ONE Rowan
The utility blade is heavy in my hand.
Do you love me, Holden?
The painting in front of me—bold strokes of crimson bleeding into jagged swirls of gold and black—taunts me. It’s a riot of color. An illusion of chaos disguised as art.
Were you actually falling for me or did you say that, imply that, just so I’d give you every part of me so you could break me all over again?
My pulse thrums, steady and sharp, as if daring me to do it.
You want to know why I was going to marry Chad? Why I stayed the course? Because I must have known you were too goddamn good to be true.
Daring me to slice through canvas and paint and perfection, to leave behind something jagged and raw that screams the truth instead of parading as someone’s version of expensive beauty.
I love you, Holden. I’m in love with you. But you stand there with your unflinching posture and your hard gaze and you don’t say a single word back to me. And your silence proves to me that love was built on a lie.
But I don’t.
That I was nothing more than a pawn in your game.
Because I can’t.
You asked me to step into the gray with you and here I am, standing in that gray, but then there’s you, standing on the other side. There’s you, still coated in black.
Because even in my rage, I can’t destroy what others might still find beautiful. Maybe that’s weakness. Maybe it’s hope. Maybe it’s a metaphor for me and how I hope someone would do the same for me. Not destroy me because someone else might think I’m beautiful.
Tell me you love me.
Either way, my hand shakes as I lower the blade, pressing the flat of it against my palm. The cool steel of it steadies me. Reminds me of just how deep what happened with Holden sliced.
It’s been a month since my wedding. A month of questioning if I did the right thing in marrying Chad to get my inheritance. Of wondering and waiting for Holden to call me and tell me he was wrong. For him to admit that he’s told lies and made mistakes but wants to lay it all out on the table. For him to tell me what he should have told me in my bridal suite—that he loves me.
Then again, I know Holden Knight better than that. The man stood in front of me with love in his eyes but refused to say it. He refused to say the three words that would have stopped this whole charade.
Yet I still waited for it. Still wanted it. And here I stand in the lobby of TinSpirits with my “husband” upstairs in one office and the man I love in another down the hall from him, a web of threaded lies woven around the three of us.
Apparently, Holden moved the painting from the fourth floor to the main lobby. Was this his way of welcoming me back or more of a blatant reminder of where we started and where we still stand?
Maybe a bit of both.
“First day back,” I mutter with the weight of the utility knife heavy in my hand.
First moment facing what I ran from.
The honeymoon was a farce, four weeks of forced smiles stretched across tropical beaches with Chad always two steps behind me, playing the part of doting husband while I played the part of content wife. A marriage born of convenience. Of necessity. Of inheritance. A sham signed in ink, sealed in gold wedding bands and an obscenely large diamond solitaire that feels much heavier than steel where it weighs down my finger.
Because it wasn’t about Chad. It was about Holden. About staying away from him. About protecting what little pieces of myself I still had left after the wreckage of us. About selling the lie so the legalities of our marriage were recorded, the paperwork put in progress, and good ol’ Henry, Chad’s uncle and Gran’s estate attorney extraordinaire, could see I wasn’t fucking around about my threats over Gran’s inheritance.
Thirty million dollars after thirty days.
I inhale, slow and jagged, and plaster on the same smile I’ve been practicing in mirrors and photographs for my entire life. The Rothschild smile. Polished. Unbreakable. Perfect.
The smile that’s gotten a major workout since marrying Chad.
And yet here I stand, buying myself some more time because the minute I take that elevator and walk onto the fourth floor, I’ll be forced to face him. Holden. Forced to see the reason it feels like the shards of my heart are being held together by Scotch tape.
I tense when I hear the whoosh of the front doors closing, the rush of warm air, and then hear the pairs of heels clicking on marble.
“Rowan? Oh my God, you’re finally back!”
I turn from the painting—Holden’s original power play that started this whole sequence of events—to face the owner of the voice.
Bonnie from human resources, her perpetual smile, and her too-bright, always perky tone. And behind her stands … Hillary from contracts? She’s a new hire I haven’t had much interaction with, but I’m pretty sure it’s Hillary.
“Yes. First day.” Plaster that smile on, Row.
“So exciting. How was the honeymoon?” Bonnie asks, eyes wide and expectant.
The faces of the daughters of Westmore’s curated social elite blur together. I’m more than aware that even though they aren’t their parents, some parts of them have been taught to always watch, to always report back. Even a simple interaction like this with one of their managers—one of the Westmore elite herself. I slip the utility knife back into the pocket of my purse because God forbid, what would be whispered in society circles if the knife were noticed?
“Perfect,” I answer. The lie tastes bitter, but neither of them cares enough to notice.
“A whole month in St. Barts for your honeymoon. What better way to start off the rest of your life together?” Bonnie says wistfully.
“So romantic,” Hillary adds. “I heard—hell, everybody in this town heard that the wedding was pure perfection.”
“The feature story in Carolina Social Magazine. On Good Morning Charlotte in the peak viewership spot. I even saw a mention in People.” Bonnie clasps her hands to her chest. “So dreamy.”
I fight the snort. The want to roll my eyes. Just like Westmore for everyone to be blinded by the flash and not look underneath.
Either that or I did a damn good job faking it.
“Thank you. It was … everything.” I choke over the word.
“So much has happened while you’ve been gone,” Bonnie gushes, her pearls bouncing against her collarbone as if they’re applauding her words.
“Oh?” I ask.
“Rhett won the election.”
My chest constricts, a half beat off rhythm. Of course I know about my brother’s big win, but burying my head in the sand over it has been a must. The ramifications now that he’ll be sworn in as a councilman in January will be devastating to so many people. Raze Fairmont without a worry or care about the people who live there or their livelihood? The thought makes my stomach turn despite Holden’s vow to undermine Rhett’s plan somehow. I overheard too many conversations of him and Chad talking about it on the phone during our time in St. Barts. He’s already set the wheels in motion so he can hit the ground running when he takes office in January.
“Yes. Of course,” I murmur.
“The first Rothschild to ever take on politics.”
“We’re so excited for all the changes he has in store for Westmore,” Hillary says.
“Mmm.” A nonanswer is all I’ll give.
“But we’re even more excited that you’re back. In town. Here at the office. It hasn’t been the same without you,” Bonnie says.
“No?” The word is clipped, but they take it as agreement.
“Definitely,” Hillary says. “Everyone here says you’ve always been the voice of reason. The one who tells us little people on the lower floors what’s going on.”
“Stop with the little people stuff. We’re all one big team.” I wave a hand. “With a company this size, it’s often hard to keep everyone in the loop with what’s going on, but I try,” I say.
All I can hope as we collectively move toward the elevator is that my phone might ring and save me from this conversation.
“So many rumors right now,” Bonnie says. “It’s really freaking people out.”
There are always rumors at TinSpirits, but I take the bait they are clearly casting in front of me. “Which rumors are those?” I ask absently.
“About the Grantville plant being up for sale,” Hillary says.
Their voices fade into the background as my spine stiffens and my focus narrows. The blade may be out of my hand, but the sharpness of it still lingers on my palm.
“Oh.” My eyebrows lift in surprise as fury begins to course through me. “There must be a misunderstanding.”
Did you buy TinSpirits to sell it off and destroy it?
The heartbreaking sequence of events of that night replay in my head. My father’s accident. Going to Holden’s place unannounced because the only person who could comfort me was him. Waking up the next morning to an empty house. Finding the blue folder, the proposal that bundled TinSpirits’ assets in order to sell them off piece by piece. Confronting Holden. Hurt over the lies he’d told me but still begging him to at least hold off on the fire sale until my dad could recover.
I’m sorry, Rowan. I can’t make a promise that I won’t keep.
Bastard.
“Hopefully it is a misunderstanding because … wouldn’t that tell everyone that there might be financial problems here?” Bonnie asks. And while she sounds innocent, I know damn well she’s asking me so she can turn around and text someone else to give them the gossip.
“Everything is fine here.” I smile and then explain away what I don’t even know to be true. “Every now and then there has to be asset reallocation. New owner, new eyes, seeing things through a different lens.”
I bide my time on the elevator, offer a polite smile as they exit on their respective floors, but the minute they are off, I let the mask slip and the fury rage.
Heartless fucking bastard.
Hasn’t he warned me of that all along, though? Didn’t he tell me to believe what people said about him?
I thought I knew him better. I thought maybe our relationship had changed who he was when it came to what could and couldn’t hurt me.
But he’s already put a piece of what is mine up for sale.
I’m off the elevator and marching down the hall toward his office in seconds. Probably not the best destination on my first day back. Heads pop up from cubicles. Murmurs follow me as I walk down the hallway.
Just like they have anywhere I go in town. The whispers are kept to a minimum out of respect for my family name. For Chad’s family name. But I know who and what they see.
A woman who got engaged to a man, slept with her boss, and then got married to the first man.
Not the best reputation to have, but when the hell have I ever cared how the people in this town saw me?
Never.
But I care how I see myself and right now the fury coursing through my veins says I’m a woman who got played. I’m a lover who allowed herself to become blinded by the truth about the man she was with. His callousness. His drive. His secrecy. His lack of fucks to give. I’m a person who fell in love with a man who clearly was using me for his own convoluted gain.
I hold tight to every single one of those thoughts as I walk past Audrey’s vacant desk and barge into his office without knocking.
His head whips up. His eyes widen as emotions flit through them at a lightning pace before he reins them in to reflect nothing more than disinterest. His mouth is hard and his shoulders are tense.
Holden Knight.
The reason I left.
The reason I’m here.
The reason my heart feels like a blade in my own hands, daring me to see what still bleeds. Letting me know it still loves him despite it all.
TWOHolden
The second she strides into my office the air shifts.
Rowan Rothschild. Rather Rowan Williams now. My mind rejects the thought.
Sunshine.
The only person I’ve ever let get past my guard.
The gut punch lands before I can properly brace for it. She’s standing before me, straight spine, lips curved in that tight Rothschild smile that hides more than it ever reveals. And fuck if it doesn’t scrape something raw inside my chest I thought I had properly buried.
Tell me you love me.
I knew she would be back from her honeymoon at some point. That I’d have to face her. But no amount of preparation could steel me for seeing her for the first time out of her wedding dress.
And with Williams as a last name.
Christ.
I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth until I taste metal. Guard up. Heart locked down. Because if I let one crack show, she’ll see all of it—the love I swore I’d never admit and the truths I refuse to speak.
“The Grantville plant? You sure moved fast. Might as well stick the knife in and twist it a little harder while my back’s turned, right?” No pleasantries. No warm-up. Straight for the jugular.
“Rowan. What a pleasant surprise.” I lean back in my chair, forcing that damn indifference I sure as shit don’t feel into my tone as my pulse hammers against every inch of my body. “Look who decided to finally make an appearance. How was the honeymoon? I’m sure it was everything you’ve ever dreamed of, no?”
Her smile falters just slightly, but enough. A hit landed. Good. Better her bleeding than me.
“It was”—she swallows forcibly—“perfect.”
Liar.
I tap the pen against my desk, eyeing her like she’s just another opponent across the boardroom table. That’s what she was supposed to be.
I’m trying to convince myself that’s all she is.
When did the pawn turn out to be the queen?
“You sold it?” she repeats, voice low but lethal.
“Technically, no. It’s on the market.”
“Just like that, huh?”
I arch a brow and keep my expression indifferent. “It’s my company. I can do what I want with it.”
Her nostrils flare. God, she’s gorgeous when she’s furious. Dangerous. Untouchable. Mine.
Except she isn’t. Not anymore.
I went and did the unthinkable. I fell. But what I can’t allow myself is the grace or the weakness to have what I fell for. What I want.
I fucking love you.
“You don’t get to play God with my family’s legacy.” She takes a step closer. “With my legacy. You might own the most shares, Holden, but you don’t own me.”
“Hmph.” My smile is cold. “You made sure of that one, didn’t you?”
She falters, her eyes boring into mine. There’s hurt there. Anger too that has nothing to do with me packaging and selling off pieces of her family’s business. But she’s the one who married the motherfucker.
And you’re the one who could’ve stopped it with three little words.
She lifts her chin as if to say my words can’t hurt her. Her eyes say otherwise. “I’ll fight you. Fight fire with fire if I have to.”
“I expect nothing less. In fact, I look forward to it.”
“You would.” Defiance shines in her eyes as she straightens her shoulders.
I want to drag her across this desk and kiss that fire right out of her. Instead, I sit back and clasp my hands like I’m not itching to reach for her. “It’s called Business 101.”
Her eyes flash with heat and I know exactly what she’s remembering. CEO 101. My lesson to her, here. On this desk. In this chair. My face between her thighs. My balls ache from the memory. Does the wanting her ever end?
I clear my throat. “I know you’re more than familiar with the basic concepts. Triage. Cut off what’s bleeding to save the core.”
“TinSpirits isn’t a body.”
“And yet your family made sure it’s bleeding out.”
Her jaw clenches. “My brother did. Not my family.”
“Your brother and your husband.” I want to choke on the word. My smile is tight and my chest aches. “Otherwise now known as your family, right?”
“So this is how it’s going to be?”
“We all do what we need to do, Rowan. You with your sham marriage.” Her eyes widen and she looks out toward the hallway to see if anyone is within hearing range. Proof I didn’t need to cement the fact that I’m still right. It’s a marriage in legality only. I hope. “Me with my company. The difference is that I don’t pretend it’s about love.”
She shudders like I’ve gutted her. Maybe I have. Maybe that’s the only way I can survive this—the seeing her every day. The glint of that diamond ring under the fluorescent lights. The knowing it’s dickless Chad’s hands that could be touching her now.
Because the truth is I do love her.
And that’s why I can’t ever let her see it.
She doesn’t flinch though. Of course she doesn’t. Rowan Rothschild has more moxie than most men I know. I doubt she’s ever backed down from a fight in her life and she sure as hell isn’t about to start with me.
“Your company?” she scoffs. “Funny. I thought TinSpirits was built by generations of Rothschilds—”
“Rehashing how your family has run this company into the ground isn’t going to help you win this fight.”
Her eyes narrow as fury simmers in them.
God, I want her closer.
No, I want her angry. Need that instead. Anger I can handle. Anger doesn’t break me in half the way her shutting me out has.
“You arrogant son of a—”
“Pretty sure we’re past the name-calling stage, aren’t we?”
“What I’ve yet to figure out is your reasoning for all this. At first, I thought it was because you were a greedy asshole who just wanted more. More money, more power, more notoriety. But there’s something more to it. Then I found out you were from around here. Fairmont, maybe? Couldn’t tell you because you refuse to give answers. And if it was Fairmont, then I figured maybe you’d come back to take something you’d admired from across the river. But it’s something more than that, isn’t it? It’s like you can’t stand the people you’ve now become and want to punish us—me—for it. I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to.” My jaw tics. It was more than unfortunate that a former girlfriend from sophomore year in high school, Penelope Piccadilly, crossed paths with Rowan, but it wasn’t the be-all, end-all. There are enough pieces in place that my identity is secure for now.
“Selling off pieces of this company to the highest bidder isn’t winning. You’ll never be able to cut the heart out of it.”
“And you’d know so much about hearts, wouldn’t you?” I lean forward, elbows braced on the desk, my stare pinning hers. “Seeing as you just traded yours for a marriage license, a last name that netted you shares I would’ve given you if you’d asked, and a lot more zeroes in your bank account.”
Her breath catches, just enough to tell me I hit where it hurts. Is that supposition true though? That the marriage netted her the inheritance? There’s no way to tell and the quick intake of her breath doesn’t tell me yes or no or if she doesn’t want to tell me the truth.
“Yes, Rowan,” I say. “I know about the shares for marriage. It’s my company and my lawyers are paid a pretty penny to ensure that I know what needs to be known.”
She blinks a few times as if to clear away the truth in what I just said. That I figured the marriage and shares part out. I’m still missing something though.
“My actions had nothing to do with love,” she says.
“Neither did mine,” I reply and the comment hits her just as hard as hers did me. “We all do what we need to do, Sunshine.” The nickname tastes like ash on my tongue, but I let it sit there. A weapon instead of a promise.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” she says.
“Then you’ll understand that Grantville is only the first of many pieces up for sale.”
“To stop the bleeding…”
“Yes.”
“Why do I have a feeling you’re not going to stop with just the parts that are bleeding?”
The corner of my mouth kicks up, sharp and cruel. “Then you’d know me well.”
The silence stretches, the air taut between us. My office feels too small, too charged, too filled with things we’ll never say aloud.
“Give my best to your husband,” I add, letting my smirk bleed into my voice.
Her eyes flash. She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t have to. The tight line of her mouth says enough.
“At all costs, right, Knight?”
It’s already cost me more than I ever imagined.
THREERowan
I don’t breathe until I shut my office door behind me. Can’t.
And even then, the air that drags into my lungs feels sharp, like glass shredding its way down my throat. My hands are trembling, my whole body is shaking, and I can’t tell if it’s fury or heartbreak or the sick combination of both.
That was brutal.
Seeing him. Hearing him. Hiding the hurt behind the anger. Pretending like his words didn’t gut me.
I collapse against the shut door. My pulse roars in my ears as I press my palms flat against the cool wood until I gather myself.
You knew he was going to be cold. Cruel.
I may have been on my honeymoon, but he could have reached out in that month. Could have confronted me over that last interaction we had. Could have told me we had fucked up—him by not admitting he loves me and me for marrying Chad—but he didn’t. Not a call. Not a text. Not even an email. And still …
Then I see it.
The succulent on the windowsill.
These plants supposedly represent endurance, strength, resilience. I thought it was a fitting gift for someone who embodies the exact same qualities.
Except it doesn’t look so resilient right now. Its leaves are sagging. The soil is dry. Its color faded.
A metaphor staring me blatantly in the face.
Even the hardiest things die when they’re neglected long enough. When they’re starved of what they need. Love. Truth. Honesty.
Take your pick.
My throat tightens and all I want to do—all I’ve wanted to do—is to rip this damn wedding ring off my finger. Since the moment I put it on, the band has felt foreign and wrong. A weighted circle instead of a choice. It’s the reminder of everyone and everything I’ve betrayed. Myself. Gran. Holden.
I’d give anything to pull it off and never see it again, but I can’t. Not yet. Not when the world needs to believe the charade a little longer.
My inheritance needs to be granted. Our wedding has to look like it was entered into in good faith. People have to believe it is real.
I sit down, pull out my laptop, and refresh the search results I’ve been working on here and there in a private browser for the better part of a few weeks. But even as my computer refreshes, I know what I’ll find—nothing. Every trace of Holden Knight other than being a Silicon Valley tech guru might as well be smoke. It only makes me more determined because men with nothing to hide don’t erase themselves.
“What are you hiding, Holden Knight?” I murmur and pick up my phone to reread my text exchange with Mei-Ling, the director of the Sanctuary, from yesterday about the one person who has provided a concrete connection for me between Holden and this town—Penelope Picadilly.
Me: Any sign of Penelope yet?
Mei-Ling: Not yet. She left three weeks ago and hasn’t been back since. That happens often around here.
Me: I hope she is okay.
Mei-Ling: Any specific reason you need to speak with her so bad?
Me: No. Just worried about her is all.
Do I feel guilty for lying to Mei-Ling, a woman who only wants the best for everyone? Yes. Definitely.
Yet at the same time, I’m trying to connect all these dots and figure out just what it is that Holden wants from TinSpirits and this town. And I need to know how that’ll affect me, my plans, and what I feel for him.
With a muttered curse, I pick my phone back up and call Sloan. She answers on the second ring, her tone dry and tinged with sarcasm.
“Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Williams back from paradise. Or should I say hell?”
“Sloan.” Her name is a plea and a rebuke all at once. The only person who knows the real truth about all of it—the reason for the wedding, the inheritance parameters—other than Chad. And I’m so grateful that she does or I’d probably be losing my mind.
“I know. I can’t imagine,” she murmurs sympathetically before I say anything more.
“Please tell me it’s been transferred.”
“I’m assuming we’re talking about what I think you’re talking about, yes?” she says coyly.
“The inheritance. Thirty days married is today. Thirty million. Has the process been started or not?”
There’s a beat of silence and then she laughs. “Such a greedy bitch. Always straight to the money.”
“Yeah. Right. That’s me.” But in this case, it is. “So…?”
“The paperwork has been initiated,” she says as relief swells in my chest. “I don’t know what you said to good ol’ Henry Williams but he’s as tight-lipped as that stick up his ass is shoved.”
“Fear of being reported and disbarred will do that to you.”
“No shit. The shady fucker,” she says.
“How long until the funds are transferred to my brokerage account?”
“Tomorrow or the next day.” She pauses and then her voice sharpens. “You’ll have your inheritance but the company bylaws are a different story.”
But at least the inheritance is a sure thing. Thirty days has passed. The transfer of the money has been initiated. And after thinking I might have to wait two years to inherit it, the relief that washes through me is indescribable.
Thanks to Gran and the addendum she never signed.
But the company shares are a whole different ball game.
Unbeknownst to me, when Chad and I started talking about this whole fake marriage plan, six months was the off-the-cuff timeline. It just so happens that when Sloan went digging in the corporate bylaws, six months of marriage was the required period of time in order for the marital shares and benefits to be granted.
One down. Five more to go.
“Yes, I know. I have to stay married in good faith for six months to gain the added shares that marrying Chad netted me. I know.”
“Well, good thing I found that little nugget buried down deep in the fine print of the corporate charter. Besides, the six months will serve you well should the inheritance ever be contested. I know it’s a long shot, but with your brother? All bets are off. Six months is a long enough time frame that I could argue in court that you tried to make your marriage work. It didn’t. I’d cite irreconcilable differences and that would be enough for one to believe it wasn’t just for the inheritance.”
“True.” I chew the inside of my lip.
“But that means you have to try to make it believable, Row. None of this hiding in your house and pretending you’re still single shit.”
“I just want the money part done. Then I can go from there.”
“Row? I’ve known you long enough to know something’s going on. You care to share?”
“How fast can you create an LLC for me?”
“Wh-what?”
“I need an LLC formed as fast as possible, preferably one based in the state of Delaware.”
“Um, I can file one online and expedite it for a fee. It could take anywhere from two to five days but that’s way better than the ten to thirty days it usually takes. And Delaware because you don’t want your name associated with it?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mind me asking why you need one when you have about six within the TinSpirits brand alone?”
“Because I want to put in an offer to buy the Grantville plant that Holden is selling off.”
Her silence greets my request. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. Dead serious.” I pace behind my desk, heart racing as fast as my thoughts are. “If he’s going to sell it off piece by piece at a discount rate, then I’m going to buy it back.”
“This is insanity.”
“I know but I can’t let him dismantle what is mine. I can’t let Rhett and Holden dictate my future. I refuse to let either of them win.”
Her sigh is measured on the other end of the line. “I understand the reason behind what you want. It’s noble. One hundred percent. But Row, you don’t have the funds to buy everything Knight will most likely bundle together and sell off. What are you going to do with it? You’re not the majority owner of the company so you can’t force the rest of the board’s hand on something, and you most definitely can’t start your own version of TinSpirits because that fat co-CEO contract you just signed has a non-compete agreement in it … so what do you plan on doing then?”
“I want to be a thorn in his side. Opposition. It seems everyone rolls over when it comes to Holden Knight. I refuse to.”
“And is this the scorned lover speaking or Rowan Rothschild, co-CEO, speaking?”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I contemplate that answer. “Maybe a bit of both.”
“Fair.” She pauses. “He’ll find out it’s you. We’ll file and jump through the hoops but a man of his stature has resources. Ones that are legal and probably ones that are otherwise to get answers when he doesn’t have them.”
“Probably.” I pause and realize the truth. “Maybe I want him to.”
“Then why the privacy when it comes to the LLC?”
“Because I’m being a catty, petty bitch and want to make him work a little.”
She laughs. “I can understand that. But Rowan, are you really prepared for a fight like this with everything else you have going on?”
“I promised Gran I’d do my damnedest to keep the company. I already skirted around one of her rules, I need to keep my word on this. Or as close as I can knowing he owns more than us.”
“He’ll come at you for undermining him. That’s who Holden Knight is. It’s what he does.”
“I know.” My voice drops but my resolve doesn’t. “But I need to buy the first couple of assets at least. I need to make a statement as to where I stand. Besides, Grantville matters to me. It’s jobs. It’s families who’ve worked there generation after generation. It’s a piece of this company’s heart whether he wants to acknowledge it or not.”
“And you think buying the plant fixes that?”
“I don’t fucking know. Maybe I buy it and get the board to approve … I don’t know what.” This is a ludicrous plan. Even hearing myself say it out loud is proof of that.
“Any idea what you want this LLC to be named?”
I falter in bravado. I spent so many days on the honeymoon thinking and overanalyzing everything that has happened. The good of it. The bad of it. The man I thought Holden to be. The man I know he is. And then the one who showed up that day to my wedding. The one who refused to give me what I needed to know what we had was real.
It takes a second for it to come to me, but when it does, a smile slides across my lips. “Triple A, LLC,” I say.
“Triple A? What the hell does that mean?” Sloan asks.
“Assess. Adjust. Adapt.”
“And kick ass,” Sloane says, finishing Gran’s infinite slogan for me. “I think that’s a fitting name. But I’m also going to repeat myself and say this is insane.”
“Maybe.” I press my hand against the desk. My ring scrapes the wood like it knows it doesn’t belong there. “But clearly insanity runs in my blood. I’ll be damned if I sit back and watch Holden win.”
“You still love him,” she says softly, which rips my heart out.
“Love has nothing to do with his. Preserving my family legacy and company does.”
“Okay.” She pauses. “And because of that, I’ll work on getting the LLC set up.”
“And I’ll work on concocting a better plan.”
“Please do because this fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants shit when you’re playing with millions is more than unnerving.”
“Well, at least we’re in agreement there.”
I end the call before I can fully realize how damn stupid this plan is. I pinch the bridge of my nose and turn to look out at the parking lot below my window. There are various buildings on the property that make up TinSpirits in addition to other locations. How much is he planning to gut? What will be left when all is said and done?
And why do I think it won’t be much? That total dissolution and destruction is his endgame?
Knock. Knock.
I freeze and brace for it to be him, but when I turn around, I’m not sure if I’m relieved or irked that it’s not.
Chad pushes open my door and steps inside. “Good morning,” he says in that calm, practiced voice. The same one I’ve heard every morning for a month and have already found to be rather annoying.
“Good morning.”
His smile is faint, as if nothing is wrong, as if our lives aren’t stitched together with lies and signatures. He walks over and kisses my cheek in a show for anyone watching. “My wife’s luggage is sitting in the foyer of our house but she is nowhere inside it.” He lifts his eyebrows and rocks on his heels.
The foregone conclusion settles like a lead weight in my gut. “That’s because your wife is busy packing up her life first so that she can move in,” I lie.
He gives a measured nod. “Noted. And while I understand the why behind all of it, no one else in this gossip-riddled town will. Why your car sits in front of your house all night while mine sits in my driveway.”
“Let them talk, Chad. Do you really care? The people that matter know how quick the wedding was and that I have to pack stuff up in order to move in,” I say, referring to the lies I told our immediate friends and families.
“Yeah, it’s just…” His sigh is as heavy as his stare. “People will still talk. Rhett’s only going to buy it for so long. Our moms are chomping at the bit to come visit us and the fact that they haven’t gets noticed.”
“It’ll only be for a little bit longer,” I say, and he gives me a dubious look.
“There are movers who do that for people of our stature,” he says.
“I’m well aware, but I prefer to pack up my own life.”
His lips twist as he takes a step closer before reaching out and linking his fingers with mine. My knee-jerk reaction is to yank my hand away but I stop myself before I do.
Eyes are always watching.
“I know this is hard for you, but we have to play the game,” he says just under his breath. “And if you need more time to adjust, we can compromise. Don’t pack up your life. Maybe just some clothes, some essentials, and Winnie. I can clear out one of my extra bedrooms so you can have your own office there. I know how much you like to work from home.” Well, at least he’s allowing my dog to come to his pristinely cleaned house. “Your house can stay as is and once everything gets a little more settled we can reevaluate.”
His words surprise me. We spent a month of romance-less days on our honeymoon. Nights of separate beds in the hotel suite. His complete lack of interest in me was surprising but so very welcome.
The man who swore I could learn to love him in time was either taking the hands-off approach or had had a change of heart. And while I appreciated the month-long vacation without any pressure for more, his complete preoccupation with Rhett—his cell buzzing constantly over a deal before stepping out of earshot—was just weird.
We had all that time to formulate a plan. To figure out how we were going to play this when we got back and it’s just now that he has an interest in it.
But it’s not like anything about this situation has been normal, so why should I expect that to have been?
“Thank you for being understanding,” I say softly and free my fingers from his to clasp and unclasp my bracelet. Any excuse to not be holding hands. “I promise to move a bit faster.”
“Of course. Take your time, but not too much … we’ve got a relationship to sell.” He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Patience isn’t my strong suit but I did already get what I wanted—you—even if it is in theory, right?”
I don’t know how to respond to that and the brittle sound of my laugh shows every ounce of that uncertainty.
His mixed signals are … odd. Head spinning. But if he’s satisfied with my response then I’m not going to push it.
“And on the subject of selling us, I think we should have friends over for drinks. A little cocktail party at the house or at a bar where we can be seen. Something to show everyone how happy we are.”
Bitterness coats my tongue. This is what you signed up for, Rowan. Better dance the dance. “Yes. Sure.” My smile is tight.
“Great. I’ll plan something.”
“Was there something else you needed?” I ask, more than ready for this exchange to be over.
“Nope. You were in Holden’s office for some time. I just thought it was apropos for you to spend more time with your husband than with your ex-lover.” He takes a step back. “For appearances’ sake, of course.”
I chortle out an unexpected laugh. “Of course.”
With a nod he walks out of my office and across the hall to Rhett’s. He doesn’t close my door all the way, so I move to shut it. I’m not in the mood to talk to people today. I’m way far behind and need to reach out to the new vendors I worked so hard to bring on board to see how they are liking this new partnership.
But when I reach for the handle, I look up and freeze.
Holden.
He’s standing at the end of the hall in his own doorway, arms crossed, broad frame filling the space. His eyes are locked on me, hard and unreadable.
The air between us is thick with everything left unsaid.
His silence says what his lips never could—this isn’t over.
It never was.
FOURRowan
“This is torture,” I mutter under my breath as Chad and I step onto the walkway leading to the Westmore Country Club, his hand on the small of my back. My heels click on the concrete like a countdown to my unraveling.
“The cocktail party or being on my arm?” Chad jokes.
“Being here. I’d rather be getting a root canal,” I grumble like a petulant child.
“And yet, being here at the club is the perfect way for us to be seen,” Chad says. “For us to show the world how ridiculously happy we are.”
And way better than an intimate gathering at his house where the fact that I’m still not moved in with him might be noticed and questioned.
“True,” I say begrudgingly.
“I mean, it’s either this or me bragging to the boys about how we haven’t been seen around because we are so busy doing other things newlyweds do.” He raises his eyebrows at the suggestion. “And so I figured you’d prefer this option.”
“Smart choice,” I mutter.
His smile widens as we step into the crowd of people. “Being seen is necessary. People—”
“You mean Westmore society.”
“Yes. Our friends. Other club members. They need to see us together. To believe that we are happy. Normal.”
“I never show up here unless I’m absolutely forced to. Me not being here would be normal.” Dread tinges the edges of my tone.
“Well aware of that fact, but—”
“You knew what you were getting when you agreed to do this with me.”
“The marrying you part? Yes, I did know.” He clears his throat as the abundant foliage clears and the large wooden deck comes into view. It’s milling with a vast number of people. Some sit at tables beneath the club’s signature turquoise umbrellas. Others gather around the bar and talk or stand over by the tables stacked with hors d’oeuvres.
The Saturday social scene. Whoopie.
“Let the dog and pony show begin,” I mutter as attention shifts our way. The chatter of voices becomes a bit more muted with our names being whispered just below the fray.
“It’s the Williamses,” says one couple to the right of us.
“Your wedding is still being talked about,” a girl I went to middle school with all but gushes, her pearls practically bouncing with enthusiasm.
“Such a stunning couple,” another voice says.
“The event of the year it was,” Muffy Newton says in her distinctive, craggy voice. She would know as she’s been married enough times to have something to compare it to.
“Pure magic,” another says as the hoax of what we’re doing washes over me.
Compliments trail behind us like confetti. Each step another fake smile. Another ridiculous line of praise. It’s like people don’t have their own opinions and are so busy trying to step up in the social scene. The louder their voices get about the joining of the town’s two most prestigious families, the better their chances might be to climb that ladder.
It’s preposterous and the exact reason why I try to avoid Saturdays at the club like the plague, but …
“Keep smiling, Row. It’ll be over soon,” Chad murmurs into my ear.
And then my mother descends on us. She finally gets to show off her prized possession like a proud peacock in her dress that is way too fancy for a simple patio outing.
It’s almost like the month that’s passed since the wedding has dimmed the sparkle and now she wants it to shine again.
“Rowan,” my mother squeals, her hand immediately clutching mine as if the act alone can convince everyone watching that she’s the proud, doting parent. “Just look at you two. So young. So beautiful. So in love.” She pulls me in for a quick hug and then kisses Chad’s cheek so I’m forced to wipe her lipstick off it like a doting wife would.
“Hi,” I say, giving my practiced smile, but I’m more worried about who I don’t see when I look behind her. “Is Dad here?”
It’s been two months since his accident and while his long-term prognosis is good, I still worry about how long it’s taking him to get solidly back on his feet. Other than going to our wedding, he hasn’t been out and about much for a man who most definitely loves attention.
“It’s hit and miss most days. He’s still not feeling up to most things but is definitely getting better. I’m surprised you haven’t made an effort to come by and see him.” Spoken like only a mother can with maximum guilt for effect.
My smile is tight. “I’ve been a little busy.”
“Yes. Of course.” She swats at my arm and plasters on the beauty queen smile because she knows people are watching. “The least you can do is call or text him.”
“I have.”
“Oh.” She looks surprised by my answer, but just as quickly transforms back to the proud mother. “You wouldn’t believe how much talk has been going around over when you were going to make your debut as the new Mr. and Mrs. Williams.” She visibly shivers all over. “And here you are, giving the people what they want.”
Giving the people what they want? Jesus.
“I assure you people have more to concern themselves with than when Chad and I would make an appearance.”
“You underestimate the interest. You’re the talk of the town. That’s what this marriage has done for our families. Elevated our standing further, if that’s even possible.”
Dear God.
“There you are!” A voice rises above all others as Florence, Chad’s mother, swoops in. Within seconds she has her arms wrapped around me in a hug that lasts a little too long and has me wriggling to escape it.
“Yep. Here we are,” I say drolly and take a big step back to avoid more unwanted touching.
“You didn’t tell me you were back,” she says to Chad and hits him playfully on the arm.
My eyes narrow at her. Chad’s the one who told me she stopped by out of the blue yesterday to see if I was packed and moving in yet.
“Really?” Chad asks, brow furrowed in question.
I don’t catch what she says but I swear she murmurs, “Play along,” under her breath before stepping back and raising her voice again. “You’ve probably been busy having all the fun and, dare I say, thinking about giving us grandbabies that it just slipped your mind to call.”
Ew. Seriously, ew.
“Settled at last,” my mother says, her eyes shining with the smugness of a woman who thinks her daughter’s life has finally been put in the order she wanted … and is no doubt hoping me stepping back from TinSpirits will be the next thing to happen.
She’s clueless on all fronts.
I fight to keep my smile in place, the sarcasm bubbling up so strong I can all but taste it. Settled at last. The truth is I haven’t given up either of my safe havens—my house or Gran’s house. The two places where the noise of this town, of this marriage, of this war with Holden can’t touch me. The two places where I can still be me instead of this propped-up fake version I’m currently playing.
“Yes. Everything is definitely coming together,” I murmur, my thoughts on Sloan’s call earlier when she told me my new LLC was assigned a tax ID number and is therefore ready to go. The offer to buy Grantville is being written up and will be ready to be delivered tomorrow sometime.
Everything is definitely coming together.
“Ah, look. My two favorite people are here and smiling,” Rhett says as he slides into the conversation from wherever he was. Typical Rhett to find the brightest lights in the room and want to bask in them with his slimy politician’s smile.
A bro hug commences between him and Chad, one set of hands clasped, the other slapping each other on the backs before my brother steps back and meets my eyes. He’s clearly deciding if a hug is in our nature but decides to simply nod his head instead. “Rowan. Good to see you.”
“I’ve been at the office all week.”
His smile flickers with sarcasm painting its edges. “And?”
“And you’ve been avoiding me.”
“Not avoiding. Just busy.”
“Yes. Right. Which begs the question, how are you planning on working full-time at TinSpirits, becoming a councilman come January, and doing whatever deal it is you and Chad are so hush-hush about all at the same time?”
Rhett stiffens and even though he has sunglasses on, I can see his eyes dart over to Chad’s before coming back to mine. “Things will get a whole lot easier in the coming months if everything keeps falling my way.”
Smug asshole.
He bumps fists with Chad in some unspoken acknowledgment—yet another reminder that their selfish decision to sell the company is the reason we’re in this entire mess to begin with.
I nod in response to his comment. “Of course it is. For you, anyway. You made decisions that affect everyone else’s lives and didn’t affect yours at all.”
“Chad, you might want to control your wife,” he says, voice low and tone taunting.
My hands fist and my teeth grit. I don’t care that I’m in a white summery dress because I have no problem throwing a punch at my brother.
Question is, who will Chad defend in this moment?
He chooses wisely when he steps in between us, facing me, and gathers my clenched fists in his hands. “Not the time nor place,” he says, voice barely audible. “Don’t let him push your buttons.”
I shake my hands free of Chad’s. The last thing I want is to be coddled. “You’re a prick, Rhett. Glad to see things don’t change.”
He barks out a laugh. “So easy to rile up.” He pushes Chad’s shoulder. “I talked to our guy this morning. Everything is moving forward. We’ll circle back tomorrow or Monday and lock in details.”
Chad’s face lights up in what I can only describe as relief.
Weird, but not knowing something in regards to the two of them is just par for the course due to their long-lasting friendship.
“Chad,” a deep baritone voice calls out, and Chad steers us deeper into the crowd toward the person.
It’s when we reach the center patio—the trellis above, the fragrant flowers in pots all around its edge, the people in small huddles of conversation—that I look up and my lungs forget how to work.
Because of course he’s here. Holden.
He’s across the way, his hand resting on the lower back of a woman I don’t recognize. His head is down, mouth so close to her ear as he says something that I swear I can feel his lips as they brush against the shell of it. She laughs softly and tips her head up toward his before she stands up on her tiptoes and brushes a kiss to his lips.
My stomach revolts. Jealousy roars hot and sharp through my veins.
Especially when he smiles at her like she’s the only thing he sees. Like he used to look at me.
Look away, Rowan.
But I can’t. I can’t think past the hammer of my heart and the bile rising in my throat as the woman runs a hand up and down his chest. Her fingernails are a dark red against the pale fabric, and it’s clear she only has eyes for him.
My vision blurs. I mumble some excuse to Chad about needing to go talk to someone and slip away before he can protest, offer to go with me, or before my smile cracks.
Cognizant of watching eyes, I try to keep my movements calm and unhurried. Last thing I need is someone to say they saw me rushing to the bathroom like I was going to be sick and therefore I’m probably pregnant.
Because no doubt someone would.
Relief hits me when I walk into the vacant hallway leading to the locker rooms. There are private meeting rooms on one side and the men’s and women’s locker rooms on the right. I have no purpose in where I’m going, other than to put distance between myself and Holden until I can find my footing.
Good in theory but distance doesn’t erase the sight of her kissing him from my mind.
I brace my hands against the cool plaster wall and try to steady the riot inside me. Impossible.
The door behind me opens and closes, interrupting the peace I came here to seek. Crap. In a desperate attempt at avoidance, I take out my cell like I’m answering a call and duck into one of the small meeting rooms.
Footsteps echo as the door swings shut behind me, but a hand stops it before it closes.
I turn, and there he is. In the doorway. Stepping into the room. Turning the lock on the door before shutting it behind him.
“Running away, Sunshine?”
Fury ignites like a matchstick. He’s there in the shadows of the unlit room, one hand in his pocket, the other loose at his side, but his eyes are locked on mine like he knows he’s already won.
“Are you trying to gloat? To prove a point? To throw your date in my face?” My voice shakes but it’s sharp. Biting. Hurt.
“Does it bug you?” He’s quiet and when I don’t respond, he continues in that infuriatingly calm tone. “Isn’t this what you wanted, Rowan? Last I checked you got married, and gave up any rights to have an opinion over who I’m dating. What is it that you were expecting? For me to stop living because you chose him over me?”
“I didn’t choose—”
“You sure as fuck chose.” He takes another step closer. His mouth curves cruelly as his words hit like a blade, slicing open everything I’ve tried to stitch closed.
My nails dig into my palms. “You know what? I did. I chose because you didn’t give me any other fucking choice.”
His eyes flash and jaw flexes as he closes the distance between us. “You’re putting this on me? How about you take responsibility for your own actions? You were so desperate for more shares that you’d marry a man you don’t even like. But there’s more, isn’t there? Your inheritance? Your social standing? Making Mommy and Daddy proud.”
“Fuck you,” I spit out and receive a suggestive smile in return. One that heats my body and grates over my nerves in duplicitous fashion.
“Maybe later. I’m not into cheating with married women.”
“Now you choose to have morals?” He works his jaw but doesn’t respond. It’s my turn to step forward. It’s my turn to take my finger and jab it against his chest. “Everything you and I had was based on lies. Like where you’re from of all goddamn things. Your entire fucking motive for doing whatever you’re doing with TinSpirits. The purchase. The sell-off of assets. That you don’t love me.” I absolutely hate that my voice cracks on the last one, but I fight the burn of the tears and refuse to let him see them.
“You’re right. All of the above. I warned you away and yet you still fucking wanted me.”
He leans in until it’s just breath between us—his exhale and my next inhale. The dangerous thrum of tension and reminder of what he tastes like, what he feels like pulling me closer when I should do everything to push him away. My body betrays me, leaning in even as my mind screams to push him away.
His pupils dilate and his breath grows labored.
He’s as affected as I am by this.
The want to touch him overpowers my logic as the air between us vibrates, electric and volatile, like one spark could set the whole damn world on fire.
It’s like the space between us dares me to defy it. To close it. I’m frozen between need and morality.
He reaches out and runs the back of his fingers down my cheek. The look in his eyes says touching me pains him as much as it does me. “It’s only been a month, Sunshine,” he says and leans forward so his lips just barely touch mine. “And that damn wedding ring has already sapped your defiance. Such a shame.”
And without another word, he takes a step back and walks out the door without looking back.
My sob is ragged and fills the room. It hurts to breathe but I struggle to draw in more air.
Why can’t I hate him more than I love him?
Why can’t I quit this drug I’ve become so damn addicted to?
Why can’t I walk away?
FIVEHolden
“Where are we on the WillowBend deal, Bob?”
I lean back in my office chair, pen tapping against the desk. The city’s skyline in the distance stares back at me like it knows I’m in a shitty mood and itching to ruin someone’s week.
It doesn’t help that when I look out the window of my office and down the hall, Rowan walks by in one of those goddamn sweaters I told her not to wear anymore because they’re distracting.
And if that was her goal, it worked.
“We’re in escrow with a close date pending,” Bob says through my cell.
“Pending the reports?”
“The methane reports, yes. Our sellers say they are being written up.”
“But?” There’s always a but when it comes to our sellers—Rhett and Chad.
“But I have a good line that the guy they usually use to create their fraudulent reports is no longer in the business of … working with them.”
I chuckle and shake my head. Leave it to Bob. “What did you do?”
He snorts. “Come on, now. Would I ever do anything to intimidate or scare someone? Never.”
“Christ.” I scrub a hand over my jaw. “No connections back to me.”
“That doesn’t even have to be said.”
“So I assume the delay is because they’re scrambling to find someone else to forge the reports?”
“Yep. Can’t sell land without disclosing it’s contaminated with methane, now, can they? Apparently that’s what got them into this delinquent, cash-strapped mess of theirs where they’re stealing from Peter to pay Paul.”
Yeah. From their own family trusts without their parents knowing.
“Perfect.” A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. Something that hasn’t been common as of late.
“And you’re still watching the campaign fund expenditures?” he asks. “Just let me know when and if you want me to take that over.”
“I’ll keep watching for now.”
“Anything noteworthy?”
“What do you think?” I chuckle. “They’re leaving a very nice electronic trail of the escrow payments they are making on the WillowBend loan from it. That is after they funneled a bit of it into the family trust to cover all the wedding expenses so their parents, God forbid, wouldn’t have any of their checks bounce.”
“A wedding is an expensive thing. Heard theirs was top-of-the-line.”
The picture of Rowan in her wedding dress that was splashed all over social media and local news flashes in my head. “Wouldn’t know,” I say.
“Did Rhett and Chad really think this would work?” he asks, pulling my thoughts back to the matter at hand.
“What? Buying a huge piece of land and hoping to develop it or turn it to make a profit? Yes. If they’d only done their due diligence, they’d have known it was contaminated. Then again, they didn’t read the fine print of my deal buying TinSpirits so nothing surprises me at this point. Add to it their parents are none the wiser that they’ve already squandered everything in their trusts on this botched deal.” I should feel bad for them. I don’t. They enabled these pricks to think they’re untouchable and that consequences are not for them.
“But you said they have a history of this.”
“Of using their family trust fund like it’s their own money? Yes. Of taking TinSpirits’ money to fund their random extracurriculars? I have proof of all of it. Rhett may be the front man, but Chad is the brains behind it all. Their emails I’ve dipped into prove it.”
“So this is a two-for-one takedown.”
That makes me smile. “They don’t think rules apply to them. Never have. What’s their families’ is theirs and that’s how it is. The difference is this time they got hung up in a bad land deal that is sucking all the funds out of everything and if they can’t sell it, then this house of cards they’ve been hiding behind is going to come tumbling down.”
“So you baited them with the campaign donation.”
I nod even though he can’t see it. “He already knew he was winning the election so why waste my donation on more advertising, right? As expected, he kept it untouched to use for his own personal, emergency backup needs.”
“The Federal Election Commission is going to have a field day with this one.”
“Yes. But not yet. I need everything to collapse at once for maximum impact.”
Emmaline and Rupert Rothschild. Florence and Chief Williams. Chad. Rhett.
Rowan.
That’s the one who it’s going to hurt to put through this.
“You’re one vindictive fuck,” Bob says.
“I’m well aware.”
Knock, knock.
I look up to see Audrey standing outside the door. I motion for her to come in. “Bob, I have to go.”
“Sounds good. I’ll get everything taken care of on my end.”
I disconnect the call and look up at Audrey and her narrowed eyes. “Yes?”
“I have it down to remind you to call Jules at one,” she says of my real estate agent. “Do you want me to call her for you or are you good to talk with her?”
“Thanks for the reminder. I’ve got it,” I say and within seconds, I have Jules on the line, the niceties done and over with.
“So,” she says, “we’ve made eight offers so far on what you’ve deemed as the must-have strategic locations. The offers have been received and are being considered. In the meantime, I’m preparing a total of ten more offers to be sent out tomorrow.”
I pull up the plat map of Fairmont I have on my computer. The city blocks are laid out on the screen before me, some buildings shaded in orange to denote their significance in my plan to protect the city from Rhett’s master plan of destruction. Eighteen unsolicited but very generous offers made by tomorrow and maybe ten more later this week as a backup plan.
Things are moving along.
“You’re stressing to the property owners that time is of the essence?” I ask.
“Yes, but that’s really not necessary. You’re offering above market value so they’re eager to take the offers. No one else is going to pay them like you’re willing to, and frankly, with Rothschild winning the election, they’re terrified their property values are going to tank. They’re willing to cash out now.”
“January tenth,” I murmur. The date Rhett takes office. If his emails I’ve dipped into are any indication, his palms will be permanently greased from that day forward from granting favors. Favors like promises of expedited permits or, say, cheap land like the properties I’m already buying to thwart him.
I stand and move about my office. The window calls to me like it always does. On one side is the downtown skyline, a symbol of success and prosperity. On the other side is across the river, a symbol of broken dreams, hopeless promises, and a stigma that most will never shake. That’s what made me. That’s who I am at heart.
And then, of course, right below me in the parking lot is Rhett, the bastard himself, walking around like he’s not so quietly wishing for the demise of an entire city simply because it doesn’t fit his reality of life. I track him to his car where he grabs something before heading back into the office.
“That’s our deadline,” I reiterate. “I want it all done by then so he can’t fuck with anyone.”
“Is there a significance to the LLC’s name?” Jules asks. “It doesn’t sound like a Holden Knight company.”
“Monarch?” I ask.
“Mm-hmm.”
That all you got, Chadwick?
Monarch.
Monarch? I ask.
The reason behind it all.
Behind what all?
Rhett. His carte blanche.
Chad’s ambiguous revelation comes back to me. The never-ending mystery of what Monarch means.
“Yes, it does hold meaning, but truth be told, I don’t quite know what it is yet.”
Will Rhett hear the name of the LLC gobbling up all the property he wanted and will it give him pause? It couldn’t simply be a coincidence, could it?
Her chuckle is soft and curious. “Always a mystery, aren’t you?”
When I hang up I can’t settle. I look out to the parking lot again. Rowan’s car is there, just like it was when I pulled into the office this morning at 6 AM. She’s been in her office or the conference room, head down and on do not disturb.
Either she’s way behind on work or she prefers being here instead of at home with her new husband. Knowing she’s with him, is packing up her shit to live with that fucker, is like having a constant side stitch.
You know it’s there, you want to do something to ease it, but you know that no matter what the fuck you do, it’s simply not going to go away.
And it sure as shit doesn’t make the wanting her go away either.
Of course, I stood from afar and watched her this morning through the glass window of her office. The furrow of her brow as she tried to figure something out. The automatic smile as she responded to someone’s email. The way she kept twisting that goddamn ring on her finger like it was an uncomfortable burden she couldn’t quite shake.
“Is there a reason you’re pacing like a caged lion, Holden?” Audrey asks from my doorway. “And should I be worried because usually that means I’m about to be asked to do something or summon someone that will otherwise make my day unpleasant.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “I’m just trying to line everything up so it falls perfectly into place when I need it to.”
“Perfection is a fruitless pursuit,” she says.
“Don’t I know it,” I mutter … because I had it. Once. And she’s currently standing in the hallway in heels, talking to some marketing associate before slipping into the conference room.
Don’t do it, Holden. Stay away.
I look back at Audrey; her eyes are judgmental. She’s known me long enough to know what I’m going to do.
“She’s an employee.” I justify my reason if I were to talk to her, why that would be valid.
“Exactly. She’s an employee.” Her tone is cutting. The lift of her eyebrows is even sharper. “That’s all you needed to heed from day one.”
I purse my lips, nod at Audrey in a subtle defiance, and then give into the temptation and walk out of my office door.
When I enter the conference room, Rowan startles, her spine straightening and her nostrils flaring at the sight of me. We’ve kept our distance since the country club—more out of survival on my part than anything. I almost fucking kissed her … like I hadn’t learned my lesson.
We stare at each other, neither moving.
“Did you need something?” a voice says at my back.
“Rhett,” I grind out his name. Fucker. Never seemed to care about his sister to save his life and now all of a sudden he’s her protector?
Save me the bullshit charade.
Rhett steps forward and looks from me to Rowan and then back. “I asked if you needed something.”
“Playing protector of the best friend’s property and your sometimes sister?”
“Holden—”
I hold my hand up to stop Rowan’s protest. She knows as well as I do that her brother is an opportunistic fuck who would throw her under the bus at a moment’s notice. He has and will continue to do so.
“Or more like making sure to keep up pretenses that you’re actually doing your job? I came in here to tell your sister I was pleased with the new suppliers she’s brought on and the contractual terms she’s negotiated. TinSpirits will be much more lucrative and diversified because of it. I didn’t see you did anything though. Did I miss an update from you on that?”
The smug prick lifts his chin as his eyes glint behind his politician’s sheen. “No. I’ve been too busy reassuring the people in the Grantville plant that their place of business isn’t really up for sale since there has been no explanation from the top on what’s going on.”
“Wasn’t aware I had to give them one,” I say. “And aren’t you part of the top? You brandish that CEO status readily to take bribes and siphon funds, among other things, so why can’t you use it to give your own explanation?”
“Take it off the market,” he demands.
“Grantville? Fine. I will. If you step down from your role here.”
He snorts as Rowan’s eyes widen. “You’re out of your fucking mind. What do I have to do with Grantville?”
“Because its demise is on your shoulders. It’s either that plant up for sale or it’s you and me calling the police about how much money you’ve embezzled from the comp—”
“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Rhett snaps.
“Yes, well. I’m not sure why everyone feels the need to keep stating that established fact. But both of you do.” I glance at Rowan and smile. She sets her jaw. “Speaking of leeches, where’s yours at? He’s usually no more than five feet from you at all times.”
Rowan clears her throat. “What’s the point to all of this?” she asks.
I shift my gaze back to her, my shoulders tense despite how much fun it is fucking with Rhett. “I wanted to make a point of recognizing all the work you’ve been doing. It always takes a while to turn a large ship around, but you’re helping that process and it’s appreciated.”
“And yet you’re still selling Grantville,” she says.
“Correction, I’m cutting off the limb that already has gangrene. We’ve talked about this before. You should be thanking me.”
She snorts and it’s pure derision. “You’re carving out its heart because you can’t stand the fact that it was mine before it was yours. You’re hurting the very people you purport to want to help.”
Anger flares. Admiration too. God, she’s infuriating. Impossible. Gorgeous. “It was always dying, Rowan. I’m just the one with the balls willing to start calling time of death on some of the things around here.”
“Maybe for once she’s right, Knight. Maybe you simply can’t stand not having control. Scorching earth like a petulant child,” Rhett says.
“Careful, councilman,” I warn. “If you keep playing fixer for everyone else, they might start realizing that you’re the one breaking things.”
“And if you keep dismantling TinSpirits, maybe they’ll finally see you for what you are,” Rhett says.
My smirk sharpens. “They already do. The difference is I don’t give a damn.”
Rowan stands from her chair, that goddamn diamond on her finger sending prisms around the room. I grip the back of the chair to curb my anger.
“You’ll never stop, will you?” Her voice trembles. “Not until you’ve destroyed everything that matters to me?”
I step closer, my voice dropping low. Lethal. “Don’t flatter yourself. If I wanted to destroy you, Sunshine, I wouldn’t leave a goddamn thing standing … and that includes you.”
For a beat it’s just us. Breath and silence and fire. My jaw tightens and she doesn’t waver. Anger I can handle. Anger doesn’t gut me the way her silence does.
“Back the fuck down,” Rhett warns.
I don’t bother giving him a look. I use the comment as a reminder to step back. To put the mask back on that for some fucking reason she causes to slip. “Keep up the good work, Rowan. You can blame your brother for having to scrap together what’s left of your legacy.”
Her jaw clenches and she doesn’t give me the satisfaction of replying. Instead she just turns and walks out with Rhett at her side.
I stare at where she was. The ghost of her is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before. Like I’m fighting for my goddamn life every time we’re in the same room.
And I’ll be damned if I know whether I want to win … or let her burn me alive.
Copyright © 2026 by K. Bromberg
