“Who wants peanut butter cup cheesecake?” Sawyer calls out, carrying a big chocolate cake to the table, and my eyes widen. Everyone comes rushing back in, taking their seats and passing plates around.
Sutton pulls my chair closer to his, serving me a piece. “I made it just for you.”
I melt a little more inside, especially when I take a bite and it’s surprisingly delicious.
Listening to the laughter and chatter, everyone full of joy, I know we’ll figure things out. Even with so much up in the air and fear still lingering inside me at what’s to come, I have people around me who will help us along the way.
For that, I’m thankful.
44
Sutton
I’ve turned off my cell. Bobby’s calls were becoming problematic. They have been all week, ever since the news broke on social media that I’m leaving LA for good. Now, he’s here in Whispers; he’s been at the front gate for hours. Demanding that I talk with him, when I prefer to do anything but. The media is out there as well, capturing every angry minute.
“Maybe we just let him in and get it over with.” Sawyer rubs his head.
“I can escort him in and out,” Jackson adds, the three of us standing in my new kitchen, the appliances shiny, the cabinetry perfect. Thanksgiving lunch went amazingly well, considering how shit the food was—minus the cheesecake, because that was a slam dunk on my part. Mom loves Charlotte, just like I knew she would, and the fact that she now has three instant grandchildren made her smile all day long.
“Fine,” I relent as Jackson pushes off the counter and walks out to the gate.
This is long overdue, and it’s time to get it over with.
“You don’t owe him anything. He profited amazingly well from you,” Sawyer reminds me, and my gaze moves to the family room, where Preston sits with his new tablet in his hands and earphones on, Charlotte working on her solar contraption. They look good in our home. It feels complete with us all here together.
“You want me to hide them?” Sawyer moves toward the family room, and I shake my head.
“No. Bobby won’t have a camera. He doesn’t know who they are.” I take a deep breath, just as I hear the commotion.
“About fucking time, Sutton.” Bobby strides in, a man on a mission, his chest puffed out and his face all red.
“Bobby.” I nod as Jackson brings him into the kitchen, the hundred yards he walked from the gate clearly too much for him as he breathes heavily.
“Bobby? Bobby? That’s all you’ve got to say after a decade?” he roars, and now he has Charlotte's attention. I see her sit up at the commotion from my peripheral vision, Preston still with his noise-canceling headphones on, completely oblivious.
“It was all outlined clearly in the letter—” Sawyer starts his legal jargon, but Bobby isn’t having it.
“Shut up, Sawyer. I don’t need to listen to anything you have to say.” Bobby stares at me only, never even looking in Sawyer’s direction, and I see my brother’s hands tighten into fists at his sides.
“You do, actually.” My brother steps forward, and I’m wondering what he means.
Bobby tenses. “You going to school me now?”
“Just wondering why you put a naked, underage girl in my brother’s bed? Was it meant to get positive press? Did you do it to ruin his career?”
My gaze snaps to Bobby, having not thought of exactly why that happened or who orchestrated it. Sawyer’s always had suspicions about my manager, and I’ve brushed it off. But now, as I look at him, I know my brother’s been right all along.
Bobby gives a sadistic grin but remains silent. My stomach curdles that I had someone on my team, someone so close to me, who would put my career on the line like that.
“Or what about the guy who Jackson hit with the car? The one who walked off without a scratch but ended up in hospital with a broken leg. The media ate that up as well. What I can’t figure out is why you would set all that up?” Sawyer presses, his voice holding an edge, but Bobby barely shows any remorse.
“Any publicity is good publicity, you know that.” He looks me dead in the eye, like the issues he orchestrated were merely speedbumps, not issues that could’ve completely derailed my career had I stayed in LA. This is what he’s become—sneaky, sleezy, underhanded.
I can’t even speak as I stare at him, my blood boiling, and I see the moment he relents.
“Fine. I could see you pulling away, alright!” He runs his hands through his hair, releasing a deep huff. “I could tell your heart wasn’t really in it, that I was losing you. You’re my last client. I needed to continue to make you relevant.”
“You did it all to increase media attention?” I frown as things click into place.
