Page 97 of Final Proposal

My mind spins. At the things Callahan said and the truths hidden behind them.

Maybe you don’t tell her at all. Maybe you wait for her to come to you. The worst thing in the world is to give someone your love and for them to shun it. That hurts like a motherfucker.

So what the hell do I do about this?

Ellery

“We still need a name for the inn.”

I look over at Ford sitting beside me on the beach. “I know. I’m working on it. I just haven’t found anything catchy enough that goes with your regal-sounding half of it.”

“Oh, please.” He rolls his eyes and playfully tugs on a piece of my hair. “There’s nothing regal about Signature Sharpe Collection.”

“Uh-huh. Well, it seems to be everywhere right now. Too bad we can’t have the remodel finished and this place open to help cash in on all that visibility.” Ford blanches at the comment but doesn’t say anything. So I continue. “You’re still mad about it?”

Talk to me, Ford.

“More like indifferent at this point.”

I purse my lips and nod, guilt overwhelming me about the lie—or rather the omission—that I’m making.

I know why you’re hurting.

The biography is well-written. Its stories and insights about the larger-than-life Maxton Sharpe have held my attention for the past three days since its release. It’s not exactly my normal read, but I’ve surprised myself by how much I’ve enjoyed it.

In fact, I was plowing through it, one chapter after another, loving learning the relationship his parents had. Laughing at Callahan’s rebellion and antics. Amazed by Ledger’s drive and focus. I was eager to learn more about Ford through his father’s eyes . . . but the stories never came. The insight was not there. In fact, there was nothing more than a few generic sentences that painted Ford to be nothing close to the spectacular man that I’ve come to know.

And to add insult to injury, the author included a quote about how Maxton referred to him as Just Ford.

That’s it. Just. Ford.

Ford’s eyes hold mine, and I completely understand why he’s indifferent. Why he’s harboring hurt. I would be too.

I just wish he’d talk to me about it.

“Okay,” I murmur. “Indifferent is okay.” My smile is soft as I take a sip of my wine and hold his eyes over the wine glass.

“Have you figured out what’s next for you yet, Celery Ellery?”

I shrug. “No. I need to sit down and have a face-to-face with Garland.”

“Have you talked to him or your brothers at all?”

“My brothers? Beyond the obligatory normal check-ins? Not really. But I was quite surprised that Garland has called me a few times to ask for my input on several things.”

“What’s that about?”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder?” I joke and then roll my eyes. “But seriously, there were a few things he wanted to ask me on some of the ongoing projects, things, details, what have you, that I’ve done on past projects.”

“Things your brothers took credit for, I presume?”

“Yep. You got it. And when they couldn’t answer him, he figured that out.”

“So he had to call you and now he knows you were the mastermind behind all of the good things there?” Ford asks, grin widening.

“Well, when you put it that way . . .” I chuckle and brush imaginary dust off my shoulder.

But it’d felt damn good when he’d called to get my input. And even better when right before I hung up, he subtly commented about how my absence there was noticeable.