“I’ve spoken with Luther”—his actor friend and the other board member—“and if you’re not opposed to it, we’d like to ask Marci Robbins to replace Lucy on the board.”
Wesley scrubbed a hand over his thick beard. “Don’t you think it should be someone younger, on par with Lucy?”
He shook his head. “You should see the other members around Marci, Wes. The word fangirling was invented for it.”
His friend snorted. “I can see that happening.”
“She has clout and respect. We’re all about image. What better thing to brag about than Marci Robbins approving you for membership to Ardnoch?”
Wesley nodded along. “No, you’re right. Do it.”
Lachlan just had to hope the legendary British actor wasn’t put off by the scandal.
“I’ve got a break coming up, and the wife is missing Scotland. We’ll be at the house for a few weeks, and I’ll make it public that’s where I’m going.”
“That should help,” Lachlan said. “I’m grateful.”
“I’ll contact Roman, pull a few favors, and get him to come too.”
Wesley referred to Roman Bright, the son of Oscar-winning actor Garrett Bright, and an Academy Award-winning screenwriter in his own right. He’d canceled his annual May Stay after Mac’s stabbing.
“That would be great.” Lachlan clicked on his members’ file. “We’ve already reached out to sixty percent of our members, and most of them feel assured the club is a safe retreat once more. But there are a few A-listers we need to convince, and I think you and Roman coming to stay will do that.”
“Great.” Wesley leaned into the camera. “I gotta go, Lachlan, but I hope you’re doing okay, man. You look tired. Get some sleep.”
After saying goodbye, relieved to be off the video chat, Lachlan slumped in his chair. He had no fear that his members would return to Ardnoch. They loved the drama and scandal Lucy had left in her wake.
Lucy.
Her name was like a knife in his mind.
The night of the event when she’d revealed herself as the culprit behind everything, he’d been in such a state of agitation, he could barely speak. Robyn stayed with him, and he’d experienced the most peculiar sensation of needing her near so he knew she was okay—and yet, he also wanted her as far from him as he could get her.
Never mind that one of his closest friends had betrayed him beyond imagination; he’d let Fergus, a man he could take out in a heartbeat, get the jump on him. Whatever he’d hit Lachlan over the head with, it left him with a bad concussion, and he’d had a headache for days after. The thought of Fergus not only doing that to him but dragging him downstairs in his own home and out to his truck, then into the shack and tying him to that fucking chair … Lachlan should’ve woken up at some point before then.
If he’d only woken up, Robyn would never have been in that position.
It was a joke.
The great Lachlan Adair, once Hollywood’s most bankable action hero, handcuffed to a chair, incapacitated by a concussion but aware enough to watch on in horror as the woman he loved faced her death.
What a bloody hero.
He flinched.
In the end, Robyn had saved them.
He hadn’t been able to protect her.
Didn’t deserve her.
But fuck, did he love her beyond bearing and was so goddamn grateful she could save herself. If he’d had to watch her die while he could do nothing to stop it, the death Lucy had in store for him would’ve been welcome.
“No one knew,” Robyn said that night. “None of us had a clue, so stop blaming yourself.”
“Shouldn’t I have known? I’m the one who slept with her. Not to mention it’s my business to know what’s going on with my members’ careers. I should have been paying more attention. If I’d known what was happening to Lucy’s career, maybe—”
“Lachlan, Lucy was an amazing actor. We just didn’t realize she was acting with us. As for her career, I’m sure if any of your members knew what was happening to her, they also knew how close you two were and would very deliberately not gossip in front of you.”
That was probably the truth. But it didn’t make him feel any better. “What do you think will happen to her?”
“What do you want to happen to her?”
He thought on it carefully, trying to separate his rage from his guilt. “I want her to pay for what she’s done here … but I also want her to get the help she needs.”
“Me too.”
Lachlan gestured to her, and she’d crossed his room to slide onto the bed next to him. He pulled her against him and held her.
He’d held her all night. And in the morning, he’d gone into himself, trying to process the whole thing with Lucy. His distance hurt Robyn. Another thing he had to make up to her.
A knock at his office door brought his head up. “Come in.”
Mac strode into the room, and Lachlan straightened in his chair.
Things between them had been strained after his and Robyn’s breakup, and they hadn’t quite returned to normal. Lachlan hated it. “Mac.”
His head of security nodded and gestured to the chairs in front of Lachlan’s desk. “May I?”
“Of course.”
He settled in with casualness and studied Lachlan through his low-lidded gaze.
“What is it, Mac?”
“We had to call the police. A couple of paps scaled the front gate.”
He raised an eyebrow. “They’re getting desperate.”
Lucy’s attack and plot with Fergus had made the global news. It wasn’t the kind of worldwide recognition Lucy planned for, but she had it now, anyway. She wasn’t granted bail by Police Scotland and was currently in jail until the case went to trial. Lachlan’s (and now Robyn’s) lawyer warned it was more than likely Lucy would either plead insanity or take a plea bargain to avoid going to trial. Robyn thought Lucy wouldn’t want the
