Chasing Serenity Read online

  She knew her Uncle Corey would have what he wanted.

  So she didn’t push it any further.

  “There’s…”

  She trailed off, and Corey gave her more time.

  She picked it up again. “Kids are bullying Matt at school.”

  This took Corey by surprise.

  Matthew Pierce was the vision of his father.

  At nine years old, already tall, dark, with boyishly handsome features. He was gifted in athleticism. He was clever.

  Though what he also was, was introverted.

  He was not a leader, like Chloe (and Tom).

  He was not outgoing, like Sasha (and Genny).

  He was perfectly happy doing his own thing.

  To the point, even at his age, living in a house full of people, he was reclusive.

  Like Corey.

  The perfect target for jealousy.

  The perfect target for bullies.

  “And this is your issue because…?” Corey asked.

  Her head whipped around to him, and now she was giving him a ten-year-old’s look that said she thought he was stupid.

  “He’s my brother,” she snapped.

  “He can fight his own battles.”

  “Well, he isn’t,” she retorted.

  Corey found this interesting, but not startling.

  In all probability, Matt couldn’t care less about the bullying.

  Even at nine years old, his intellect was such (and his parents’ lessons were as well) that he was not unaware that the fates had seen fit to grant him more of almost everything than most people received.

  The boy had happily married, exceptionally successful, wealthy, loving parents.

  Good looks.

  Brains.

  Not to mention, if Tom kept honing it, what would be Matt’s version of physical excellence.

  Matt Pierce didn’t need anyone, and not only because he already had it all.

  That was just him.

  He just didn’t.

  “Has it occurred to you that your brother doesn’t care?” Corey inquired. “I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that he’s perfectly fine in his own company.”

  “It hasn’t, Uncle Corey, but bullies shouldn’t get away with being bullies. One,” Chloe returned.

  One.

  She had a list.

  Corey fought a smile.

  “Two,” she continued, “he’s my brother, and no one messes with my brother.”

  He nodded and said nothing because he knew there was a three.

  “And three,” she went on, “he’s a Pierce. And no one pulls crap with a Pierce.”

  “You’re right,” he agreed. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  That took her aback.

  “What?”

  “What are you going to do about it?” Corey repeated.

  “They aren’t bullying me,” she pointed out.

  Corey held her gaze in a manner that she did not look away.

  Not that she would.

  Another thing about the girl he liked.

  Then he stated, “Do not ever, Chloe, ever let anyone harm someone you love.”

  A feeling welled up in his chest, instantly threatening to overwhelm him.

  Used to this sensation, having experienced it for years, with little effort, Corey shoved it back down and kept speaking.

  “It doesn’t matter what you have to do, if you think it’s bad, but it stops that harm, you do it. If you think it’s naughty, and it stops that harm, you do it. Even if you think it’s wrong, though it will stop that harm, you do it. No hesitation, no messing about. Just do it.”

  Chloe stared at him.

  “The same with you,” he carried on. “Do not let anyone walk all over you, Chloe Marilyn Pierce. Don’t you ever allow that to happen.”

  She gave it a moment, and then she asked, “So you think I should…do something?”

  “I think you’ve already waited too long.”

  Corey watched as Chloe considered this.

  And he was unsurprised when, after she spent hardly any time in this contemplation, slowly, she smiled.

  * * *

  Chloe

  Nine years later…

  “Are you mad?” Pierre asked me.

  I stared at him, for the first time wondering why I’d spent a single minute with him.

  Was he cute?

  Yes.

  Did he have a good body?

  Yes.

  Did he give me my very first, not-given-to-myself orgasm?

  Yes.

  Was he an asshole?

  Apparently…yes.

  My voice was ice-cold, and I was pretty pleased with myself at the sound of it, when I noted in return, “You told me you’d never sell it.”

  “I’m an artist!” he cried.

  The drama.

  Boring.

  In that moment, I made a pact with myself that I vowed to keep.

  Only I would bring the drama to a relationship.

  I modulated my voice and did not cut the tie between our gazes.

  “You said it meant everything to you. You said you’d cease being you without it in your possession. You said you’d be ninety, and you would die in a room where, on the wall, that portrait you painted of me hung.”

  “I do need to feed myself, Chloe,” he sniped.

  No one, not a soul, disregarded money the way he did (unless not doing it served his purpose, like now), who did not have it in the first place.

  Didn’t grow up having it.

  I was that person too.

  But Mom did a lot of charity work, so did Dad, they made certain we understood that we were very lucky and many, in fact most others, were not.

  Pierre and I had never discussed money (because, how gauche), and he didn’t live in a fabulous apartment in a posh part of the city, though it wasn’t rundown or seedy or anything like that.

  Still…

  I knew Pierre was like me.

  So this whole thing was a big sham.

  All of it.

  Including his promises to me.

  As I looked at his dark, loose, long locks, the perfection of his nose, the breadth of his shoulders, his gangly frame, for the first time I saw through him.

  He was a sham.

  A fake.

  A pretender.

  Maybe even worse.

  A wannabe.

  And I had to admit to more than a little concern that my affections for him shifted so quickly.

  But they did.

  I could walk away…

  No.

  I was going to walk away.

  And what worried me was…

  I didn’t care.

  I decided to think about this later and moved to begin packing, at the same time my mind swung to considering my next step.

  Hotel for a few days while I found a flat to rent (and did the work it took to convince my parents I needed to rent a flat in Paris, and they needed to allow me the use of my trust fund to do that, or better, not allow me and instead, simply give the money to their darling daughter in order that she get the most out of her discovering-herself time in Europe).

  One thing I knew, I wasn’t leaving France.

  Not on my life.

  When I dragged out a piece of my luggage (there were three), Pierre was there.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Packing,” I said in a bored tone, one that I didn’t affect.

  I was, indeed, bored.

  Done.

  Over this.

  On to the next adventure.

  “Packing? Just like that?”

  I turned from unzipping and opening my suitcase to him.

  “You need to get that painting back,” I told him. “And you need to destroy the other one. You also need to give me all the pictures you took of me and erase any digital copies you have.”

  His mouth dropped open.

  He then used it to say, “That is not happening.”


  “You don’t have my permission to use my image, Pierre. It’s illegal for you to sell those paintings or use those images for monetary purposes without my permission.”

  I was no Hollywood starlet rushing into the latest hip club, ripe for any paparazzo’s lens, needing it at the same time feeling it wholly an invasion of my privacy.

  I had posed for Pierre for the thrill of it. I’d done it because I had feelings for him. I’d done it because I loved his work and wanted to be a part of it. I’d done it because it was fun, and I thought it was cool. I’d also done it because I thought he wasn’t going to sell them.

  But bottom line, I’d acted as his model.

  And first, he needed to pay me if he was going to make money off me.

  Second, he needed my permission.

  “That’s rubbish,” he bit out.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  It wasn’t arrogant posturing.

  But for God’s sake, he knew I was Imogen Swan and Tom Pierce’s daughter. America’s sweetheart and one of the best tennis players ever to walk on a court.

  They were two of the most famous people on the planet.

  Of course I knew what I’d just said was far from rubbish.

  And he knew it too.

  “They are my paintings,” he asserted.

  “It’s my body. My face,” I fired back. “I own them, and you cannot use them unless I grant you permission. And I’ll remind you, I posed for you because you said you were never going to sell the paintings you painted of me. ‘Never’ for you lasted less than three months. But the true meaning of never is never, Pierre. Which means you lied to me about your intentions when you took those pictures and did that work. Now, if you don’t want to turn over or destroy all you have, you can give me a million euros. I think that’s fair compensation.”

  His eyes grew huge.

  And the French rolled off his tongue.

  I was learning the language, but I didn’t catch even half of it.

  “English,” I demanded.

  “I am not giving you a million euros, Chloe. I am not getting that painting back. I am not destroying the rest. And you are not leaving.”

  “Oh, I’m leaving,” I confirmed. “And I advise you rethink your course of action.”

  This time, his eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening me and leaving me at the same time?”

  “Well, it’s not exactly a threat, but for the most part, yes.”

  Now, as he took in my tone, actions, and demeanor, it hit him.

  I was, in fact, leaving.

  Suddenly, he appeared wounded.

  Suddenly and genuinely.

  This did not make me pause.

  Truth told, I didn’t care that he had pictures of me nude, or sold them. I had a great body, I was proud of it, and his work was amazing.

  This was about something else.

  Something far bigger.

  It was the promise broken.

  The betrayal.

  Uncle Corey a lot of the time could be creepy (these times when he was around Mom).

  But the man was a multi-billionaire tech czar.

  Which meant he was no idiot.

  So he gave great advice.

  Every time he gave it, I stored those little gems so I could take them out and polish them when the time was nigh.

  Obviously, with one of those gems, the time was nigh.

  “Get that painting back and destroy the rest, or pay me, Pierre, those are your choices,” I summed up. “Now, it’d be easier to do this,” I motioned to the suitcase, “if you went off and got a coffee.”

  He stared at me, thrown, angry, hurt.

  What he didn’t do was go and get a coffee.

  I sighed and then got down to business, taking my time and making perfectly sure I got everything because I wasn’t coming back.

  At the door, I decided it might be uncool just to sweep out, even if it would be dramatic and what I wanted to do.

  Thus, I halted, turned to him and said softly, “It’s been fun.”

  He stopped sulking (what he’d been doing the entire time I packed), and the hurt dug deep in his hazel eyes.

  “Fun?” he whispered. “It’s been fun? Chloe, mon cœur, you’re the love of my life.”

  I studied him quizzically because that truly perplexed me.

  “How can that be?” I asked, genuinely wanting to know.

  “How can that…how can it… How can it be?” he asked in return. “Have you not been here,” he tossed his arm out to indicate the flat, “with me for the last six months?”

  “You lied to me,” I stated flatly. “And you don’t lie to someone you love.”

  His head snapped like I’d slapped him.

  “Good-bye, Pierre,” I said.

  And with that, not looking back, not knowing that I’d never see him again, but even if I did, I knew I wouldn’t care, I left.

  And checked into The Ritz.

  * * *

  Judge

  Five years later…

  “You have no direction.”

  Judge sat opposite his girlfriend of the last year and a half, Megan, and said nothing.

  She did.

  “I need a man with ambition. Drive. Who knows what he wants and goes after it, works for it, fights for it.”

  Judge remained silent.

  “Judge, are you listening to me?” she asked, though she didn’t wait for him to answer, probably because he was staring right at her, and he was doing it hard, so she had to know he was listening. She carried on, “I mean, I’m sorry. This is rough. But you always say we need to be honest with each other. And this is me being honest.”

  That got him talking.

  “Right then, let’s be honest, Meg. Really honest. What you’re saying is, I’m not going in the direction you want me going. My life goals aren’t what you want them to be. I know what I want, you know I do. I know who I am, you know that too. It’s just that those things aren’t what you want. Am I right?”

  Her face twisted. “No man wants to hike for a living.”

  Okay.

  Now he was getting pissed off.

  “After all this time together, is that what you think I do?”

  She shifted on her barstool.

  She knew what he did, and she knew that was bullshit.

  And…

  Yeah.

  Barstool.

  They both lived in Arizona. But he lived in Prescott, she lived in Phoenix, a two-hour drive from each other, so it wasn’t like they were living together or even saw each other every day.

  Though, they were exclusive and had been for over a year. He went out of his way to make time for her, get to Phoenix to see her.

  Meg?

  Not so much, but to be fair, her job didn’t allow her to.

  Still, not so much.

  She was a reporter for a local station. She was aiming to sit behind the desk as an anchor, and after she achieved that, she wanted to move on to bigger and better things.

  Or, he should say, stand on the set and talk at a camera, something he did not get why it was the thing. Judge thought when newscasters did that they looked like the awkward folks at a party, standing around not knowing who to talk to. It was his opinion, when you listened to the news, you needed to trust that the person giving it to you was taking it seriously, not gabbing while waiting for a tray of hors d’oeuvres to be passed around.

  Needless to say, Meg did not share this opinion.

  Judge ran an outreach program for a massive outdoor store that had over seventy locations in the US. A program aimed to get urban kids out into nature.

  He hiked with the kids…a lot.

  He also hiked by himself and did other things outside…a lot.

  But most of his job was about raising money, ditto awareness of the issue, and the profile of the program, as well as managing the logistics that included hundreds of volunteers in dozens of cities doing hundreds of hikes a year.

  He wasn’t paid enough to a
fford a BMW. But even if he was, he wouldn’t buy one.

  He also wasn’t homeless.

  But they were here, at a bar, and Meg was ending things with him, when they’d committed to each other over a year ago. They regularly, if not all the time, slept at each other’s sides. They’d gone on vacations together. And they’d met each other’s families.

  Or, she’d had dinner with his dad.

  His mom?

  Absolutely not.

  “Though, a lot of men and women would want to hike for a living,” he went on. “Around fifty million people in the US alone regularly hike.”

  “Judge—”

  He wasn’t done.

  “You’re not an outdoors person. That’s cool. I don’t care because you’re smart as hell and goal oriented. You’re interesting. You’re funny. You’re sweet. And you’re beautiful. I want you to have what you want. I want to support you in your goals. I want you to be happy. What I don’t want is for you to mold me into who you think I’m supposed to be to fit into your life.”

  Right.

  The real honesty?

  This had been an issue.

  It being one right then, he wasn’t blindsided by it.

  She’d said some things. There had been more than a few looks when he’d been with her and shared with others what he did. She’d done some suggesting, urging and downright pushing.

  He just thought she’d get over it when he didn’t bend and definitely didn’t break.

  Her expression had softened when he’d told her all the things he found attractive in her, because Meg liked compliments. She told him her love language was words.

  So he gave her words, because that was what she needed and she was upfront about it, even if he wasn’t a flowery speeches kind of guy.

  She also thought what he said opened a door for her, and even if it didn’t, she tried to stroll through.

  “You can get involved down here. In Phoenix,” she said. “There are a lot of charities you can work for. On the whole, there are just tons more opportunities down here. And truly, Judge, you’re wasted up there. You’re whip smart, and when you talk, people listen to you. You’re a natural leader. You should be with a bigger program. You should be seeking new challenges. You should be reaching for something higher.”

  “Organizations that pay more, have advancement opportunities and don’t require me to travel,” he filled in what she left unsaid.