Page 85 of Best I Ever Had

She doesn’t say anything, so I add, “We don’t have to be enemies.” The pearls are easy to spot against the kelly green of the grass. I pluck a handful out and then offer them to her like an olive branch.

She fills the pocket hidden in her skirt, but as she picks up the last few, she asks, “Do you know what the difference is between us?”

I don’t think I want to bite the bait she’s laid out. She says, “You’ll never marry Cooper.”

Still reeling from her earlier comment, my mind goes blank from the anger. I have no good comeback, and I refuse to play this disgustingly petty, rich person’s game. So I stick to the truth, or what she’d like to call constructive criticism, and say, “No, Camille, the difference between us is that I don’t need to marry him. I can stand on my own two feet.”

“Good. That will carry you far in life without Cooper and his wealth performing the job.”

The job? I’m work he’ll have to deal with?

I want no part of this world or these horrible people. “I’m not sure who hurt you so badly, but believe me, Camille, attacking me, belittling me, or purposely hurting me won’t heal you. It will only make that gaping wound where your heart used to be wider.” I turn to leave again. In a cheery voice, she says, “Have a great day, Story.”

I look back once more over my shoulder, and tell her, “Have the day you deserve.”

30

Cooper

“Must we have this conversation in the middle of the party, Cooper?” My dad starts hacking and then clears his throat, blissfully unaware that his cough is caused by smoking. Listening to the sound that’s grated on my nerves for years, I clench my jaw.

I got my penchant for swearing from Cooper Haywood, the second, but I’ve never been much on tobacco, probably because it directly reminds me of him.

Cigar smoke wafts, leaving a trail behind him as he crosses his home office. The stubby brown addiction is lodged between his fingers like one always was while growing up. He even has permanent stains on his skin to prove it.

“We’re getting out of here as soon as we’re done with this discussion, so yes,” I reply, “now is a great time to wrap this up once and for all.” I take the seat on the other side of the desk, knowing my dad will eventually take his burgundy wingback throne.

“Should we call your mother?” He settles in as if he’s ready to be the judge, jury, and executioner. Nothing new.

While other kids played catch with their dads, I was always the criminal in my dad’s prosecutorial mock trials and my mom the victim. Nothing has changed, except me, in this scenario. I reply, “If you feel it’s necessary.”

He tips his head to dig through a short stack of files in his desk drawer, then lays it on the desk mat in front of him and flips it open. Why does it feel like he’s moving in slow motion? Purposeful tactic? Everything he does has a reason, even if it’s not initially apparent.

Scanning the papers like he doesn’t already know what’s in them is insulting to both of our intelligence. He’s been an attorney for over thirty-five years and wrote the contract himself, though he had the family lawyer execute it.

I know better than to interrupt. A few smacks across the face taught me that. Sitting here now, I’m not the same kid I once was although my past will be used against me. In some respects, I don’t blame them. A year later, I’m a changed man?

The notion seems impossible.

I had no reason to change, though I put on a good show. That life was unsustainable for any length of time. I knew I would fail before I even tried to be with Camille like they wanted. After that, I precariously balanced between being the heir they wanted and living so hard that I might not wake up. But I hadn’t met Story yet.

Closing the file again as if he’s now caught up on the latest news, he sits back, his eyes becoming beady as he stares at me. “You’re a good-looking kid. You take after your mother.”

I chuckle, never predicting this would be the direction the conversation would go. “You don’t think the Haywoods are attractive?”

“Fuck, no. You think your mom would have married me if I didn’t have money? I believe there’s a side of her that loves me, but I might be confusing that with tolerance.”

“Then why would you want me to marry Camille?” I ask, leaning forward. It’s always been a part of their deal. I know the contract well. Some parts still shock me that they were even written down, much less there like it’s normal.

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