by Joya Ryan
“Call the cops,” Hannah said to the woman standing near her; she nodded and took out her cell phone. Hannah lunged at the drunk before he could stomp on Adam and hit him in the kneecap, taking him down.
“Fucking bitch!” he yelled.
Then the drunk was off his feet by some magic antigravity breeze . . . only it wasn’t magic at all. It was Grant. He’d come in behind the drunk, lifted him by the shirt, and thrown him back.
Grant’s wild dark eyes landed on Hannah, and whatever he saw there infuriated him more. He turned back to the drunk and punched him in the nose, blood gushing instantly.
The drunk wailed in pain and cursed at Grant. “You fucking broke my nose.” He couldn’t even stand straight, but Grant clearly had no sympathy and threw him out on the street.
The entire bar clapped and cheered, but Grant made a beeline for Hannah, rage and anger and a wild need in his eyes. He grabbed both of her shoulders and shook her.
“What the hell are you doing?” he said loudly.
“I’m breaking up a bar fight,” she said, wiggling out of his grip.
“You put yourself between two men twice your size!” He was seething.
“I’m fine. This happens sometimes,” she defended.
“Well, I’ll be damned if I let it happen again. This is no place for you. You’re not staying here.”
“Excuse me?” she said. “You have no right to tell me what to do.” Grant had never spoken to her like this. Sure, he’d come for her and clearly cared and was protective, but the macho man telling the woman what she could and couldn’t do? “What is the matter with you? This is my job, and I can take care of myself.”
“Hannah, look at your fucking eye!”
She couldn’t. But she could feel it. It was throbbing and hot, and she’d bet she’d have a nice shiner in the morning.
“I wasn’t hit—it was part of the scuffle. I caught an elbow.”
“Oh, well, then that makes things much better. You still got hurt in a bar fight!”
“Stop yelling at me!” she said. That’s when she glanced around and noticed the entire bar watching them. Thank God it was loud, between the music and conversations, but Hannah and Grant were clearly the ones on display.
She took a step toward Grant and lowered her voice. “I get that you’re upset with what you saw,” she said, “but we’ll discuss this later. This is my job, Grant.”
“The discussion is over. I’ve been supportive of your job, but it’s not worth you getting physically hurt. That’s the line, Hannah. You can’t expect me to be okay with you going to work where you could get the shit beat out of you.”
She pursed her lips. “It’s a bar, Grant. What did you think would happen?”
“I thought it was a sleepy town. Not a place where people brawl. You can’t work here. It’s unsafe. You’re by yourself a lot and you have a damn bat. It’s not safe.”
Her eyes shot wide. She’d never heard anyone tell her what to do. “You have no right to demand a thing from me.”
He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “Of course I don’t. Because I’m nothing to you.”
She frowned. Where the hell had that come from? Before she could address the look in Grant’s eyes, which resembled what she could only guess was fear, red and blue lights flickered outside the bar.
Looked like Gabe had shown up and was dealing with the drunk on the street. At least everyone was looking out the windows and crowding around the door now. This was a sleepy town, and serious brawls didn’t really happen. Tonight wasn’t that big of a deal. But she couldn’t explain that to Grant now.
Grant looked at her and let out a heavy breath. Hannah couldn’t shake the feeling that he was exhausted with her. Her stomach burned and bubbled with nerves.
“Come home with me,” he said.
She shook her head. “I have to close up. It’s last call, and I’ll be another half hour.”
“Fine,” he said and walked past her to sit at the bar. “Last call!” he yelled out to the crowd. It was clear he was going to park his ass right there until Hannah was done and closed and heading home.
With her own heavy exhale, she loosened her grip on the bat and walked behind the bar. She started to pour the last rounds for people and prepared to close. A dark pair of eyes watched her the entire time. How had tonight started with her worrying about Grant and his world and turned into Grant mad at Hannah for her world?
She had a feeling that their worlds were much farther apart than she’d ever thought.
Chapter Ten
Grant was running down the beach for the fourth time in two days. He needed some way to reset his mind. But with every thump of his feet in the sand, he only thought of Hannah more.
It was clear she was giving him the silent treatment lately. He’d felt it the past few days since the “scuffle at the bar,” as she’d called it.
He’d call it a brawl that got her hurt. And every time he looked at his beautiful wife and saw the light blue bruise lining her cheekbone near her eye, he wanted to kill that drunk. He didn’t give two flying asses that the man hadn’t technically hit her. She had gotten hurt. Put herself between two men in a fucking bar fight!
His mind was screaming at him, and Grant just ran faster. With the way he was feeling, he could be halfway to Washington by now. Staying along the beach and pounding sand until he got this rage out of him.
Faster still. Thinking of all the things he wanted to do to Hannah. He wanted to smack her ass and tell her that she was never to put herself in danger. He wanted to toss her over his shoulder and keep her in bed on the brink of orgasm for a week until she was begging and dying from the torture and agreed to any terms he had.
She was stubborn. And she was trying to buy that bar. But he had thought that after that fight, she’d not want a thing to do with the place. Grant had walked in to escort her home and had never been so terrified in his life. Seeing his petite wife get tossed around, then use a bat to defend herself, had made his heart stop.
He’d never seen a woman look so capable yet so fragile in his entire life.
He didn’t know what the hell to do. He needed her to come to New York with him now. But she was dead set on owning her bar. Maybe once she got that, she could hire a manager and check in on the place once a month. He’d happily fly here with her to do that. So long as it meant she stayed out of harm’s way. He needed to wrap this up, though, because he was done playing. He wanted his wife. Their two weeks had dwindled down to a couple of days and still . . . no sign that she would stay married to him.
He’d made headway, but in the end, he wasn’t sure it was enough to convince her to be with him.
Grant was starting to see the familiar beach that was on the back side of Goonies. He was close to home. Decided he should just run there. Hoping Hannah would finally talk to him. Because he was almost out of time, and he’d taken two steps forward with his wife, and then a step back. He needed to get her to agree, once and for all, that they belonged together. Then he could finally get her to come to New York with him, and she could have her bar from afar. What woman wouldn’t love that option?
He quickened his pace. Running through town, he rounded the corner and saw Hannah’s little place come into view. What he wasn’t ready for was the limousine parked in front of it.
He started to slow, breathing hard and putting his hands on his hips as he walked to the limo. The back passenger window rolled down. A tight blonde bun and pair of oversize Dior sunglasses greeted him.
“You know that the closest airport to this godforsaken place is an hour and a half away?” his mother said. Her lips were tight, painted pink, with wrinkles lining them.
“What are you doing here? How did you even find me?” Grant said, furious and yet not completely surprised. His mother opened her car door, forcing Grant to take several steps back. She looked like she always did. Sharp knee-length skirt and matching blazer with dazzling jewelry. She stepped from the car with e
ntitlement and rigid grace.
“Since you’ve been ignoring my calls, I decided to track you down.” She examined her nails. “And I heard there was an investors’ meeting this weekend. Thought I’d take the chance to see how you intend to spend my money.”
“It’s my money, my company. Dad left it to me.”
“I’m still his legal widow.”
Grant took a deep breath and glanced at the ground. He had to find his calm or he would lose his damn mind.
“You can’t contest the will,” Grant finally said.
“Oh yes, I can,” she said with a happy smile. “And I can even take the company.”
Grant laughed. That was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. She could contest the will, fine. Go to trial. Sure. Didn’t mean she’d win. Because the will was not only clear about Grant inheriting the estate, but that Grant got the company, and if anything happened to Grant before he could hand it down to his child, it still had to be a Laythem the company went to.
“I don’t know how much you’re spending on your lawyer, but you can’t get the company. And I’m tired of talking to you about this, Mother.”
“You treat me worse than your father,” she snapped.
“Oh, absolutely I do. Frankly, I’m not sure why he supported you as long as he did, but I won’t do the same.”
Her grin turned sinister. “Well, it will be interesting to see what the board has to say when they vote in a couple days.”
Grant quickly searched his mind. There were no issues to vote on. Nothing on the table.
“Vote?” he asked for clarity.
“Yes. Did you know that the majority of the board at Laythem Incorporated can dictate who is CEO of the company?”
Hot lava fueled only by rage started pumping through his body.
“You cannot get the board to toss me over and elect you CEO.” He enunciated every word carefully, because he’d never been so angry in his entire life.
Those lips that he was certain were cemented into a permanent scowl crooked up at the corners with amusement.
“That’s up to the board. And you’ve been playing house, it would seem.” She tossed a disapproving look over her shoulder and waved at Hannah’s home in dismissal. “Meanwhile, the board is concerned when they don’t hear from their CEO in almost two weeks. I’d say that I don’t have to toss you over. You’re doing a fine job of that on your own, dearest.”
She pinched his cheek, and Grant wondered how the woman who’d given him life was so cold. He was nothing to her. He knew that. She cared about money and power. Honestly, he’d always wondered if she’d gotten pregnant with him just to keep her hooks in his father. His father’s only mistake in life had been falling for the wrong woman.
“I’m gone for a week and a half and you’re threatening a hostile takeover?” he said quietly.
“It’s business, dearest. Which is why I’m here,” she said with a perk in her voice. “I heard through the grapevine that you’re looking to invest in some company around here. A pretty heavy sum.”
“So?”
“So, I was curious what has you looking all the way out here and draining the family trust.”
He wanted to point out the “family trust” was his father’s money and Grant’s. Though Grant was new as CEO, he still made good money, contributed to the business, and had been worth millions on his own before his father’s will. He didn’t owe his mother an explanation about anything. She was sniffing around because she was worried he’d drain the account before she could try to get her talons into it with this contesting-the-will nonsense.
Still, Grant’s money was his, and he sure as hell wanted nothing to do with his mother.
He did, however, want his father’s company and what he’d left him. Not because he was interested in the extra money or power. It was because he wanted to carry on what his father had built. To add to it. Make him proud. And there was no way in hell he’d let his mother ruin all his father’s hard work. She’d sell off the company, bleed it dry, or God knew what. No. He refused to ever let that happen.
“I see your grapevine of spies are still earning their paychecks,” Grant said coldly.
“I hardly need spies when three different millionaires come running to one small town. Wasn’t exactly detective work, dearest.”
Grant took a calming breath, although there was nothing calming about it. His mother had shown up to cause trouble and monitor Grant. Now she knew about the event. He didn’t know if she’d go so far as to show up there, but he wanted her gone. At the end of the day, Grant needed her to accept the situation she was in and move on. She had enough money to live on comfortably, but still no technical job, other than a taste for making his life miserable, and Grant had everything to gain.
“I hope you enjoy the Pacific Northwest. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said and started to walk toward the front door when he heard a set of car tires come to a stop in front of the house. He turned and found Hannah getting out of her little car with a bag of groceries in hand.
“Can I help you?” she asked, looking at his mother, who was still in front of her monstrosity of a limo, taking up the entire driveway.
“I highly doubt it, my dear,” she said to Hannah.
Hannah frowned, and Grant hustled back to try to head her off.
“Well, this is my driveway you’re parked in,” Hannah said, walking up.
His mother had that condescending grin again. “Ah, now I see what you’ve been doing out here,” she said to Grant, just as he reached by Hannah’s side.
He felt rage radiate from Hannah, and Grant couldn’t blame her. Hell, he felt it, too. Instead, Hannah turned to Grant and smiled. “Sweetie, if you want to order bitches to be delivered to the house, make sure they come in their original packaging. I think Amazon Prime throws in that option for free now.”
Grant wanted to laugh and high-five his wife all at the same time. No one ever spoke to his mother that way, and he liked Hannah’s sass coming out. Also nice to know it wasn’t reserved for just him.
“Oh, she’s a foul-mouthed one.” His mother spoke like Hannah wasn’t even there, which clearly made the rage boil higher. “Well, take all the time you want in this place. I’ll see to things in New York.”
She turned and went to get back in her limo.
“You know that’ll never happen,” Grant said.
“It already is. Have fun with your mistress.” She gave another dismissive wave.
Hannah hiked the groceries on one hip, and with more anger and pride than he’d ever heard come from her, she said, “I’m not his mistress, I’m his wife.”
That made his mother stop.
Turn.
A look of pure horror washing over her face.
Jesus Christ, what the hell am I doing?
Hannah’s brain was churning out a million emotions a million miles a minute. She’d just gone to get groceries, never expecting there to be a fricking limo in her driveway and to be insulted by Joan Rivers’s long-lost sister.
And she didn’t know what this lady’s deal was, but it was clear Grant didn’t like her, so she’d felt the need to stand up for him. For herself. For them.
The woman was still by her open-door limo, but for the first time, she looked Hannah in the eye.
“Grant wouldn’t be stupid enough to get married,” she said.
“I don’t know who you think you are, or who you actually are, but you’re on my property,” Hannah said. “So you can take your overly diamonded-up ass out of here.”
The woman smiled wide, and it looked evil. The Botox tried to contain it, but she somehow managed to at least muster a grin.
“Why, my dear, I’m Grant’s mother.”
Hannah’s entire heart dropped to her feet. She had no idea what to say or how to even process that this woman was responsible for Grant’s life. She was starting to wonder if this clearly awful woman had something to do with the permanent sadness behind his eyes. The same sadness she
knew she had. The kind of sadness that only came from a child of a parent who didn’t love them.
And this she wouldn’t stand for. Not for Grant. He deserved better. He cared, and this woman—his mother—clearly didn’t. She needed to get to the bottom of a few things real quick. Grant had barged into her bar a few days ago and handled things in his way. It was Hannah’s turn to step in now.
She handed Grant the bag of groceries. “Please take these inside.”
“I’m not leaving you out here with her.”
She looked Grant dead in the eye. She needed him to see she could handle herself. She knew they were still not on speaking terms because of the bar fight. But she needed him to believe in her a little bit. She could handle this. She’d been silent in her mind the past few days and trying to figure out what the hell she and Grant were going to do. And if there was any chance of their lives ever merging, she needed to start dealing with the reality of how different their lives were.
She had a drunk slob for a father, and Grant had an evil queen for a mother.
Some fucking fairy tale we’re rocking here.
Grant looked at her for a long, long moment. He took the bag and nodded once. There was a flicker in his expression that told her he understood that she needed to be out here, with his mother, for a moment alone.
She watched him go inside and gently shut the front door.
Hannah returned her attention to his mother.
“What is your name, dear?” she asked in a light tone, as if she hadn’t just insulted the hell out of Hannah a moment ago.
“Hannah Hastings.”
“Well, Miss Hastings. I’m Lillian Laythem. I’m glad to see you didn’t take the name, as that would be quite a burden to carry.”
“Why are you here?” Hannah asked.
“To see my son. He has his hand in a lot of cookie jars, one of which doesn’t belong to him. He’s just like his father that way.”
“What does that even mean?” Hannah asked, trying for cool, wanting information, but also wanting to slap this woman silly.
“You don’t know? Grant’s father passed away recently.”