Two's Company

jacket pocket and
    read through his messages. Too many to answer now; besides, he was exhausted
    and wanted to go home to his own bed. Glancing at his wristwatch, he noted the
    time and entered it into the Palm. At three a.m. on a Sunday, everyone should be
    in bed—in bed sleeping, that is.
    The cab stopped in front of Granger Arms on NW 10th. He paid the cabbie
    and stepped out. Stretching his long legs for a moment, he stifled a yawn and
    walked to the door.
    “Mr. James,” the doorman greeted him, opening the door. “How are you,
    sir?”
    “I’m fine, Stefan. And you?”
    “Wonderful, thanks for asking, sir.”
    “Have a good night,” he replied and headed for the elevator. A few
    moments later, he was on the eleventh floor, at his apartment. After locking the
    door behind him, he went straight to his room and pushed the button on his
    answering machine. He listened to the messages as he undressed and tossed his
    clothing in the laundry bag. He’d worry about answering messages later. Right
    now, he wanted to sleep.
                                                        ~ * ~
    The ring of a phone blared in the room. Glancing at the clock on the
    nightstand, he squinted and then frowned when he saw the time. Ten o’clock. He
    flopped back onto the pillow and let the machine pick up—the answering service
    notifying him of the calls he needed to return. They could wait. He needed sleep,
    hadn’t had nearly enough. The phone rang again. With a groan, he rolled over
    and picked up the receiver.
    “Hello,” he mumbled.
    “Ian, why didn’t you answer the first time I called?”
    “I was sleeping, Mother.”
    “It’s nearly ten-thirty. Did you forget?”
    He thought about her question for a moment, but it didn’t make sense.
    “Did I forget that it’s ten-thirty? Why do I care what time it is?”
    His mother blew an exasperated breath. “Ian Dean James, you’re supposed to
    meet us for brunch at eleven! You put it in that little computer you carry in your
    pocket, for Pete’s sake!”
    Ian groaned and shut his eyes. Dammit, he’d completely forgotten! “Of
    course I didn’t forget, Mother. I worked late last night, but I’ll be there shortly.”
    “Bullshit.” She laughed. “You completely forgot! Now get out of bed, get
    dressed and get your ass in gear. We’ll wait for you, so get with it!”
    “Yes, Mother.” He sighed.
    “I love you, dear.”
    “I love you, too, Mom,” he said and hung up the phone.
    In record time, Ian showered and dressed, took the elevator to the parking
    garage, and pressed the button on his key chain. The shiny red convertible
    honked and flashed its headlights. He slid behind the wheel and turned the key,
    bringing the engine roaring to life. The tires screeched as he pulled out of the
    garage into the bright summer sunshine.
    Sliding the sunglasses from the visor, he slipped them on and pushed the
    button to roll the top down. With a fair breeze fanning his face, he turned onto
    the street and headed out of town. In less than ten minutes he pulled up to the
    swanky golf course and clubhouse where his parents had been members for
    years. Though his father had passed away nearly seven years ago, his mother
    never let her husband’s death hinder her social standing in the community. He
    pulled up to the front of the clubhouse with a smile. If anything, his mother’s
    social standing seemed to have gained momentum since his father’s passing.
    After he handed his keys to the valet, he walked inside and found his
    mother waiting. He looked her over with a smile. Her hair had been recently
    coiffed in the latest fashion, and a string of pearls clung to her slender throat. Ah
    yes, she might as well hang a placard around her neck that said, Catherine James,
    wealthy widow.
    All smiles, she turned to him with a full champagne glass in her hand and
    offered a cheek for him to kiss.
    “Ian, my love,” she cooed. “You’re the most handsome man alive!”
    “Thank you, Mother, and you’re truly a vision.”
    “You do know how to flatter your old mother, don’t you?”
    “You aren’t old, Mother, you’re like fine wine—elegant, with a sweet
    aftertaste,” he said with a wink.
    “Don’t overdo it, Son.” She raised a delicately arched brow.
    “Ian!”
    He embraced his younger sister and swung her around in a circle. “Sylvia,
    don’t you look beautiful? I didn’t know you’d be here.”
    “I