was just Lex, the man he’d made himself into since he’d turned his back on the role of heir apparent, turned his back on his autocratic bastard of a father. Or non-bastard, rather, since nobody had more impeccable breeding than the late Aubrey Pierce Alexander II—Pierce, to nearly everyone who knew him.
As for Lex, he’d been dubbed Trey at birth. Trey. Version 3.0. He hadn’t even gotten a name of his own, let alone a life. Pierce had been relentless in his expectations and pressure. Any step outside the narrow box Pierce had defined earned discipline; the greater the rebellion, the greater the response. Aubrey Pierce Alexander III was by God going do what was expected of him.
What happened when an irresistible force met an immovable object? In Lex’s case, what happened was that he walked away with little more than the clothes on his back. Walked away from the expectations, the family, the eight-figure trust fund. Walked away to remake himself.
Forget about Alexander Technologies. He’d been happy to leave that to his younger brother, Bradley, who’d always seemed to relish being the corporate G-boy and society-column staple.
But Bradley had apparently dug himself a hole that was threatening to swallow him up—and their mother, too. Maybe there were guys out there who could have ignored that desperate call and gone on with their lives, but Lex wasn’t one of them.
No matter how tough he wanted to think he was.
God knew coming home was the last thing he wanted to do. If his father had been alive, it flat out wouldn’t have happened, but the old man was gone and Lex knew damned good and well that his mother wasn’t up to dealing with this on her own. Olivia Alexander might run the local DAR chapter and organize two-hundred-plate benefits with the efficiency of a general planning a military campaign, but she was unequal to facing the authorities and family ruin alone.
Lex pulled his rental car off onto a wide, quiet residential road bordered by stone walls, and felt the familiar sense of suffocation. Beyond the walls, at intervals, rose the stone and brick mansions of the Chilton ton, all decked out in their holiday finery.
The sudden urge hit him to just keep on driving. There were a dozen places he’d rather be, a dozen things he’d rather be doing. But first, he had to finish what he’d come here for.
And who knew how long that would take?
With a swing of the wheel that was as irritated as it was automatic, he pulled into the driveway that led to the Alexander estate and stopped at the intercom by the gates to press the button.
“Hello? Who is it?” A maid’s voice, unfamiliar, not surprisingly. What was he supposed to answer? Lex would draw a blank. Aubrey Pierce III wouldn’t do much better. “Trey Alexander,” he said finally, and the gate buzzed open.
Trey Alexander. The person he’d thought he’d left behind. The life he’d thought he’d left behind.
He passed up the drive and pulled the car to a stop at the front steps of the house. Might as well get it over with, he thought, raking his dark hair back off his forehead as he headed up the steps. He’d done far tougher things than this in the years since he’d walked out. At least here, no one was likely to shoot at him, not even verbal missiles now that the old man was gone. If he hadn’t known he was walking into a mess of trouble, he’d have even felt a bit of anticipation at seeing his mother again. Curiosity, at the very least. But there was trouble, he’d known it instantly by the tone of her voice. All she’d had to say was—
“Trey?”
She stood at the open door, staring at him. Twelve years had added some lines, but otherwise she looked the same, still trim, still stylish. Still richly, discreetly brunette—Olivia Alexander wasn’t the type to give in to the gray. Except for his father, Olivia had always remained firmly in control of her world. Or maybe not, Lex realized as he kissed her smooth cheek and felt the slight tremble in the hand he held.
And then she was wrapping her arms around him, hard, in the warmest hug he could ever remember getting from her. “You came,” she murmured. “I wasn’t sure you would. It’s been so long.”
He hadn’t been sure, either, just found himself on a plane without ever having made a conscious decision. He’d always scoffed at people’s notions of family, at least when it came to his family. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so foolish after all.
When she stepped away from him, he saw the sheen of tears before she blinked them back.
“Hey,” he murmured.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” she said quietly. “Twelve years without a word.”
“I’m here now.”
“You’re here now,” she agreed.
He’d been the one to finally break the silence two years before. Stuck at a godforsaken Somali airfield, flipping through an out-of-date English news magazine, he’d turned the page to see an obit on his father. “The financial world mourns,” the headline had trumpeted.
Lex hadn’t, not a bit. But he’d spent a long night brooding over a bottle of whiskey and when the day had dawned he’d placed a call to his mother. Granted, three-month-overdue condolences weren’t exactly timely, but better late than never. After that, he’d found himself with a strange compulsion to check in a couple of times a year. The conversations were awkward at times, full of silences during which they both groped for conversation, but he always found himself picking up the phone again.
And when the time had come, she’d figured out how to find him.
“Put your bag down and come sit,” she said. “I’ll have Corinne bring us something to drink.”
It looked different, was his first thought as they walked through the house. Lighter, brighter. There was less of the oppressive heaviness the rooms held in his memories. Perhaps it had been his imagination. Or the shadow of Pierce. “The place looks good,” he said as they walked into the living room, now inviting and airy.
She hesitated. “I changed a few things after your father passed away.”
Interesting. Pierce had always insisted that his family home be kept as it had historically been—dark, ponderous furniture, ornate wallpaper, heavy drapes. Left to her own devices, Olivia had recovered the dark walls with pastels, pitched the dark green velvet window hangings of his youth for something softer. Luxurious, sure, and still traditional, but there was an inviting feel to the room, an openness it hadn’t had before.
“I like it,” Lex said as they walked to the chairs that overlooked the grounds. “You’ve done a nice job.”
“It was time for something new.”
Boy, wasn’t that the truth? Too bad the something new
