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Between the possibility that I may ruin the best friendship my son has developed with someone good-hearted and our age gap, I should end this before it goes any further. However, the reckless part of my personality that developed when I found myself all alone eggs me on. Someday I’m going to be somebody’s granny and, for the life of me, I want a scandalous, secret story penned in a worn journal with a cracked spine. One about a devilishly handsome young man, who finds me attractive enough to invite to a wedding, who treats me well, and who makes my toes curl once or twice before the quiet affair ends. That seems like an awfully romantic story to leave to my imaginary granddaughters, doesn’t it?
I’m lost in the moment, the fantasy of possibilities we play out with our dolls when we’re girls, and my growing infatuation with this man when the knob turns.
“Hol—why’s my door locked?” Key in hand, Jake’s barging in like he owns the place, which he does. “What the hell?… Stanton?”
“Cass.” Cary’s jaw grinds.
My boss and my—uh, sexcapade?—are locked in a stare-off. I’ve never asked why Cary goes by Cass only, but considering how hot my cheeks are flaming, now isn’t the time to dig deeper. Thinking the coast was clear when Jake hadn’t shown up at Sweet Caroline’s, I’d brought Cary back here for all the wrong reasons. It’s apparent there’s some sort of bad blood between the two of them. This could cost me my job.
I give Jake my attention, ready to face the music. “I’m sorry,” I apologize.
Kimber taught me two things when dealing with Jake. First, like in any other situation, own up to it. Second, when Jake flirts or expresses any semblance of innuendo, it’s a test.
Years ago, I thought there was a flaw in Kimber’s logic and sleeping with Jake would keep me in his good graces. I’m glad I took her advice because Jake has uncanny respect for the women he can’t easily wear down and who’ll say no to him. The only exception to this rule seems to be Sloan and I’ve always had an inkling that had to do with her control over Carver who is Jake’s business partner.
Jake chucks the keys on the desk and they hit the laptop hard enough to etch the matte silver surface. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, measuring the combative words he directs at me. “Guess there were a few things Trig didn’t uncover for you about your kid’s upstanding mentor, huh? Like how big a dick he is. Oh, I mean has.”
Cary’s finger’s on my stomach tense, and his arm around my middle loosens.
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12
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I’ve developed some pretty engrained opinions about Jake Ballentine, but have kept my shit locked down about Holly’s boss. After all, he gave her a decent raise and the autonomy she has being in charge of Sweet Caroline’s overshadows her grievances about Jake not giving a damn about his bar.
Spouting off that I have first-hand knowledge of the people Jake’s screwed over to line his pockets—and that depending on how you look at the situation, I’m one of them—won’t score me any points with this woman. It won’t afford an opportunity to get to know her better. And more importantly, when I’d found out Holly worked at Jake’s club, pissing about what a douche he is was a surefire pink-slip for hanging out with Bhodi. Grown men making shit choices controlled my youth. Holly’s kid doesn’t deserve the brunt of any bad blood.
I’ve avoided the golf club, dodging Jake’s polite interrogations to see if I’ve figured out I’m Cass-Stanton family’s dirty little secret. The likelihood I renew my membership is low. I’m not interested in being boxed into a corner. Someday, when it suits my purpose, I’ll air my dirty laundry. Put it on the line. For me, refusing Jake’s offer on the nineteenth hole, but buying a drink and a good time at Sweet Caroline’s falls along the lines of keeping my enemies closer.
But now I can’t help wondering how close I’ve let those enemies get, and perhaps if I have my arm around one of them.
My fingers splayed on Holly’s stomach tense and the protective arm I’d wrapped around her midsection when Jake barged in and she’d turned to see who interrupted us loosens.
Trig pulled up things about my past and reported on them to Holly? And who else? Why?
Another figure fills the doorway.
“Jake! Leave it.” Carver barks like Holly’s a freaking dog bone.
“Shut it. I told you she was mine. You can’t lay dibs on every woman who walks intomyestablishment.” The brash words leave Jake’s mouth.
Even mad, I don’t like how dismissive either of them are of her.
“He doesn’t mean—Carver didn’t choose me as a mill girl.” Holly pales trying to expand on something she’d tried to explain when we were drunk the night I stayed over.
I’m not happy Galloway is the Carver she mentioned. I didn’t get the concept then, and I don’t want to now. Holly told me because of her job most of her closest friends were these mill girls; Women who started out dancing on Jake’s stage before being plucked out of obscurity and given a chance to fulfill their dreams and reach their goals. They abide by Carver’s firm guidelines to live under his roof at the old factory across the street.
The only thing I do believe based on my experience with Carver is, under his guardianship, it allowed plenty of them to find more respectable jobs. According to Holly, there’s no one clear path each has taken. Some are in legal or medical fields. There are teachers and real estate agents. However, everyone is fulfilled and living their best life.
What else could you wish for them than to be truly happy? Holly said.
Yet she’d never considered the happiness the other mill girls have found a possibility for her because she had Bhodi.
“Jake’s not finished throwing a tantrum about Kimber and he’s taking it out on anyone in a five-foot radius. It’s a delightful part of his charming persona, and it’s better if you go before Jake embarrasses himself any further.” Carver’s tone is brusque and laced with bitter sarcasm, indicating we should get while the getting is good.
“You’re an asshole.” Jake directs his comment at Carver as we pass into the corridor.
