Page 70 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

“Like I said,” Lucien responded drily. “You were curious.” There was a look on his face masking unmistakable disappointment. And I felt sick to my stomach that I’d dared to trespass on his private sanctum. Even if I did think the whole thing was strange.

Lucien’s knuckles were gripping the journal rather tightly before he set it down on the table, then closed the door and pulled the key deftly from the lock, returning it to where it had been around his neck.

“It’s not that I didn’t…”

Lucien stared at me. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight on his shoulders, that I could detect as he slunk back to the bed and sat down. His back was facing me from where I stood in the room.

“Lucien, I know you were in the SEALs—it’s not like I doubted that or anything. I’d never—”

“Good,” said Lucien curtly. He reached for a sweater which had been neatly folded on the table, and pulled it over himself. He wasn’t even looking at me.

“It’s just… I know this sounds crazy, but, Lucien, do you remember what my mom said? Do you remember about Conor? Conor O’Shea?”

Lucien was silent.

“Lucien, Conor joined the Navy. And since then, no one’s seen or heard from him. I just wondered if…if there was any way that you could…”

My voice was fading to nothing. The room had grown tense and stifling, and Lucien still wouldn’t look at me. It was driving me to desperation when finally he spoke, his voice low and measured, devastatingly business-like.

“You’ve looked in the room and satisfied your curiosity, Laura. And now I think it’s time for you to go.”

Chapter 22

Conor (Lucien)

Laura got her things and I stood up to bid her goodbye. I remained calm throughout. I knew that showing anger or displeasure would only make her realize what she’d just discovered. I hoped that by simply answering her curiosity, I’d be able to stop her looking, prying, asking questions that I didn’t have the heart to answer.

When she’d left the room and I’d heard her softly descending the staircase, I went to the window on the third-floor corridor. I watched her going down the path by the driveway to the open gates. Finally, she left, and I waited until the automatic lock had closed them again.

Then, I went back to the room. This time I put the journal underneath the box, leaving the desk bare. Then I went back to the doorway and locked it. Then, I took the key and put it in the safe in my office.

Now only I knew how to get into the room.

If Laura had opened the journal, I’d have known about it. The secret thoughts contained in there held the truth to everything. My past life would have been laid bare for all to see, and I knew that Laura would have never spoken to me again after she read it.

That was it, I told myself. Conor was dead. And there was no way I was going to explain to Laura who I was. The old me, the man I’d been, was for all intents and purposes, dead.

Almost immediately I decided to get to work on my promise of building a hospital on the parkland. That afternoon, it was like I’d been forced into overdrive by the nerve-wracking events of the morning. I furiously cleaned my office, the whole house in fact. Then, I lifted weights for a while until my heart pumped and I was drenched in sweat. After I’d showered and gotten dressed, I ate some breakfast and headed to my office.

The next few days seemed to pass in a blur. There wasn’t time for me to really think about Laura, but I knew from the expression on her face as she came into the office the next day that the mysterious event in the secret room hadn’t been forgotten. There was a lot of work to do.

At our meeting on Monday morning, I wondered if Laura would kiss me or hug me, tell me she was sorry. But she didn’t do either. The atmosphere between us though was more relaxed now. We could speak freely to each other, and that meant we could get a lot more work done.

For a start, I got Laura to track down some developers and potential investors for a medical trust. Then I got in touch with some contractors to estimate quotes for the site. Before I knew it, we were both up to our eyeballs in work. And the days seemed to grow longer and longer. And I kept working harder and harder, hoping that if I just kept my head down and concentrated on building the hospital, it would somehow make up for the day.

On Wednesday, Laura was away volunteering for the Caluga Collector, as per the terms of our agreement. But I was happy to see her on Thursday, and she came in looking lighter and decidedly happier about the way things were.

“Someone’s looking cheerful,” I grunted, as I looked up from my computer screen at some architectural samples I’d been sent from a draughtsman. “How are you?”

“Not too bad.” She shimmied into the office in a blue knee-length dress and leaned against the doorway. “How about yourself?”

“Never better,” I smirked. “How’s the paper?”

“It’s seen better days. Hey, can we talk for a bit?”

I felt my back stiffen. “Sure.”

“About Sunday,” Laura began, but I waved my hand dismissively.