A Breath of Jasmine (The Merriams Book 6)

by Ava Miles

  “I read that Italy just announced it was placing sixty million residents in lockdown.” He ran his hands through his hair. “It’s unbelievable. Their cases have run up higher than anyone would have thought possible given the time frame.”

  Alice gasped. “Francesca, what about your dad? He was just there for fashion week.”

  Arthur’s brows rose. He’d heard about Georges Maroun’s role in this current rift between Francesca and Quinn. “Is your father well?”

  “We haven’t spoken,” she said, her brow knitting. “As for the news, I expect global stocks will tank tomorrow. It will be chaos. The financial losses are unimaginable.”

  “Are you saying there’s no bank the Merriams can turn to?”

  “I haven’t done the loss projections, but if oil continues to plunge, and I think it will, it will cost more to pump it and store it than its true value. Arthur, you won’t be able to give it away.”

  He couldn’t imagine that world. Oil drove politics and every facet of life on the planet, for better or worse. “What about a government then? Who would want to buy a bunch of oil now on the cheap?”

  She ticked off a number of countries in Africa and Latin America before trailing off. “But that doesn’t help Merriam Enterprises long-term. They have no company without oil. The other ventures like Caitlyn’s, for example, are chump change in comparison. Nothing against perfume, but against oil, it’s like—”

  “Comparing David with Goliath,” Arthur finished.

  “But David won,” Alice said, perking up so much she almost unbalanced herself from the couch’s arm.

  “In a two-person fight, yes,” Francesca said. “But this is a global fight with tons of players.”

  “All the more reason to think there’s someone out there who could help.” Arthur stopped there. He’d planted as much of a seed as he could. If it wasn’t possible to turn Merriam Enterprises around, then it wasn’t. But he was the only one thinking clearly, it seemed, and he was going to share his ideas until they nailed the company coffin shut. Only then would he join them in singing Yeats’ funeral dirge.

  “In a crisis, people close ranks,” Francesca said. “It’s a risk-averse market and getting more so by the day.”

  “Understandably.” He stood and gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “I’m still trusting in the human element. I’ve covered the news since I was a young man. Watched it when I was a boy. People and their sparks of vision always surprise me. And they’ve changed their communities and the world with them.”

  Because humans were more than flesh and bones. They were heart.

  He thought of the Civil Rights Movement and Selma and the march on Washington, where Martin Luther King’s “I Have A Dream” speech had boomed across the Lincoln Memorial. He thought of Lech Walesa organizing the 1980 strikes in Poland against the herculean Soviet Union and later winning the Nobel Peace Prize and becoming the first democratically elected leader of his country. He could see the Berlin Wall coming down, brick by brick, as angry protestors dismantled it on the night of November 9, 1989. He remembered Boris Yeltsin climbing on a tank and delivering a speech that routed a Soviet coup and made him a Russian hero of the new post-Soviet state. Rosa Parks filtered through his mind, and so did the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo in Argentina, who’d stood against authoritarianism.

  There were so many examples of people stepping up in dark times in their communities and spheres of influence. He’d penned more than one opinion piece on such matters, joining his voice to those pressing for freedom, democracy, women’s rights, worker’s rights, civil rights, and human rights.

  Dammit, he knew people were going to rise again in this current situation. They had to. The world needed them. In the business sector too. Maybe the Merriams could find a way to be heroes in their own camp.

  “I’ll see these old bones out.” He smiled more easily. “You keep in mind what I said. I see you as a hero with a vision, Francesca.”

  A fire flared in her eyes. He let himself out as Hargreaves came down the hall with a tray of tea service.

  “You might bring something stronger, Hargreaves. I just lit a fire under Ms. Maroun.”

  The man smiled. “Good to hear, Arthur.”

  Hearing his friend finally call him by his given name sounded pretty damn great. “Take care of them, Clifton.”

  He received a glower, followed by a warm smile.

  “Being mushy looks good on you, Clifton.”

  Whistling, he took the stairs and let Boru, Becca’s dog, outside. “Let’s take a walk, shall we? I feel years younger.”

  Reminding himself of the human spirit seemed to be the ticket.

  Chapter 26

  He went looking for Francesca, and instead found Uncle Arthur sitting with his tablet in the dining room. His uncle stood before he could walk past.

  “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  He cocked his head, and Uncle Arthur chuckled humorlessly. “I’ll tell you what no one else will. She’s in Alice’s room.”

  “Thank you.” He immediately turned in that direction, but his uncle put a hand on his shoulder. “Fix this. Don’t be a dick. She’s your soulmate, you idiot. Companies can be rebuilt. My friend and the founder of the company, your Grandpa Emmits, would knock your block off for thinking bankruptcy means failure.”

  Quinn raked his hair back. “How can you say such a thing? Grandpa Emmits would hate seeing his life’s work come to this.”

  “Bah! Do you know how many times he thought he was going to go bust in the early years? You might ask your father about it. He’ll remember. If not, come back and find me after my nap. You Merriams are exhausting me.”

  He thought about Arthur’s slow progress out of the dining room as he went to Alice’s room. She opened the door in response to his knock, but she was already shaking her head. “She doesn’t want to see you quite yet.”

  The door snapped shut in his face.

  He hung his head. Yeah, he imagined she didn’t want to talk to him. Returning to his room, he grabbed the Wild Irish Rose Inn stationary and wrote a note to her.

  I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. I’m sorry I hurt you, but you hurt me too. Please come talk to me and let’s make this right.

  I love you.

  Quinn

  He delivered the note to Alice, who took it with quick efficiency, but Francesca still didn’t come to him.

  Dinner was a somber family affair. Even Amelia was quiet, sitting in her mother’s lap, her fingers tangled in Annie’s hair. No one stated the obvious. Alice and Francesca weren’t joining them. They’d all watched as Hargreaves took a tray through the dining room and out toward the guest rooms. He’d returned empty-handed and resumed his seat at Uncle Arthur and Aunt Clara’s table.

  “Flynn,” Uncle Arthur said when Aileen set out dessert. “You didn’t happen to bring a karaoke machine, did you?”

  A few people closed their eyes, almost as if the very idea made them ill. Quinn understood. He thought of him and Francesca singing “All I Do Is Win.” They’d lost, and he feared her ongoing silence might mean he’d lost more than Merriam Enterprises.

  After pushing around his Carrageen moss pudding—a travesty to dessert everywhere—he stood. He wasn’t going to take this anymore. “Good night, everyone.”

  Aunt Clara wiped her mouth and said, “You about done with this status quo?”

  Everyone was suddenly looking at him. It wasn’t comfortable. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  She tossed her napkin on the table like a gauntlet. “We’re all waiting to see if you’re going to be the one to lose your soulmate a second time. Like I told Arthur after he woke up from his nap, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.”

  Horse metaphors in the worst moment of his life? “Are you serious right now?”

  “Completely,” she said, rising, the diamond necklace she’d worn to dinner flashing fire. “No one has wanted to say anything to you
after how you attacked Flynn and J.T. earlier, but we all feel the same way.”

  Jesus, everyone knew about that. No wonder no one was speaking to him. He glanced at his mother—whom he could usually count on to call him out on his bad behavior—and all he saw were sad eyes and a tight mouth. Shit.

  “I said something,” Uncle Arthur said, shaking his head. “Boy’s as stubborn as they come.”

  “I went to talk to her,” he found himself saying in front of the entire room. “I even wrote her a note. She’s stonewalling me.”

  His mother let out a rude noise.

  Finally. The relief he felt surprised him. “Mom. Do you have something to say?”

  She stood up, her hands braced on the table. “I thought your father and I raised you to understand what’s important in life. It pisses me off to discover we didn’t. I love you, Quinn, but sometimes… Excuse me.”

  She walked right out of the room. Caitlyn’s eyes were as wide as quarters, and Trevor slapped his forehead as if in disgust.

  “Perhaps this is a good time for me to say something,” his father said, crossing to him and putting a hand on his arm. “Your mother is right. The company has always been a gift—to all of us—but it’s the people that count. This family counts. I forgot that for many years and put Merriam Enterprises above your mother and this family. But it’s only a company, Quinn, as hard as that is for any of us to swallow.”

  He watched as his siblings took their partners’ hands and nodded to each other. God, was he the only slow one?

  “The woman you want to marry, however,” his father said, “you need to move heaven and earth to keep her. If I hadn’t had your mother all these years, my life would have been nothing. You kids too. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better father to you, but I’m trying now. Maybe the silver lining here—as your Grandma Anna used to say—is remembering what’s really important. Now, I’d better go after your mother.”

  Then he hugged Quinn briefly, shocking him even more, and left the room.

  The staring match continued with his family, so he held out his arms. “Anyone want to take a swing at me?”

  Amelia started to cry, burrowing her face into her mother’s neck. “Don’t hit him. Please.”

  Shit. He’d made a little girl cry now. This was an epic low. Retreat seemed the best approach. “Flynn. J.T. I owe you an apology. The rest of you too. I’m deeply sorry for my behavior.”

  He strode up the stairs of the inn, thinking about his first trip to Ireland. He and Connor had made such a mess of things with Becca that their mother had needed to fly in to negotiate peace among the Merriam siblings.

  God, he really was a dick.

  How else could he have gone after Francesca like he had? She was the delight of his heart. She’d done everything she could to save his company. As for attacking his brothers… That was the calling card of a complete asshole.

  He’d done the very thing Connor had warned him not to do.

  He’d let Merriam Enterprises come between him and what he loved.

  Boru whined at the sight of him and padded down the hallway in the other direction. God, even Buttercup would probably flee his presence. He wouldn’t ask what Becca’s cantankerous cat, Hatshep, would do. Probably barf up a hairball on his bed.

  At Alice’s door, he knocked again. Softly. She answered in pink flannel pajamas covered in dancing flamingos. He shouldn’t have been surprised. “Does Francesca have pj’s like yours? I’d like to see them sometime.”

  “She’s still deciding,” Alice said, her stare hostile. “I believe the term ‘you’re in the doghouse tonight’ is apt. Good night, Quinn.”

  His patience snapped. “Are you really going to keep hiding, Francesca? This kind of cowardly act is beneath you.”

  “Oh, brother,” Alice muttered. “You’d better stop right there, buster.”

  When she started to close the door, he stopped it with his hand and called out in pure desperation, “No way. I’m done with this crap. I’m sorry. I’m a dick. A complete asshole. I’ve alienated my family. Hell, I even made a five-year-old cry. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m asking for it all the same. I love you. You’re my soulmate. I’m not giving up on us. Don’t you dare either.”

  “You made little Amelia cry?” Alice asked, crossing her arms over those gaudy flamingos. “You really are a complete asshole. See you in the morning.”

  When she pushed the door this time, he let it close.

  “I’ll sleep out here all night if I have to,” he yelled back.

  Would he really? Hell, yes, he would. She had to talk to him. Situating himself in the doorway, he tried to get comfortable. Only his hard head didn’t like the door as a pillow, and his long legs stuck out into the hallway.

  Of course, the sight of him lying prostrate in front of Francesca’s door delighted a few of his siblings who were down the hall. J.T. made a show of stepping widely over his legs, and Flynn put him in his place by stomping way too close to him for comfort. He didn’t call his brother out, and when Flynn looked over his shoulder, his mouth quirked into a half-smile. They were going to be okay.

  No one came and brought him a blanket, however. Not even Aileen, who walked past him as she made the final rounds. Nor Hargreaves, who brought Alice and Francesca a tray of bedtime tea. Quinn just let the stalwart butler step over him. He wasn’t moving a muscle, and he hoped Hargreaves would tell them as much. When the man left without a tray, he only shook his head at Quinn, a very unbutler-like action to his mind.

  He finally slept and awoke when something situated itself on his lap. Jerking upright, he noted Hatshep curling around him. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is my magical pet moment?”

  Every one of his siblings had experienced a magical pet moment in pursuit of their soulmate. Buttercup for Trevor. A goat, Chou-Chou, for Caitlyn. Boyd’s lizard, Marvin, for Michaela. (Of course, Marvin had died. Another depressing thought.) Connor’s animal moment had come courtesy of the homeless shelter’s literacy-minded guinea pigs, which Louisa insisted were cute although Quinn couldn’t see it. Now, here he was with Becca’s usually prickly cat on one of the worst nights of his life.

  If this was meant to be a sign, he wasn’t buying it. Seeing an angel or a ray of light would be a sign. Or being in Ireland, seeing the fairy people. But this cat? No. Quinn was a realist, a cold-hearted cynic…

  And yet, he tugged Hatshep more comfortably onto his lap, stroking her soft white fur. When she started purring, he almost grimaced. This is what he’d been reduced to? Finding comfort from a Persian cat on the doorstep of his soulmate in the middle of the night? He should go back to his room. His leg was falling asleep, and he was losing his Man Card by the minute. But the cat nudged him in the belly when his hand stopped caressing her fur, so he continued.

  His eyes closed again, and then he drifted off.

  When the door opened, he jerked awake. Alice’s flamingo pj’s were gone, replaced by neon green yoga pants and a sapphire tank top.

  “Now I’ve seen everything.” She stepped over him and the cat, leaving the door open, which had to be a good sign, right? “I need to go to class.”

  Every morning, he watched the brightly clad exercise crew do yoga, tai chi, or Qigong in the front hall. Well, everyone was dressed like a nightclub’s hot electric light display except for Uncle Arthur, who wore loose pants and moaned and groaned to high heaven as he followed Hargreaves or Alice, who usually led everyone else.

  “Enjoy.” He took one of his hands off Hatshep and saluted her.

  Then he coughed as cat hair rained down on his face.

  “My God, Hatshep, you’re the hairiest cat I’ve ever met, but I like you.”

  “I’ve always heard cats don’t mind ornery people being that many have an ornery streak themselves,” he heard Francesca say.

  Turning his head against the doorjamb, he winced as his neck popped in three places. “Hatshep must have a huge one then, because I’m a complete asshole. I’m sorry,
Francie. Are you ready to hear how much?”

  She dropped a file in his lap instead. “These are my suggestions for how to save parts of Merriam. The oil sector is unsalvageable based on recent losses and my projections for the continued price of crude falling in the coming months. You can pay out good severances and reinvest the money. I recommend you spin off Caitlyn and Annie’s ventures into one company. Maybe Merriam and Merriam. Build from there. Not everything has to be lost.”

  Then she stepped over him and the cat.

  “I…thank you.” He set Hatshep aside and pushed off the floor, wincing as his muscles groaned in response. “You didn’t have to do that, but I’m grateful. I don’t want to talk about Merriam right now, though. I want to talk about us.”

  Her level gaze reminded him of the kind of look a strike negotiator would give a shitty boss. He was about to get his ass kicked. And he deserved it.

  “You want to talk about us? You blamed me for everything, Quinn.”

  “Unfairly.” He took her arm gently.

  She eyed him dubiously but didn’t pull away. “Continue.”

  Oh, how he loved the regal mandate in her tone. He’d lain out here all night, but now he struggled for what to say. Then he remembered his conversation with Connor. “I want to ask why you couldn’t trust me enough to tell me about your father’s warning. It’s hard for me to accept that. But I realize there is something about our relationship that makes you not trust me all the way, and babe, I really want to fix that. I don’t want to lose you over this.”

  “You think this was about me not trusting you?” Her head turned ever so slightly, almost as if she was trying to figure out a puzzle. “It’s my father I don’t trust.”

  “Okay… Hearing that helps. I thought you’d betrayed me—”

  “That sounds more like it.”

  He held up his hand. “That was my hurt talking. Dammit, I hate talking about my feelings.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “My knee-jerk reaction was to cast blame, and I’m sorry. I’ve always thought I was up for personal responsibility. Maybe I’m a coward.”