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“So, since I have no clue what the feud is about—and my grandfather’s health has failed so badly that he can’t even tell me—I think it’s time we ended it,” he says.
“Just like that?” I ask, but my respect for him doubles. I like how direct he is. And I like that he’s not interested in a grudge for the sake of it.
“Agreed,” I say.
“I’m glad you’re back. That family of yours needs new blood. Your uncle’s a cold motherfucker. I was a kid when you were, so I don’t remember much about your dad’s time, but from what I understand, it was nothing like this.” He shakes his head, and I’m embarrassed that I can’t say more than a noncommittal, “I know. I’ve got a lot to dig out of and no power; at least, not from the company. I’m just a figurehead. But I have money and discretion on how it’s spent,” I say.
“That’s all the power you need. Where are your brothers?” His pivot is unexpected, but I don’t mind. I’ve said everything I came to. Accomplished everything I needed to. So, I give him the rundown.
“Dare is raising hell in LA. Stone is saving lives in Medellin and Beau is probably high, sitting naked in a Mexican dessert playing his guitar to the moon,” I say.
He laughs.
“What about your siblings?” I ask.
“They’re in Houston. Working for Wilde World. Except for Regan. Tyson manages operations for the grocery stores. We’re all grinding. My mother is between here and her place in Montego Bay. We’re good. My grandfather’s still holding on,” he replies. “So, Italy? With your aunt? How was that?”
“It was good. I learned Italian. No pasta eating on a beach, but Positano is beautiful and she was devoted to me and making sure I would be ready to come back. Even though, it turns out, there wasn’t much to come back to.
“Well, make it count, kid. And I’ll call your girl.”
TWIST
CONFIDENCE
“This is incredible,” I say giddily to the very handsome, very charming man walking beside me. “What you described has me salivating. It’s the case of a lifetime. There are so many questions with conflicting federal rulings. This could go to the Supreme Court,” I say and then bite my tongue.
“Yeah, if it doesn’t settle, it has that potential,” Remington agrees.
“I shouldn’t sound so happy at the sound of prolonged litigation, should I?” I ask him sheepishly.
“You wouldn’t be worth the paper that Doctor of Juris Prudence is scrawled on if you weren’t, counselor.” He winks one of his twinkly, wide, lushly-lashed, Milky Way dark eyes at me and I nearly trip over my feet. He smiles as if to say, yeah, I get that all the time. I bet he does. He told me his mother is Jamaican and his father is a second-generation Irish American. Well, Jamaica and Ireland should find a way to merge because their citizens clearly were born to procreate with each other. He is the definition of a heartthrob. He even smells good.
We step out onto the main street of Rivers Wilde, and I can’t believe all of this is happening. “I didn’t expect to be leaving here with a signed contract. I thought we’d have several interviews,” I say.
“Well, I didn’t want to let you leave here without a guarantee that you’d come back. You’re everything these plaintiffs need, and I’m just glad you’re in a position to start so quickly,” he says, like I’m doing him a favor.
“Being unemployed for nine months finally pays off,” I joke but make sure he hears the genuine gratitude in my voice.
The day he called had been a bad day. I’d gotten another letter of rejection from a firm in Nashville, and I was down to no more than a couple of months’ living expenses. I needed a shoulder to cry on, and the only one I wanted was attached to the biggest asshole in the world.
I was on the verge of calling him to yell at him—again—when I got Remington’s email. It was my first interview in months. The first application that had even garnered an email exchange. When they asked me to co
me to Houston for an in-face interview, I had fallen on my knees in my room and cried grateful tears.
And as mad as I was at Hayes, I couldn’t pretend that all of my relief was due to the chance at this amazing great job. Some of it was that fate intervened to save me from my stubborn pride.
My heart had been blown to smithereens since I left his house that night.
I grieved in silence. I pretended I was okay. I hadn’t been able to tell my mother what happened because I knew that she’d never forgive Hayes.
The thought of that knotted my stomach almost as much as what he did.
I want to forgive him. So badly.
I end every night with a prayer for the grace to let go of my anger. But it eludes me. And as much as I miss him, I can’t forget what he’d said about me.
I’ve spent the last month licking my wounds and clutching my pillow.
