by Snow, Nicole
“No, I mean, what did you do to deserve a pie attack?”
“I—I upset her.”
“The roommate or the assistant?”
“Both. It’s a long story.”
Technically, not that long. Either we were really together and I was foolish enough to throw it all away or I had a fling with my employee.
No, it wasn’t a fling, and I know it.
I’d die for that woman.
And I’d rather die a thousand deaths than ever be the reason Baxter Heron and other filthy old men talk shit about her.
“You took care of Jordan while I was here...now I want to help you,” Marissa whispers. “She loves you. It’s that obvious even to a woman in a coma. Don’t give up on her, you hear me?”
I nod, stunned that I’m taking advice from this lady who’s barely conscious. I’m even more amazed she’s able to deliver it so poignantly.
“If you have to take two or three more pies to the face, do it. Fight for her. I think she’s worth it. I realize I don’t know her and don’t know you that well. But she came to the hospital with you every day and did everything she could to take care of your little brother. That doesn’t sound like an assistant. That sounds like someone who loves you. And whatever you did—people forgive almost anything for the ones they love.”
“She blocked my number,” I tell her for some unholy reason.
Why? Her issues vastly outweigh mine.
“Because. If she’s really important to you, you’ll find a way, Magnus.”
I leave then, telling her I’ll talk to her later. When I get to the parking lot, Armstrong is there in my town car waiting.
Marissa’s words echo in my head.
You’ll find a way.
“Armstrong, honest question...do you think Brina and I were good together?”
“Your personal life’s none of my concern, boss.”
“Sure, but did you?” I sigh. “Give me the truth. I won’t chew your head off, I swear.”
“Sir, I thought you were lucky she gave you the time of day.” His voice softens. “But I’m sorry she didn’t accept the latte.”
“Her roommate never told her I was there.” I huff out a breath. “How do I apologize if she won’t see me?”
“Mr. Heron, I’ve been married for over twenty years. If my wife got mad enough to leave me, I’d put up more of a fight, pies to the face be damned.”
He’s right.
I didn’t do enough to stop Jordan from leaving with Baxter that night. I stood there, numb and conflicted, while my whole world caved in.
I watched Jordan be led away by a pied piper’s lies.
I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by watching Brina walk away, too.
Not when there’s still something I can do about it.
27
Skywriter (Sabrina)
Mom: Come over for lunch.
Sabrina: I’m working, Mom.
Mom: You’re unemployed. Just come! You can work here.
Sabrina: Paige helped me get a freelance gig. I’ll bring it over if you’re so lonely. (Eyeroll emoji).
Mom: Don’t roll virtual eyes at your mother, baby. Not nice.
Sabrina: It’s not virtual, Mom. They’re emoji eyes.
Her point is clear though. I’m supposed to come over for lunch and not complain about it.
Before I even pull into the driveway, I know something’s up. A giant card planted in front of the house spells out CONGRATULATIONS, EMILY BRISTOL!
What now? I let myself into the bungalow.
“Are you guys ever going to start locking your door?”
“Oh, good! She’s here.” Mom’s voice is weepy. “Brina, baby, we’re in the kitchen. Come on in.”
“What’s going on?” I yell into the other room.
“An incredible week. Are you going to come here or do I have to drag you in?”
I can’t decide if Mom sounds high on life or just hyper.
My eyes bug out as soon as I plod into the kitchen.
There’s this massive catered Italian buffet set up on the counter, rolls and cold cuts and eggplant rollatini and meatballs and pasta in vodka sauce.
Even Dad beams at me when he stops stuffing his face from a plate piled high.
Whatever happened is big.
I smile at Dad first. He’s more likely to cut to the chase. Mom will try to give me the full story in her slow, dramatic, oh-so-writerly way. Right now, I just want to know what the heck we’re celebrating.
“You guys look...happy,” I try.
“Damn right, Brina.” His grin stretches wider. “I’m going fishing in Sturgeon Bay for a week.”
Suspicion creeps over me like a blanket.
“Oh, cool, you’ve talked about that forever! How, though?”
“I won a big vacation package. Don’t even remember the contest. But your ma and me are staying at a cozy little bed and breakfast for a week. I get unlimited fishing with a free license and boat rental. She gets a spa package.”
Oh, no.
No one wins packages from contests they never entered, and I know Dad didn’t.
Because I remember my bosshole’s little brother won lots of contests he never entered, too. All because Mag didn’t know how else to stay involved in his life.
This is not cool.
My hands curl into fists. I want to go outside, call him, and scream into the phone, but talking to him will only make it worse.
But now he’s sending my parents weird gifts, and I just have to let it go and let him play Creepy Bad Santa?
Yikes.
I take a deep breath and remind myself worse things could happen. Magnus is an arrogant douchebag, but he’s harmless. Dad’s happier than a lark with a vacation he’s always wanted, and no one had to pay a dime.
But still...
Mom looks downright teary-eyed. Since when does she give a flip about a week in northern Wisconsin? There has to be more to it.
“What’s with the catering?” I ask. “No one died, right?”
“Oh, Brina!”
“Mom?” I whisper, my heart racing.
“You’ll never believe this...” She stands up, wiping her eyes, and smiles so big I can’t see her pupils. “Hog Fights Under City Lights sold a million copies. I’m a USA Today bestseller!”
She’s sobbing maniacally.
“Are...are you okay?” I ask, my voice so small, fear clenching my throat.
She wipes her eyes. “I’m so okay. It’s just—I’ve waited my whole life for this, and somewhere along the way, I gave up. I didn’t think I’d ever be here. Agents are querying me now—big names who do huge book deals.”
Oh My God.
This is where I realize I’m going to go to jail, because if I ever see Magnus Heron again, I will strangle him.
When he quits buying her damn books, she’s going to be crushed. Though I’m not sure crushed is the right word for making Mom a bestseller, and both of my parents insta-millionaires.
God.
I pivot on my heel and start stalking away.
“Brina?” Mom calls.
“Hold that thought. I forgot my phone in the car. I’ll be right back,” I say tightly.
“You don’t care? I thought you’d be proud of me...” She seems hurt.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
With a suffocating sigh, I move in and hug her fiercely.
“I am, Mom. It’s amazing, but I’m always proud, whether you’re selling one book or one billion. You taught me how to walk and talk.” I kiss her cheek. “You don’t have to put Sir Oinkswell on a movie screen to impress me. I’m happy for you, though. Huge accomplishment.”
She hugs me so tight I can’t breathe.
“Aww, thank you, baby!”
“I’m going to get my phone now, so I can text Paige. She’ll want to hear the big news.”
It’s not a total lie, okay?
Paige has loved my mother ever since she declared herself the unofficial dorm mom. We�
�ll just forget that the first call I make won’t be to Paige.
I go sit in my car and dial a number I thought I’d never call again. Even though I’ve blocked it, I somehow have it memorized.
Whatever. I’ll reblock him as soon as I’m done.
My hand shakes and my stomach clenches as I unblock Mag’s number and hit Call.
He answers on the third ring.
“Brina?” His voice just about undoes me.
Stay strong.
“Stay out of my life and leave my parents alone,” I say, ignoring the fire raking my throat.
My eyes tear up in under a second, but I can handle this. I can—
“Your parents?” His heavy breath fills the phone, shattering my thoughts. “What did I do to them?”
“Oh, nothing big. Dad just miraculously won a dream fishing trip, and Mom sold a million copies of a book with a title I don’t know how anyone but you could afford. You’re setting her up for failure and I’m not okay with—”
“You said that when she made the Amazon bestseller list too, but her sales stayed steady. With a win like this, and a real agent, she can write whatever she damn well pleases from here on out and collect a nice advance—”
“Shut up!” I grind out, shaking. “You don’t get it. You’re...you’re going to kill her when she finds out, Mag, and I’m not having it.”
Amazing.
He’s quiet for ten whole seconds before he starts again slowly. “Brina. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe your mom’s books don’t suck? She never needed you to buy them. She needed you to market them, but then you wouldn’t be the unsung hero.”
I gasp. “I’ve always taken care of my parents, you dick.”
“Exactly. That’s why I did it,” he says, his voice that thick, sultry velvet that used to make me so wet I’d ache.
Right now, it makes me want to punch him.
“Why?” I throw back. “Why the hell would you—”
“You’ve always taken care of your folks. My behavior forced you out of your job—and my life—” His voice dips on those last two words. “I decided to rectify one wrong even if I can’t fix the other. You don’t have to support your parents anymore. You’re free.”
Hot tears stream down my cheeks, and my lip quivers.
“You’re making this worse, so much worse.” I break into sobs I can’t hide, blown to smithereens.
“You’re crying again?” His voice sounds urgent, strained. “Sabrina...forgive me. I thought I was helping. I wanted to get the burden of supporting them off your shoulders so you’d—”
“No!” I scream. He’s not finishing that sentence. “If you really want to help me, just stay the fuck out of my life and away from my family.”
Pause.
“Can we talk please? Just hear me out, and then if you’re still through with me, I’ll stay out of your life forever. I give you my word, Brina,” he says, his voice this brick wall.
You will anyway, I tell myself.
Then I hang up and block his number again. I stay in the car crying into my hands until Mom comes outside looking for me.
Just awesome.
She taps on the passenger window and I unlock the door.
She opens it, slides in, and leaves the door open and props her feet up on my window. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, wiping at my eyes. “Nothing.”
Her smile is gentle now. She reaches across the console and combs her fingers through my hair. “Brina, don’t lie to me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I hiss, even while my heart shears in half.
“I always cry when nothing’s wrong too,” she says with a small smile. “Does this have to do with you randomly quitting your job?”
“It wasn’t random.”
“I know.”
There’s a long pause.
“I cared about him—it—the job, I mean—more than I realized.” That’s not even true.
I knew how much I loved him.
It just didn’t matter.
I was nothing but a game to him. Another property on the big board of life he conquered and won.
“You could always—reapply?” Her lips purse on the last word.
Yeah, we both know we’re not talking about jobs.
I shake my head. “I can’t, Mom. It’s a bad job with a dead end. It only cares about scoring big—uh, for shareholders—in the moment.”
“Most girls have a job like that once or twice. Sometimes when you walk away, he—the job—realizes your worth. And if that job doesn’t see the asset you were, you find someone—uh, something—you love more. Like a sexy machinist who doesn’t care that you wore tap dancing shoes and a tiara on a first date, or that he had to drive back to the coffee shop after it closed because you left your keys.”
I laugh and dry my eyes.
“Really? So you were always like this?”
She grins. “Of course. And if I weren’t—say, if I was very practical and maybe a little bit bossy, but still had a creative streak—any man who didn’t like practicality with a colorful streak in his life could go to hell. There are other fish in the pond even if they don’t all make millions. Money can’t buy happiness.”
I look out the driver window. “What if you weren’t sure if you could be happy with anyone else?”
She pats my back. “Then I’d have to weigh how much I need him in my life against his sins. Oh, and don’t forget the grand gesture! The bigger the sin, the more he has to pay to win you back.”
“Oh, Mom.” Rolling my eyes like mad, I smile at her. “You think everything’s a plot.”
“Yep.” She nods, guilty as charged. “The food’s getting cold and your dad’s on his third plate. Can we eat now?”
* * *
The next day, I force myself out of bed with the promise of a cinnamon latte and a bear claw.
The best perk of freelancing is my coffee break comes whenever I want it.
At Sweeter Grind, I place my order and find an empty table by the window. I plug my laptop in so I can work on a client’s site design. I power it on and take a huge bite of the bear claw.
Ugh. It’s as dry as sandpaper.
Then again, I haven’t really enjoyed food in weeks. Maybe Sweeter Grind isn’t suffering from quality control, and it’s just me.
“Brina Bristol!” the barista calls.
I walk to the counter and get my drink. There’s only one cup on the counter. It has my name on it, but it can’t be for me. White foam spells out I’m sorry, and three little hearts float above the foam.
“Umm—sorry, but I don’t think this is mine,” I say.
“Hang on.” The barista walks from the mini fridge over to the counter. “You had your usual, right?”
“I didn’t order latte art so it must be a mix-up.”
“Your boyfriend ordered it,” she says with a smile.
“I...I’m single.”
She shrugs. “The guy you left with the day you were here with the two dudes back in the winter? Sorry if he’s bothering you. He told me he just wanted to apologize.”
With a heavy sigh, I nod.
So much for staying the hell out of my life.
I stop by the condiment bar, take a stirrer, beat the foam to the sides of the cup, and slap a lid over it. The buzz of conversation and clinking plates seems louder than normal today, but I guess that’s how it is when the days are getting longer and it’s starting to feel like early spring.
I’m never going to get any work done here. I grab my pastry and head to the park since it’s just warm enough.
I plop down on the bench beside that stupid statue. The same bench I sat on the day I met Magnus Heron, watching his entourage prancing through the park.
Over on the walking path, a man about the same height as Mag has a brunette tucked under his arm. It’s obvious even from my distance she’s the only person here he sees.
With all the people swirling around the park today, she’s also the only
person I envy.
Someday, I want to be looked at like her.
And she’s got a fine man, don’t get me wrong. But my guy was taller, broader, better dressed, and his eyes flayed me open.
A plane flies overhead, its engine growling so loudly I look up. It’s an older-looking machine, and weirdly low for being so close to downtown Chicago.
It takes me a moment to realize the puffs of smoke in the contrail are spelling out words, little by little. I gaze up, watching as the letters disappear, fully invested until I realize what it says.
When it gets to, I’m sorry, B— I’m done.
A skywriter? Really?
He hired a flipping skywriter?
Jesus. I’m going to Logan Square. Paige and her mom said I can use her old bedroom anytime I need to hide from the lunatic. That time is now, because I’m questioning my resolve.
Reaching for my laptop, I realize it’s missing.
Great. I left it at Sweeter Grind. I hope like hell it’s still there as I head for the crosswalk.
As soon as the Walk sign turns white, I dart across the street. A black town car pulls into an empty space on the curb.
Holy hell.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I’d slap my head but I don’t have time. I have to dodge a diesel truck barreling toward me and get across the street. Just when I’m winding up to spit hot latte in self-defense, it happens.
Jordan Quail steps out of the car.
Thank God.
They got him home. Big surprise. I never had any doubt Mag would save his little brother. He’s the ruler of the universe and always succeeds, even if he had to confront his pond scum of a dad.
“Hey, Brina!” Jordan waves and flashes me a big smile. “Armstrong knew we’d find you here.”
I step to the sidewalk and hold my arm out. “Hi, Jordan.”
When he reaches me, we hug.
“I’m so glad you’re home safe. How are you doing?” I ask.
His feet are planted firmly on the ground. Since he’ll be sticking around for a minute and I need my laptop...
“Walk with me. I left my computer in Sweeter Grind and I have to find it,” I tell him. “Are you glad to be back?”
“Hell yeah. Things got pretty crazy for a while, Brina.” He follows me back to the building, matching my pace. “Turns out, my dad’s a way bigger jerk than Mag ever said.”