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While The Kensington and Harrison Estates were “royalty” on the south shore, The Holmes ruled the north shore, and they had far more money than those two estates combined.
My mother, one of the estate nannies, had made the unfortunate mistake of sleeping with her boss, so I was the product of an affair. No matter how hard I tried to be like his legitimate sons, I failed miserably. I wasn’t the prep school type, and I got bored of piano, even though I’d shown natural promise.
When I turned sixteen, I ran away and decided to make a life on my own terms.
Two years later, when my father died, my mother realized that he’d only left money to his sons, so she begged me to claim my share of his money when I turned eighteen.
I refused to take any of it, and it formed a rift between us.
She disowned me, and we hadn’t spoken since.
I was honestly happier living life on my own terms without being controlled by an estate, but Kate had just made it very clear that those aren’t the type of people who win in this life.
“I’ll need the entire fifty million in a cashier’s check, please,” I said, looking up at the teller. “Make it out to Sean A. Holmes III.”
It was me, too
Kate
SEATTLE’S SOUNDS WERE some of the softest and sweetest notes I’d ever heard, but just like all the other cities I’d listened to over the years, I had no desire to hear an encore for another day. It was long past time for me to bring this piece to an end.
I’d officially accepted that James and I would never be able to coexist without pain lingering under every word, hurt festering beneath each and every one of our egg-shelled conversations.
My heart couldn’t take being around him anymore.
“You know, sometimes I really wonder if our mother is related to the devil.” Sarah Kay shook her head via video chat, pulling me out of my thoughts. “I should’ve known something was up when she hosted that handwriting tea party. Like…Who the fuck goes through all that trouble to make their own daughter unhappy?”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” I said, sighing. “James and I just weren’t meant to be together—her stupid mail games or not.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to give Seattle another month or two, Kate? You just got there.”
“More than sure.” I looked over the pier. “I’m done.”
I MADE IT TO PIER AUTUMN Coffee headquarters at nine o’clock, wearing my favorite red dress and grey blazer.
When I made it to the elevator, I looked over my resignation email to my team, changing one word in the subject line before hitting send.
Subject: Sorry, I’m Done. (I No Longer Work Here)
I took the elevator to James’s office and pushed the door open. He was sitting behind his desk, with his back turned.
Blue rushed over to me, barking and wagging his tail.
I bent low and patted his head a few times, smiling as he licked my hand. “Wish I could’ve gotten to know you more,” I whispered.
“Is there something wrong, Miss Kennedy?” James turned around to face me. “If this is about you being two hours late today, don’t worry. I’ll let it slide this one time.”
“Fuck you, James Garrett,” the words came out harsher than I intended, and he immediately stood to his feet.
“Excuse me?”
“Fuck. You.” I repeated, my resolve long gone. “Do you need me to say it one more time, or did you catch it?”
He narrowed his eyes at me, his face reddening by the second.
“I just let my staff know that I’m no longer an employee of Pier House Coffee, but since I don’t feel like submitting my resignation letter to HR, I’ll let you make up whatever you wish.” I glared at him. “Thank you for the half-assed opportunity to work under you and your pettiness for the past several weeks. Thank you for reminding me exactly why you need to remain in my past and stay out of my future, and thank you—oh so much, for treating me like shit.”
“I’ve never treated you like shit, Kate. Ever.”
“My words aren’t up for debate.” I refused to argue with him. “I can no longer live my life with you in it, and since you’ve already ruined the previous nine and a half years of my life, I won’t let you ruin the next.”
“You don’t think that you ruined my life?”
“No.” I shook my head, pulling an envelope from my bag. “I don’t. But now that I’m gone, you can tell your next girlfriend your sob story a million times, and maybe she’ll believe you.” I slammed the envelope onto his desk, looking into his green eyes one last time. “Here’s a list of numbers for you—with my side of things, since that’s how you prefer to talk.”
