Looking at her miserable friend, she mentally readjusted her expectations and dialed back her impatience. Reassurance and support would get both of them a lot further than criticism and doubt.
“Stop it,” she commanded the morose woman sitting across from her, and the distant look faded from Tina’s eyes as she focused on Libby again.
“Stop what?” she asked blankly.
“Allowing what your parents think of you to influence the way you think about yourself. You can do this, Tina. We can both do it.”
Tina scrubbed both hands over her face and allowed herself another deep sigh before lifting her eyes to Libby’s again. “Yeah, we just need to figure out a way to get all those previous customers back. If the townspeople really are as stubbornly loyal to the old MJ’s as Thandiwe thinks, then I’m not sure how to lure them back.”
“Look, it’s only the first night. They have to drive thirty minutes to get to another halfway-decent, affordable family restaurant. Or leave their kids at home and go to Ralphie’s for limp fish and chips or stale burgers. Soon, desperation for a good night out, more than anything else, will have them coming back.”
“Maybe.” Tina nodded, again looking completely unconvinced.
“Definitely. And Daff said she’d help us with some marketing.” The woman was the marketing-and-promotions manager for her husband’s three huge sporting-goods stores and had promised to work up a marketing strategy for MJ’s while she was on maternity leave. Her husband hadn’t been too pleased with that, but Daff had complained of being bored at home.
“It seems like a lot to expect from a total stranger,” Tina said skeptically.
“I don’t know about you, but after five minutes with those sisters, I feel like I’ve known them for years.”
“Yeah, they’re pretty nice.” Tina, being Tina, still looked doubtful.
“More than nice.” Warm and welcoming were the words that sprang to mind when Libby thought of the sisters. And immediately affectionately familiar. It was hard not to like them. Tina nodded again. Her eyes were troubled, but she didn’t say anything more on the subject.
“Come on, let’s go home and get to bed. We have another long day tomorrow,” Libby said, and Tina ducked her head, powered down her laptop, and tucked it under her arm; she then slung her bag over her shoulder. Libby packed up the baby bag and gently gathered her contentedly sleeping baby into her arms.
The kitchen staff had left, and the building was eerily quiet as Tina did a walk around the restaurant to make sure everything was off and in place. It looked amazing. The staff had done a wonderful job of cleaning up. The decision to keep them had been a sound one.
Libby watched as Tina took one last, lingering look around and smiled at the glimmer of pride she saw in her friend’s eyes. The place looked beautiful, a far cry from the shabby interior of before, and Libby experienced her own surge of pride at everything Tina had accomplished here. Her good taste was evident in everything from the furnishings to the tableware to the new color scheme. Tina may have made a few crucial mistakes this weekend, but this was something she had done exceptionally well.
Libby hoped, for both their sakes, that the townsfolk would start supporting MJ’s, because it would be a shame for all of this work to go unappreciated.
“You sure you don’t want to stay at mine tonight? I mean, does your shower even work?” Tina asked as she stood beside her car and watched Libby secure Clara in the car seat.
“I managed to get it working this morning. The water was cold, though.” Libby shuddered at the thought of another cold shower, but she was determined to tough it out. It was her home, for better or worse. She was going to make it perfect . . . and she’d appreciate it more after all the initial trials and tribulations.
Tina had a small semidetached house just a few minutes away from the restaurant, but she had driven to work because of the heavy rain that morning. Libby’s house was a little farther away, closer to the beach.
Tina nodded and got into her car. She rolled down the window and watched until Libby was safely in her own car. They both started up their vehicles simultaneously and drove in opposite directions.
The house was shrouded in darkness when she got home, and she cursed herself for not remembering to at least leave the porch light on when she left for work. Her place was a little out of town and quite a distance from the next-closest house. A security system was another item on her very long to-do list, but until then, she had to remember to do things like leave lights on. She didn’t just have her own safety to consider anymore.
It was going to be enough of a struggle negotiating the cobbled path to the porch while lugging a baby carrier, baby bag, and her own huge purse. Having to do it in the dark would be much worse.
She considered leaving Clara in the car while she dashed inside to switch on some lights, but the thought of leaving her baby in the gloom was disturbing, and she decided to leave the baby bag and purse instead.
Decision made, she unclipped Clara’s carrier from the car seat and hooked it over the crook of her arm. She was gratified when the baby didn’t so much as whimper, and she grabbed her house keys and phone, switching on the device’s flashlight to light the way. There was an overgrown garden between the carport and the path to the house, and she ducked and weaved her way through there—shuddering at the possibility of spiders—before thankfully setting foot on the path.
She screamed when a huge figure loomed ahead of her in the darkness.
“I have Mace!” she lied in a high-pitched voice after her scream petered out. Clara immediately started crying.
“Libby, it’s me.” The deep, dark, instantly familiar voice that resounded into the black night was unwelcome, to say the least. Libby screamed again, the sound rife with frustration instead of fear this time.
“Stop that, for God’s sake. You’ll have the neighbors out to see what all the fuss is about.”
“Good, let them come,” she said, hearing the near hysteria in her voice and not caring. “Let them call the cops. You’re trespassing, and I want you gone. Right now!”
She gently rocked the carrier, trying to bring the baby’s crying under control. She lifted her phone light directly into his pale face. He winced when the light hit his eyes, and she felt a petty surge of satisfaction at the morsel of discomfort her gesture had brought him.
“We need to talk.”
“I have absolutely nothing to say to you.”
“Libby, please.”
“Why are you here? How are you here? Who told you how to find me?”
There was a long pause as he continued to grimace in her general direction, his eyes slits to protect himself from the light.
“I have money and resources. I’ve known where you are for months . . .” He hesitated before continuing, “For four months, to be exact.”
“Well, then why are you here?”
“Can we discuss this inside?”
“I don’t want you in my house.”
He compressed his lips in that way he had when he was trying to refrain from speaking his mind. An expression with which she was much too familiar. It used to bother her back when she cared about what he was thinking. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then changed his mind and swallowed back the words.
Oh, wasn’t he just the model of restraint tonight? Well, Libby had no such reservations and felt a sense of complete liberation when she unleashed the torrent of resentment and fury that had been roiling away just beneath the surface for much longer than the four months since she’d left him. A lot of her anger had been tamped down during her pregnancy, when he hadn’t offered a single word or gesture of support. The excuses she had made on his behalf . . . she was disgusted with herself for not speaking up sooner. But now he was here, in the flesh, and she could finally let him have it. With both barrels.
“You’re a vile, disgusting excuse for a man, Greyson. I want nothing more to do with you. I don’t want my baby within a hundred miles of you
. And even that seems too close. I don’t want you here, contaminating our lives with your toxic presence. You don’t get to come here and . . . and . . . whatever the hell this is. I don’t know what you want, I don’t want to know what you want. I want you gone.”
“Libby, I understand why you feel that way. But I thought . . .”
Clara’s crying was escalating, and Libby’s rocking increased agitatedly.
“Yes, I know. Thought you were infertile, right? And I’m supposed to—what? Feel sorry for you? Understand your cruelty? Forgive your cruelty? Am I to take it that you’ve had that paternity test done? You know she’s yours, am I right? Is that why you’re here? Because let me tell you, mister, you have no moral right to my child—I will not allow you access to her just because you now believe you’re her father.”
“I haven’t had any paternity tests done.”
That made her pause, but not for long.
“I don’t care,” she decided. “I don’t care. Go away. Back to your diamond-encrusted ivory tower. Leave us alone. We don’t need you.”
“I know you don’t. But . . . maybe I need you?” The soft voice, the hesitation, and the actual words all combined to add fuel to an already-raging fire. Oh man . . . seriously? He was going to play this card?
“Greyson Chapman doesn’t need anyone. You’re an island, with your own government, your own wealth, and your own natural resources. You need us as much as you need more money, which is not even a little.”
“That’s not true.” He tugged at his already-loosened tie. She had only seen him this disheveled and out of sorts once before. And that was on the day he’d so thoroughly renounced both her and his own child. The memory made her jaw clench until her teeth ached, and she fought back the urge to scream yet again.
“I’ve been consulting with a divorce lawyer,” she said, forcing calmness into her quivering voice. Clara’s cries had become near shrieks, and she needed to get rid of him so that she could take care of her baby. “You’ll be served papers very soon. Sign them.”
“Libby, I know I fucked up,” he said softly. She could see sweat beading on his forehead and in the stubble above his beautifully curved upper lip. He was incredibly pale and looked thinner than when she’d seen him last. His suit—usually immaculately fitted—looked too roomy on his broad, loose-limbed frame.
“This was more than a fuckup, Greyson,” she said. “You spent seven months hating me, resenting me, thinking I was a cheat. Seven months! My pregnancy wasn’t the easiest—I needed you. And you were never there. And the worst thing was I made all these stupid excuses for you. I didn’t see the truth until it was too late. You hated me, hated my baby . . . because you thought she was someone else’s, while thinking that I was a conniving, cheating slut.”
“I thought . . .”
“Yes, yes.” She waved her free hand impatiently, the cell phone light bouncing wildly in the dark before coming to rest on his face again. “Infertile. And yet when I announced my pregnancy, instead of doubting your original diagnosis, you just immediately assumed the worst of me. Maybe, just maybe, you should have had yourself retested instead of instantly thinking that the woman who was a freaking virgin before you charmed your way into her bed cheated on you. Within just weeks of our first time.”
“I have a lot to make up for.”
“Let me just stop you there. You have nothing to make up for, because there won’t be any ‘making up’ here. We’re done. In fact, I’m not sure we ever started. Our marriage was a farce from beginning to end. I see that now. Please leave. I have to get my baby in out of this cold.”
She put deliberate emphasis on the possessive pronoun.
“I have nowhere to stay,” he said softly, and she laughed at that bit of nonsense.
“A man like you always has somewhere to stay, Greyson.”
“The hotel is fully booked.”
“And you assumed what? That I’d let you stay here? Don’t be ridiculous.” She shook her head and stepped around him, bracing herself in case he chose to touch her. But he let her pass without any interference, and she released a tense breath as she continued on her way to the front door.
She unlocked the door and stepped inside with a relieved sigh. Instead of switching on the porch lights as she’d originally intended, she twitched the lacy curtain over the door’s glass panel aside and watched as he stood there for another long, endless moment. Just staring at the front door. Finally, he scrubbed a weary hand over his face, and his shoulders slumped as he slowly turned around and walked down the darkened path toward the parked car that she hadn’t even noticed as she’d driven up to her house. She would have to be more vigilant in the future.
Her phone buzzed, and she looked down. It was Tina. She was tempted to ignore the call, desperate to calm her agitated baby down, but curiosity got the better of her.
“Hello?”
“Be warned,” her friend’s breathless voice said urgently. “The Twisted Twins are in town! Harris just showed up at my door.”
He had? Why was Harris in town? Was he here to offer support to his douchebag brother? And why go to Tina first?
“I know,” Libby responded. “Greyson was just here.”
“Fuuuuuuuuudge! What did he say?”
“I don’t care what he wanted to say,” Libby said defiantly. “I told him to shove off and never come back.”
“Good girl,” Tina said firmly.
“Why was Harris there?” Libby asked curiously.
“Ugh, I’ll tell you tomorrow. I’d rather not go over all of that again right now.”
“Okay. Sleep tight.”
“Are you okay, Libby?” Tina asked, her voice brimming with concern. “Do you need me to come over?”
The offer brought tears to Libby’s eyes, and she blinked them away impatiently. These moments of unwavering friendship meant the world to Libby, but Tina confused her. How could someone be so kind and considerate one moment and then completely flaky and unreliable the next? She never knew if she was going to get her best friend or some other version of Tina. The version who didn’t want to be around her baby and who couldn’t be trusted to do the simplest of tasks. Tasks imperative to the survival of their business.
Sometimes it felt like she was surrounded by unreliable people. The only one she could truly rely on to be completely consistent was Harris. And even that usually dependable relationship was floundering a bit after everything that had happened between her and Greyson. Even though he hadn’t said as much, she knew that Harris’s loyalties had to be split between her and Greyson. And that had to be placing a great deal of strain on him as well as their friendship.
“I’m fine,” she assured Tina quietly. “Just going to get the munchkin changed and into bed. See you in the morning.”
Chapter Four
Greyson settled behind the wheel of his luxurious rental car and swore long and hard. He had flown up to the Garden Route. In the company helicopter, with his brother sitting in aggrieved silence across from him. Harris had already been seated on the chopper by the time Greyson had boarded and had proceeded to ignore him on the short flight over.
Greyson resented his brother’s intrusion but at the same time couldn’t really blame him for coming. He knew the other man’s actions were a pointed indication of his loyalty toward Olivia. Greyson understood he had lost any semblance of allegiance from Harris, but having the other man there and squarely in Olivia’s corner stung. A lot.
And then when Harris had deigned to speak to him, it had been to offer unsolicited advice. Greyson had ignored him, not needing to be reminded—yet again—of how much better Harris thought he knew his wife. Harris had advised him to proceed with caution, and Greyson had chosen to go straight to her house. Preferring a no-nonsense approach.
But of course he had scared her, lurking in the shadows like a stalker. After four months apart, he had been desperate to see her. To see Clara. And both had welcomed him with screams of anger and dismay.
&nbs
p; “Shit.” The word contained little heat, laden instead with weariness and disappointment. He dug out his phone and did a quick search of local hotels and B and Bs, his eyes occasionally drifting back to the still-dark outer facade of Libby’s ramshackle old house. The place had a large, overgrown garden, full of thigh-high sedges, bottlebrush bushes, a couple of bare apple trees, and assorted other fynbos plants. The rest of the space was wild with weeds.
The building looked old and drafty, like the next strong gust of wind could blow it over. He had seen pictures of it, of course, but it was much worse seeing it in person. He hated that she lived in that house. Wanted to swoop in and drag both her and Clara back home where they belonged.
“Motherfucker,” he swore again, a frantic internet search later. The word was ugly and unfamiliar on his tongue. He didn’t like using profanity, finding it base and unnecessary. Words could excoriate without the speaker resorting to the lowest common denominator, as Olivia had so succinctly proven earlier. He preferred to use the barest minimum of words required to get his point across. He had never felt comfortable getting caught in any type of extended personal conversation with people. Unless it was business related, he never quite knew what to say. Small talk was meaningless, and he had never gotten the knack of it. Only with Olivia had he ever felt remotely able to overcome that social stumbling block.
Lately, he found that resorting to a good old-fashioned swear word now and then proved quite satisfying on occasion. This wasn’t such an occasion. No amount of swearing would alter the fact that there was no accommodation available for miles around. Not in this town and not in any neighboring towns.
He dropped his head back against the headrest, tempted to just curl up and go to sleep right here . . . but he knew it was just a matter of time before Olivia called the cops on his stalkery ass.
He groaned and covered his face with one hand, his phone still clutched in the other.
“Damn it.” The words were milder—more familiar and completely resigned. He lifted his hand from his face and brought up his brother’s number.
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