Evan remained silent. The pause drew out, became awkward. “Just think about what I said, okay? I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He stepped forward and picked up her hand. “Don’t be mad at me.”

Just like that, the anger drained out of her. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Thanks for the ice cream.”

He bent down and kissed the top of her head before leaving.

* * *

The next morning, Cal experienced a sense of disorientation when a buzzing sound woke him. At first, he thought he’d overslept. Panic ripped through him as he threw back the covers and leaped out of bed.

Babcock.

He stood naked in the middle of a dim room. Sunlight filtered through a crack in the drawn heavy, red curtains. Cal gazed at the bed—king-size, Egyptian cotton sheets. Not a rollaway cot with a lumpy mattress.

Vegas. Not Cairns.

His mobile fell silent. Cal ran a hand down his chest, covered his racing heart. It all came flooding back. Why he’d left Australia—the emptiness, the loss. Then last night and his snog with Monica. More than a snog, you idiot—practically a full-bodied knee trembler. He’d spent most of the night drinking scotch and giving himself hell for letting things with Monica go too far too fast.

Cal had made a tactical error, sneaking off with her to the supply closet and yelling at her afterward. Not the way to win her trust, snapping at her like he had.

The phone started ringing again. Blowing out a deep breath, Cal strode to the bedside table and glanced at the screen. “It’s eight o’clock, brat,” he answered. “Why’re you ringing me so early? Are you just staggering home?”

“Hardly. Why haven’t you answered my four previous messages, you twat?” Jules had a delightful way with words, much to their father’s chagrin. And despite the fact that his baby sister—half sister, if one wanted to be technical—had lived in America for the last eight years, her British accent was as strong as ever.

“I’ve been busy,” he said around a yawn.

“With whom? And don’t tell me some slag is more important than me, or I’ll kick your ass.”

Slag? Just the opposite, in fact. Monica was more prudish than anything.

“Daddy’s thrown a wobbler.”

Cal rubbed his gritty eyes. “What’s got his knickers in a twist now?” His father didn’t have the cheeriest disposition to begin with, so really anything might set the old man off. “Is he still cross about school?” As a financial wizard and maths genius, his father had very specific ideas about what his daughter should be doing with her life. Ideas that included studying something other than the latest copy of Vogue. Jules, on the other hand, had her own plans, like dancing all night, sleeping until noon, and giving her credit card a good workout.

“Not exactly. But I think he may wash his hands of me for good this time.”

Cal fell onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. The ivory-and-brushed-silver pendant light fixtures hung about the room like stalactites. “If you want my advice, shape up for a few weeks and you’ll wiggle your way back into his graces without too much fuss.”

“No.” Jules’s voice was quiet, serious. “This is different.”

Alert, Cal sat back up. “What happened? What did you do?”

“I wasn’t even driving. Not really. I barely tapped the car in front of me as I pulled out of a parking space. Since when does that count as a DUI?”

“You were drink-driving? Tell me you’re not serious.” He gripped the phone so hard he thought it might crack. Cal had worked on cars his whole life. He knew exactly how much damage one could do to a human being. And his sister, one of the few people he had left in the world, had climbed behind the wheel while drunk. “Are you fucking kidding me, Juliette? You’re brighter than that, or at least I thought you were.”

“Hello, this is L.A. Everyone has a DUI. It’s like a rite of passage.”

“You little idiot,” he bit out. “You could have killed someone. You could have been killed yourself. Don’t you ever stop to think?” He ran a hand through his hair, so thoroughly angry, every muscle in his body locked down.

“Oh. My. God,” she said. “You sound just like him.”

He refused to take the bait. If one thing pissed him off, it was being compared to his stuffy, judgmental father. “You’re not even the legal drinking age.”

“I’m twenty.”

“Again, not legal.” Cal stood and paced to the window, parting the curtain with one hand. He gazed out at the private garden. The pool glistened blue in the early morning sun, but Cal was too brassed off to appreciate it. “I’m so disappointed in you, Jules. You could have called a cab or hired a driver for the evening.”

“You’re disappointed in me?” she yelled. “You’ve been a crap big brother. You’re never here, I don’t hear from you for weeks at a time. Every time I need you, you’re off in Zimbabwe or Taiwan or Australia. You don’t get to be disappointed, okay? That’s my job.”

That was fair. Cal hadn’t been there for her, not when it really counted. Phone calls and presents weren’t the same.

Cal fought the urge to yell at her some more, lecture her, berate her. But under all that anger was fear. He’d be absolutely gutted if anything happened to Jules. “Please promise me you’ll never do anything so stupid again. I adore you, you know that.”

She sniffed a couple of times. “I know it was stupid, and yes, I promise. It was mortifying, being driven away in a police car. I had to be fingerprinted and everything. Daddy was so angry he didn’t speak to me for two whole days. Then he started with the screaming. I can’t take it from you too.”

Cal didn’t understand why Jules expected anyone to be sympathetic. But he kept his mouth shut. She needed someone to listen right now, and pointing out the obvious wouldn’t be useful.

“My car’s been impounded, and I’m not meant to drive anywhere until we go to court. It’s a bloody nuisance.”

Again, Cal refrained from speaking. It was tremendously difficult, but he managed.

“Daddy made me give up my apartment, and I’ve been staying at their pool house, like I’m a gardener or something. It’s dreadful.”

“I’m sure it’s not the best situation, but I’ve seen dreadful. You’re the furthest thing from it.” He tried to be gentle with her, but Jules was so terribly spoiled, she had no idea about life outside her little bubble. During his travels, Cal had witnessed deplorable living conditions. The slums of Brazil, the polluted Ganges River, poverty in the streets of Belarus. Staying in a comfortable pool house on a Beverly Hills estate wasn’t a hardship. But in Jules’s eyes, she faced a true crisis. “What are your plans?”

“I don’t know. I’m bored silly right now.”

“Why don’t you find something constructive to do? Maybe you should enroll in school. Make the old man happy.”

“God, you’re such a bloody hypocrite,” she lashed out, causing Cal to flinch. “You never went to school. Why should I?”

“First of all, Pix’s father left me a trust fund that you don’t have. You’re still completely dependent on your parents. Secondly, I’m not clever like you.” And the old man never missed an opportunity to rub Cal’s nose in it. “You can do whatever you want, Jules—be whoever you want. If not school, then find something you’re good at.”

“I’m not good at anything.”

“You are the most persistent pain in the ass I know. You’re bright and funny, and you can do whatever you put your mind to.” A vision of Monica came to mind. Perhaps Jules should take a page from Miss Prim’s book. “What about charity work? Helping those less fortunate? And let’s be honest, that’s almost everyone.”

“Don’t start. Mummy’s trying to get me to help her save blackbirds, or something equally stupid.”

“You’ll figure it out. I believe in you, Jules.” The irony that Cal was trying to get Monica to unwind while encouraging his sister to straighten up wasn’t lost on him.