by Staci Hart
“It’s one of her special gifts.” I slid off Marcus’s lap, ignoring the looks from a few surrounding tables. When I turned, I bit down a smile at the sight of him discreetly adjusting his pants before standing.
One dark brow rose with the corner of his mouth when he caught me looking. “Can I get you a cab?”
“I suppose we can’t share one,” I lamented, pulling on my coat.
“Probably not. Anyway, I’m heading home to help Mom prepare for our next shot at her deposition.”
“Your poor mother.” I hung my head, wishing there was more I could do. “I couldn’t even stand it yesterday. I had to say something. I was going to burst into flames if I didn’t.”
“It was the bravest, most perfect thing you could have done. If I hadn’t wanted you before that moment, you would have changed my mind right then and there.” He laid a broad hand on the small of my back, stepping into me. “I wanted to grab you and steal you and kiss you.”
“I would have held on and gone quietly and kissed you right back.”
He pressed a lingering, promissory kiss to my lips before guiding me out.
Marcus walked me to the curb, and with a final brush of his lips, he put me in the cab.
The second the door thumped closed, it cut me off from my joy, leaving it with Marcus there on the busy sidewalk.
Dread settled over me, into me, sinking into my stomach, weighting my lungs. It was the tingling sense of danger, the knowledge that I was about to walk into a fight that could set my life on a course I’d never expected. I had no map, and the road before me disappeared into craggy mountains, the path unfamiliar, uncertain when my life to this point had been planned out so precisely by my mother, charted and mapped and visible from space.
It was unnerving. But it was exciting too, and the promise of what was around the bend fueled my confidence as I stepped out of the cab and into the building my mother occupied.
She didn’t occupy the whole thing, of course, only five meager floors of the towering building in Midtown. But she might as well have filled all seventy floors for the space her ego took up.
With every open and close of the elevator doors, my anxiety climbed, my hopes shrinking under the shadow of what I was about to do. Through the bullpen of her floor I walked, enduring the occasional Hello, Ms. Bower. But my eyes were on the office down the hall, and my mind was consumed with a ticking countdown to my fate.
Shelby popped out of her seat when she saw me, her brows drawn. “Maisie? Did you have an appointment this morning?”
“No, but I was hoping to talk to her for a minute. Does she have time?”
“She has twenty minutes until Roland arrives for take seven of the elusive finance meeting, so I’m sure she’ll welcome the opportunity to avoid it.”
I couldn’t even laugh. Or smile. Or even remember what she’d said, my eyes on the doors to her office. “Good. Thank you.”
“She’d kill me for not insisting, but do you want me to announce you?”
“No, thank you. May as well make it a surprise all the way around.”
Shelby’s head cocked, but she waved me on. “Well, good luck.”
“I’m gonna need it,” I said under my breath as I opened the door.
My mother looked up from her grand desk, somehow managing to appear both surprised and annoyed. “Have you come to explain where you’ve been going every morning? Because you’ve exhausted my patience where that is concerned.” When I didn’t immediately answer, one of her brows rose. “No? Well, I hope you’ve enjoyed it, because that ends as of today. What do you want then, Margaret? I thought you were down at your little project today.”
“Well, there’s been a change of plans.”
She glanced at my dress. “Perhaps you should have considered a change of plans regarding your dress as well, dear.”
I ignored the jab, walking up to her desk with my chin up and shoulders back. My heart, however, did not have such confidence. It beat so painfully fast, I wondered briefly if I was about to have an anxiety attack.
“Sit,” she commanded.
“I’d rather stand, thank you.”
At that, she took off her glasses and leaned back in her chair, assessing me coolly. “Well then, go ahead.”
I took a breath, my dry throat working to swallow. You have nothing to lose. It’s about to be over one way or another, so jump, Maisie. Jump.
So I took a breath and did just that. “I think we both knew that my return to Bower wouldn’t be smooth or easy. But I expected at least the most basic respect.”
“And I expected you to do as you were told.”
I drew a long breath to keep ahold of my temper. “Had you not taken my charity from me, I probably would have. But there’s no repairing what’s happened between us, and though I know you don’t believe it, there’s no amount of force that will change that. We find ourselves here, and I’d like to remind you that I’m not a toy. I’m not a doll for you to play with or a pretty little handbag for you to show off. I’ve allowed you to dictate what I can and can’t do. But not anymore.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t speak.
“It seems to me that I have something you want, and you have nothing I require. You want me to head this company, to be a replica of you, and you want it so badly, you’ve lured me back to do just that. But I certainly have no interest in being your plaything, nor am I willing to be berated by you anymore. No amount of money or power will change that.”
“So what do you propose?”
I lifted my chin. “If you want me to be your successor, then it will be on my terms.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll go.”
A long, silent moment passed.
“I see. And what are your lofty terms?”
“The charity will be mine to do with as I please with all the funding I wish and all the hours to devote to it that I like. You will not force me to do what isn’t necessary—including monitoring my comings and goings—and otherwise, you’ll stay out of my way.”
Her face remained unchanged, which was perhaps most terrifying of all.
“Tell me, Margaret—what do I get out of this deal?”
A bubbling tension simmered in my belly, one both hopeful and averse. “You will acquire the heir you so desperately want. I will also concede to a short list of required tasks, such as attending board meetings and shadowing executives, but we’ll define boundaries to determine what’s considered necessary. If I’m to run Bower one day, I need to know how it all works, but you’ll give me the freedom to participate on my terms, which we both know aren’t unreasonable.”
Tension crackled in the air between us.
“You came in here prepared to leave, didn’t you?”
I drew myself taller to mask my fear. “I did. I am.”
I waited for her to thrash. To yell and fume and sling everything she could at me. My trust fund. The life I knew. My home. My father. Bower. The charity. Braced for impact, I held my breath and waited for her to stand up and fight me.
But instead, she smiled.
It wasn’t a kind smile or a smile of pride. It wasn’t maternal, and it held no empathy.
Hers was a smile of triumph, as if she’d won a battle I hadn’t known we were fighting.
“That, Margaret Bower, is exactly what I have been waiting for.”
I blinked, confused. “Y-you’ve been waiting for me to leave?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to fight. To decide what you want and demand it. You’ve been so useless to me since your return, I was beginning to think there was no hope. Do you know why I brought you here?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “One day, this will be yours, and it’s my duty to prepare you for that. Your disapproval of my methods doesn’t matter in the end, not if you rise to the challenge as you have today. For perhaps the first time, you’ve given me a reason to be optimistic.”
My stomach turned as she flipped open her notebook and picked up a pe
n.
“Let’s discuss these boundaries, shall we?” she said as she began to write. “You will attend all promotional appearances and board meetings regardless of whether or not you want to attend. That is nonnegotiable. As is your attendance in the Bennet proceedings.”
“All right.”
I must have answered too quickly, too boldly, because she looked up at me with a narrow, scrutinizing gaze.
“You are willing to attend the Bennet meetings without causing a scene? Without arguing or undermining me? You will be the picture of compliance regardless of what is said?”
“Yes. I knew you’d demand it of me.” And I want to know what you’re plotting.
“A well-thought-out deal. You surprise me.”
I kept my head up and hands still, but my thoughts were a bumble of buzzing bees as she went on to note a few more requirements from her, none unreasonable. Otherwise, I was free to do what I wanted without interference. All I had to do was keep up my end of the bargain.
Of course, we’d done this dance before, and we both knew who was leading.
We said our goodbyes, and I left the office on shaky legs, my disbelief and discomfort dimming my surroundings. I breezed past Shelby with a cursory nod, heading for the elevator that would take me down to the charity division where I planned to spend my day.
As the elevator doors closed, a thought unnerved me.
I’d pleased her. And nothing about it felt good.
It wasn’t the happy approval I imagined other mothers gave. Nothing about the exchange made me feel warm or tender.
Had she been holding me down to force me to fight? Was my assertion a response to something she’d planned? Had I been trained against my will to do what she pleased, like Pavlov’s dog panting for its dinner when she rang the bell?
Would I end up like her whether I wanted to or not?
As much as I flexed and fought, could I ever win? Or would that cycle continue on and on, our history destined to repeat itself? Perhaps I’d lose a man to the Bennets in a whole new way and disintegrate into bitter remains, just as my mother had.
No, I told myself. Because I would hold on with both hands to what I wanted. I would do my duty here in the hopes that I would someday earn the power to push back. I’d fight that future. I’d fight her until the bitter end if it meant I could avoid her fate.
And I assured myself I knew what I was doing even though I had my doubts.
12
You + Me
MARCUS
I couldn’t escape the clock.
From the second Maisie and I had parted ways, the day crawled past. First with the clock in my mother’s study, ticking incessantly as I attempted to coach her on deposition questions. Then it was the time on my phone while I worked on billing, the screen flashing every thirty seconds with messages as my siblings blew up our group text with a string of shit-talking. While I worked out, the clock on the wall moved at an infinitesimal speed in a defiance of the laws of science.
Even now, as I checked the temperature of the pork loin I knew wasn’t done, the time on the oven was right there in my face, the colon blinking at me like laughter. The microwave clock was no better, an aggressive shade of red that reminded me she wasn’t here yet.
So I paced around my house, straightened the silverware and place settings on the table. I refolded the blanket on my couch, hanging it artfully on the back in a drape that suited me a little better. On inspection, I noticed there was dust on my TV stand, so I beelined for the kitchen for supplies to right that infraction before somebody saw it.
But before I could, the doorbell rang, and my heart shot into my throat.
I hurried to the door, partly because I wanted to see her that badly, partly because the longer she waited outside, the higher the chance that someone in my family would pass by and see her standing on my doorstep.
When I opened the door, I found Maisie on my stoop, conspicuously looking over her shoulder. In fact, everything about her was conspicuous—the big, floppy hat and sunglasses that obscured most of her face, her tan wool coat, which was buttoned up tight, the lapels clutched in one small fist.
She whirled around in surprise, smiling sheepishly, her flush nearly masking the tiny freckles on her cheeks and nose.
“You look like Carmen Sandiego,” I said on a laugh, reaching for her hand to tug her into my entryway.
The door shut behind her.
And then we were alone.
The relief was instant, the separation from the world beyond that door tangible. Because here, we could just be Maisie and Marcus, not a Bower and a Bennet.
“I feel more like Inspector Gadget, clumsy and jumpy and getting by on sheer luck,” she said on a giggle, pulling off her glasses first, then her hat.
I helped her out of her coat, grateful to find her still in that red dress I’d been thinking about since this morning. “Was it hard to get away?”
“Not too bad.” She shook out her curly hair with her fingers. “Mother usually ignores me when she doesn’t need something from me. She ate separate from Dad and me, as usual, so I told Dad I was having dinner with a friend. He didn’t ask questions.”
“I told my family I was working late. I’m pretty sure they bought it.” I headed toward the kitchen, snagging her hand on the way.
She frowned. “But you live alone.”
“We have a family dinner every night. Not everyone makes it nightly, but I’ve only missed a handful of dinners in the last couple of years.”
I deposited her on a stool at the island, finding her smiling when I walked around. “I’ve always dreamed of a family like that.”
I snorted a laugh. “You’ve clearly never had dinner with my family.”
“I can’t imagine it would be worse than mine.” She said it lightly, as if it were a joke, but I heard the edge of a long-worn scar beneath the levity.
“Mother lives in her office, takes her meals there, spends every waking minute behind those doors. I wouldn’t be surprised if she occasionally sleeps there. That big, grand house, and she only uses one room.” She shook her head. “Anyway, Dad and I usually have dinner together. As anxious as I was to get here, I hated to leave him to eat alone. He eats by himself too often as it is.”
“That sounds very lonely.”
“It is,” was all she said.
So I changed the subject. “Red wine or white?”
“Either is fine.”
I reached for the bottle of pinot noir I’d set out, popping it open and pouring into waiting wineglasses. When hers was in hand, she extended it for a toast.
“To the things we want. May they all be ours.”
I brought my glass to hers in a click of agreement, and for a silent second, we drank.
She set her drink on the shiny quartz surface and smiled up at me.
“Tell me about your day,” I said with an answering smile, leaning on the island across from her.
“Well, I don’t think a single thing happened the way I thought it would, not from the second I walked into the coffee shop. It exceeded all expectations.”
I watched her take a sip of crimson wine, watched it slip past her lips. Something so small, so mundane, and I found myself consumed by the sight, imagining those lips against mine again. Imagining the feel of her in my lap, here in my house where I could do something about it.
She sighed, an expression of contentment on her face. “My mother surprised me even more than you did, I think—I’d hoped we would end up here, even if I didn’t believe we would. But I never could have guessed that she’d be compliant. I expected threats. Shouting. The squeeze of her control. Instead, I told her what I wanted, and she agreed. I’ll have full control over the charity and time to manage it, and in exchange, I accepted a list of terms she devised. And not a single one of them was excessive. It’ll be bearable though, I think.” Another sigh. “We’ll see. You know what the most upsetting, unnatural part was?”
“Everything about her is unnatural,
so I can’t imagine.”
“She seemed pleased with me. And not in some good for you, chuck on the shoulder kind of proud. It was … I don’t know.” She shook her head. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Tell me,” I urged.
Her brow furrowed. “I think she planned it. I think she pushed me until I stood up to her to teach me some sort of lesson, and I complied without realizing she’d manipulated me. I didn’t feel good about it when I left. But I got what I wanted, which, all in all, leaves me confused.”
I rankled at the thought of Evelyn exacting any more control on Maisie.
“Some days, I wonder if I even have a choice,” she said, half to herself. “Maybe turning into her is inevitable.”
“You always have a choice. And you are nothing like her.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe even now I’m more like her than I realize. Maybe somewhere inside of me, she’s there, waiting to be let out. What if it’s all a setup? And one day, she’ll pull a rip cord and let the monster she bred out of me.”
“Never. She has no real power over who you are. Nothing she could do would change who you are at your core, the woman your father raised.”
Her smile was one of resignation, one that said she wasn’t so sure. “Thank you.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment until I asked a question that’d been on my mind since the beginning.
“What’s keeping you at Bower? What about that place compels you to stay?”
She thought, her eyes on the claret wine in her glass. “Mostly I’ve stayed because, as the heiress, I have a vested interest in Bower. As a child, I was largely sheltered from her. She was just a person who was sometimes around for holidays and the occasional weekend, like having a parent who’s a surgeon. A busy, distant presence in my life, one that I idolized simply because I didn’t know differently. But she was a stranger to me, and it wasn’t until I worked there after college that I really saw her for who she was and what I meant to her, which was nothing. But it’s more than that …” She paused, searching for words.