Page 68 of All You Need Is Love

Chapter 16

He’d avoided this moment long enough.

All day yesterday during the four-hour drive in his rental car from Walker Beach to Los Angeles, Marshall had fought the urge to turn around, to run straight to Shannon and beg her forgiveness for walking away with Quinn at the wedding.

For being an idiot.

For leaving her.

And then, as he’d settled into his hotel and later stood on the Santa Monica Pier last night watching fireworks, he’d had to talk himself out of heading straight for LAX. Back to New York.

But he’d made up his mind. In order to move forward, he couldn’t go back. Not until he talked with his father.

“Either love is enough, or it’s not.”

Tyler’s words had continued to haunt him for the last thirty-six hours. They were eerily similar to something Shannon had said the first day he’d met her. “And really, all you need is love to make a thing work, right?”

Today had dawned gray, with heavy clouds hanging in the distance. Marshall swallowed hard as he stared up at the skyscraper looming over him now, thirty or more stories high with a white facade that glittered despite the lack of sunlight.

He was about to find out if Tyler and Shannon had been right—if love could be enough. If it could overwrite the last twenty-plus years of pain.

If it could lead to some sort of healing, even if it was only one-sided.

Pushing through the hulking doors, he stepped inside the building situated in the heart of downtown. People dressed to the nines in business suits chatted as they moved swiftly to and from a bank of sleek silver elevators. Women’s heels declared their owners’ arrivals and beat a determined pattern against the travertine beneath them. High-powered executives with leather bags rushed past assistants balancing multiple coffee carriers.

One man knocked into a woman, causing her to drop her phone and curse at him. The man shook his head and said something to a companion, who laughed. The ding of the elevators opening and closing only added to the cacophony.

The steady stream of people, like ants racing up and down a hill, the rush, the fervor, the ambition—it all had a palpable heartbeat, one Marshall understood. One he’d allowed to dictate his own actions for so long.

But now, something about it had lost its luster. Because what had all of it gained him? If he’d gotten on that airplane and returned to New York today as planned, he’d be retreating to a life filled with … what? False hope?

The trouble was, he didn’t know if staying here would produce anything better.

But he had to see. Even if the aftermath might demolish him.

As he approached the elevators, his eyes skimmed a sign that announced the location of several companies and law firms. When the elevator opened in front of him, he got in with a flood of others and jammed the button for level sixteen.

The man next to him wore far too much cologne, and in the small space, the stuff burned Marshall’s nose and churned his gut. Or maybe his roiling stomach had more to do with the fact he was about to see his father for the first time in eleven years.

The elevator shot upward and stopped at several floors before opening to the sixteenth. Marshall exited along with one other man and it took him a moment to gain his bearings. He went right and came to an office labeled Jacobson, St. John, and Associates.

After a deep inhale, he opened the door and stepped inside. The lobby—which was empty of everything but twenty chairs, some potted plants, and light jazz music streaming from hidden speakers—looked like it could belong to any other swanky firm. A large cherrywood secretarial blocked the entry to a bank of offices beyond, and the perky blonde receptionist sitting behind it beamed a grin at Marshall and asked how she could help him.

He approached. “I’m here to see Justin St. John, please.” It was early, but if he knew his dad, he’d arrived at least an hour ago.

“Do you have an appointment?” Mist from a small diffuser on the receptionist’s desk imbued the air with lavender.

“Uh, no. I was hoping—”

“I’m sorry, sir, but he’s a very busy man.” And the blonde did indeed look sorry. She leaned forward, giving him an eyeful of chest thanks to the dip in her blouse, which was on the teetering edge of professional. “But if I could get your number, I can let him know you called. Or I could just get your number. For myself.” A perfectly plucked eyebrow lifted as she smirked.

One week ago, he’d have flirted right back. That’s how a guy got what he wanted in this kind of setting, after all. But even that would feel disloyal to Shannon. And although she might never speak to him again, he wouldn’t betray her memory like that.

Instead, Marshall frowned. “When is his next available appointment?”

The receptionist studied him for a moment, lips now pursed. She straightened and glanced briefly at her computer. “Not for two weeks.”

Well, that wouldn’t do. “I’ll just sit and wait for him to be finished with work today.”

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