by Emily Childs
It’s after midnight by the time I slump onto my couch. My head flops back on the cushions, I loosen my tie, and I have high hopes of nursing a bottle and zoning out in coding and tech. I’m making progress in the little game I’ve created. Simple, but now the bubbles that show up on the screen can change colors.
Only a few people know about my passion projects, and those passions have nothing to do with being on the letterhead of an insurance company.
I’m good at health insurance, it’s my specialty, while Liam handles the life insurance side of things. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the work, I do. Especially since I get the more interesting side by being the boss. Duties like training different facilities, investigating fraud. Besides, being on the letterhead gives me the means to develop things like my app. To actually help people, the entire reason I went into insurance in the first place. Insurance is a bureaucratic mess most times, but I wanted to help people get good care. Not an easy thing when turning a profit is also the goal of the entire board, but I think the HealthyRx app has brought me closer to those old goals.
As a bonus, I got to spend the better part of four months locked up with our software developers playing around with computers.
Upstairs, something crashes. I roll my eyes. Sober eighteen months, my brother is as clumsy as the drunk days. But it’s for him that I pop the top of a sweet tea instead of the beer I really want. While he’s staying with me, it’ll be better not to have a drop of liquor around. His sponsor said the first years are critical.
Glad as I am that Kyler is here with his silver sales tongue, I’m not keen to talk, so I hope he stays in his part of the house. What was that this afternoon? Hugging and laughing. Where was the bond of brothers? Lost by a beautiful smile and legs for days, clearly.
I press the heel of my hand between my eyes where an ache is building. Not tonight. I’m not going down the rabbit hole again. There is too much to do and to plan now that things are finally falling into place. But then there are also board meetings and audits for Lanford & Hewitt.
Now my stomach hurts.
I fold up from the couch, shuffle over to the floor-to-ceiling window, and lean against the frame. The beach looks so peaceful. I’ve half a mind to take off my shoes and walk the length of it, but sleeping for a few hours might be wise, too. I swig some of the tea and let my insides settle. Someday this will all calm down. The conference calls, the board meetings, satisfying shareholders, wheeling and dealing.
Someday I’ll spend lazy days on the beach again. When this drive simmers into satisfaction, when the effort is finally enough.
I stretch my neck, suddenly tense. Without something to dull the ache in my head, I won’t be sleeping. In the kitchen, I ruffle through the cupboards looking for something to knock me out until at least five. With my hand in the medicine cabinet, my phone rings, breaking the quiet of the night. Who calls this late?
“This is Sawyer,” I answer, voice rough.
“Mr. Lanford. I figured you’d still be awake. Men like us usually are.”
A rush of blood chases away any fatigue. I’m wide awake. “Mr. Gardener,” I say. Stiff and businesslike. Then again, now I’m his equal, not the dreamer he once hated. “What can I do for you?”
“Just letting you know we’ve covered the rental car for you boys to take to Atlanta. There’s one seat left if you or Mr. Hewitt have anyone else you’d like to take, or if there is a plus-one for either of you. I’m sure Dorothy-Ann wouldn’t mind the female company on the drive.”
It’s like he throat punches me. I cough, blinking through the stun. “Excuse me?”
“You’re going as a team with our clinic per our alliance agreement. Was that not clear, Mr. Lanford? The car seats five, but who wants to sit in the middle seat, really? With Dorothy-Ann, there is one comfortable seat left. That a problem with you?”
A major problem. Huge. Epic. A dangerously risky problem. “No,” I croak out. “Not a problem.”
“Good because I’ve been mulling over this contract, well, the entire alliance, really.”
My pulse thuds in my skull. He is not backing out. I’m going to sock Liam for putting that seven-day clause in the contract if he does. Stay focused. “Any questions I can answer for you?”
He hesitates. “Not a question, more a problem I think needs to be dealt with first.”
“What can I do to put you at ease?”
Mr. Gardener places me on a brief hold as he gathers his copy of the contract, and I set to work.
Kyler tells me I turn into someone else when calls like this happen. I’m still trying to figure out if he thinks that’s a good thing or not. But I guess it’s true. The last year, I’ve buried myself in launching the app and building our reputation as the go-to company for insurance trainings and investigations. I’ve learned how to morph into someone who never stammers, never loses focus, or forgets what to say. Suave, unruffled, down-to-business Sawyer. It’s who I am, who I need to be. Even my headache is gone.
I leverage onto a barstool, whip open my laptop, and disappear into spreadsheets, projections, and financials by the time Mr. Gardener returns to the line.
“I made a mistake earlier,” he says.
My jaw tightens and without skipping a breath, I plunge into the spiel I have at the ready for the fence sitters who never want to sign that dotted line. “I assure you, Mr. Gardener, this is only a benefit for you. You have nothing to lose, and a lot to gain.”
“Son,” he says, stopping me mid-spiel. “You’ve got the tightest contract I’ve ever seen. You know there’s been discrepancies, and the nonprofit status is at risk. Then there’s this app you’ve made—the point is, you don’t need to tell me you’ve got a good deal here.”
I furrow my brow. Then what’s the problem? The Honeyville clinic is a good cause, a passion project, but it still needs to pay salaries. Nonprofit doesn’t mean nixing money, and this would surely help increase the bottom line. Not to mention, I knew the string of nursing centers the Gardeners owned from here to Florida raked in millions each year. For that part of their business, aligning with our app program for the residents in their for-profit facilities should be a no-brainer with the kickbacks that come from the pharmaceutical companies we’ve partnered with. I’ve worked fourteen-hour days for months developing this thing to make it low-risk, high reward, so these leery conversations didn’t happen.
“Sir, if I understood the problem, I’m sure I’d be able to help.”
Mr. Gardener sighs. “As I said, I made a mistake earlier. Let’s be frank—Dot has built the Honeyville clinic from the ground up and she’s the one all these issues fall on.”
Over my knee, I curl one hand into a fist. “I know that sir.” I’m an idiot to think I could go through these negotiations without beelining to this moment. I have no speech for this. I have no idea how to skirt the fact this man once lectured me on not being enough for his baby girl. Nor how to admit said baby girl agreed with her father in the cruelest way.
“All right then. My mistake was signing all this without her input,” he says. “If she’d been anyone but my daughter, I’d have had her in there ripping you boys to shreds with her savvy. So, I’m going to treat her like the businesswoman she is. She has a hand in the clinic and has a voice on what goes on there. She’s not on board with this, Mr. Lanford.”
“Mr. Gardener, as you said this is business, and personal—”
“It’s not all personal,” he interrupts. “Most of it, yes, but she needs to be on board that this will benefit the staff, but most importantly that you’re not here to turn all the employees into money-grabbing robots.”
“That isn’t—”
“Insurance companies want money and don’t want to pay out more than they need, right?”
He isn’t wrong, but I don’t like the insinuation. “Mr. Gardener, that’s what any business wants.”
“Well, that’s where folks like you lose Dot who does business with her heart. Probably too much. While you
and I worry about lining our pockets, she’s sentimental.”
My stomach twists. Am I that person? The one who looks at those patients as products that bring me a cashflow? I shudder and want to take a shower. “If we’re being frank, Mr. Gardener, why don’t you tell me what I need to do to keep this in motion?”
“Convince Dorothy-Ann in Atlanta. Simple as that. I’ve got a week to pull out. You have until then.”
He’s kidding. I even scoff, but when he doesn’t go on, I’m stunned. He’s going to put a stipulation on us when we’re here to help him? He’s manipulating me, testing me like he always did before. Heat prickles up the back of my neck. This time he won’t win. “Not a problem, sir. I look forward to doing business together.”
He chuckles. “I hope you’re right, but I also think she’s going to spit you right back out, boy.”
Boy. It strikes me like a punch to the gut that I could own the world and still never be good enough to these people. To this man.
I straighten on the stool, the cold detachment settling in my chest. He won’t laugh when I seal the deal with his businesses. I remind myself, I have the control here. But I wouldn’t mind if I used Atlanta to get his girl to see her mistake, maybe beg a guy like me who Rob Gardener views as unworthy, to come back. I’d oblige, then leave her wanting.
Call it payback.
My stomach turns inside out. What am I thinking? In business, cutthroat deals are often made; there are often casualties. But I didn’t set out to make Dot Gardener a casualty of my bitterness. Still, she probably deserves it. They all do.
A cold grin curls on my lips. “Mr. Gardener,” I say. “I think by the end of this you’ll be singing my praises.”
He barks a laugh. “Good to see you so ambitious, Mr. Lanford.”
I force a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Sir, you have no idea.”
The phone call ends and I wish I felt better. After a year of being without her, I hardly know how to be in the same room with Dot. My thoughts bounce around my skull like pop rocks. Even the bubble game doesn’t reel in my focus.
I head to the back room where we have a makeshift weight room and try to calm the buzz traveling across the surface of my skin, try to keep my mind from rambling out of control. Atlanta. Dot. Me.
How am I supposed to do this?
After another hour, my stomach is pinched and tight, but I feel a little better. Wiping my face with a towel, I make my way back to the kitchen but jump back.
There’s a woman in my entryway, forlorn and teary.
My brow furrows. “Maddie?”
She blinks, chin quivering as she tucks a lock of her glossy black hair behind her ear. “Sawyer.” Her voice breaks. “I’m sorry . . . I need your help.”
Chapter 3
Dot
Shopping isn’t the distraction I’d hoped. Not a distraction meant for me. For Olive.
I fight to keep from laughing. Olive plops onto a bench where people can try on shoes, pouting. “Why do they need to put the athleticwear next to the maternity section? Can they drop a bigger hint? Maybe some of us who are barren don’t want to exercise!”
I’d hoped when I invited my girls to an after-work hunt to find a power outfit for Atlanta it might get her mind off her newest venture. Obviously not.
“Girl,” I say and roll my eyes. “Barren is pushing it.”
“It’s been two months, Ollie,” Jo laughs in the racks of T-shirts. “Give it some more time.”
Olive groans and twirls a lock of golden hair around her finger. “Patience is the most ridiculous virtue. Lily, I need to hold Brin.”
Lily pops her head up from behind one of the racks. “Give me another hour. She’s on a mama kick and needs some one-on-one time with August. He’s living the dream. Gets the snuggles, but when it comes to middle of the night playtime, he’s not even trying to take over anymore.” She drops into her best August voice. “ ‘Sorry sweetie she’s asking for you.’ That man.”
We laugh because it’s very August.
“Tell me he doesn’t stay awake, though, and wait for you to come back to bed just to cuddle,” I say.
Lily shrugs. “Sometimes he’s severely disappointed. Today is all him—to remind his daughter that she has more than one parent.”
“Still,” Olive says. “I don’t do waiting very well.”
I snort. “You waited to get with Rafe for over two decades. You can chill. It’ll happen, but don’t stress.”
“True,” Jo adds. “Stress isn’t good when it comes to baby-making.”
“Fine,” Olive grumbles. “Feed me. Beach me. Do something to distract me.”
I chuckle and sling an arm around her shoulders. I’m not sure if she knows it, but all of us are looking forward to a little Rafe and Olive baby, too. No matter how many times we tell her there’s a reason folks call it trying, it only makes her want it more.
“Dot,” Jo says, picking up an athletic shirt. “Tell her about the phone call this morning.”
Olive perks up. “Phone call? What phone call?”
I roll my eyes. “It was nothing, not even a phone call, but a voicemail.” I wave them away, more because I still can’t get my head around how for the last year (even if he destroyed me) I’ve gone on about how kind, and sensitive, and wonderful Sawyer is. I’m a stupid woman who couldn’t see what was right in front of me. “A man who shall not be discussed called to set up travel arrangements. Turns out, I’m driving with him to Atlanta. I don’t know what kind of games Daddy is playing, but after the way the no-named man sounded on the phone, I think I’d rather walk.”
Lily chuckles. “What’d he say?”
“Hello, Miss Gardener,” I imitate. “We’re required to ride together to the appointments in Atlanta. We plan to leave at eight o’clock sharp on Friday.” I roll my eyes. “Then went on about being on time again, like I’m a ditz and would be late.”
Jo bites her bottom lip. “Oh, are you known for being on time?”
“Josephine! You know it depends on what you’re going for. Fashionably late, yes, I am a master, my young padawan.”
“Oh no, she’s nervous,” Olive says. “Here come the Star Trek references.”
“Star Wars, Olive Jane.” I huff. “Don’t mess up again or you know what happens.”
She winces. “I refuse another marathon, Dottie. I refuse.”
“Then fix your vocabulary.”
Lily, the sensible one, offers me a sympathy-riddled smile. “Are you going to be okay? I can’t imagine it’ll be easy being with him for an overnighter.”
“I don’t know,” I admit and turn back to a rack of blouses.
My chest tightens. The idea of being so close to the man who ate my heart for dinner is as unbearable to me as light sabers are to Olive. We’ve mostly seen each other in passing since he moved into his offices in Honeyville. Or sometimes I’ll look out my window at home and because the universe is a jerk, I’ll catch sight of him running past. Sweaty. Focused. Chiseled. Gads. He’s been trying to align with our clinic for months, and now he’s won in the worst way. We’ll be forced to play nice with these philanthropy-loving investors at a romantic resort. Closeness, me, and Sawyer simply don’t mix anymore.
I think of a moment not two weeks ago when he and his business partner arrived for a meeting with Josephine and Daddy (again without me). I’d been oblivious in the hallway when he walked past. Nearly split my skin, but we both turned so our backs were almost pressing to the wall. Narrow hallways and all. Our fingers touched. Scandalous, I know. But I thought I’d keel over from the flutter of wings churning in my stomach. I like to think they were nasty roach wings instead of sweet butterflies, but who am I kidding. In truth, Sawyer sort of froze for a second. Unless I imagined it, but I like to think I had him all hot and bothered the same as me.
Now, I’m supposed to be his buddy for twenty-four hours without losing my mind.
It’d be a whole lot easier if I had closure on the whole thing. Back then,
he’d so sweetly said we should cool our jets for a little while. He said all the sweet vague things, assured me he loved me, but this was important to get our ‘timing’ right. Whatever that means. The sweetness changed eventually.
What came out was a man who was cold as steel and filled with unwarranted vitriol for the woman he once loved.
I find my hesitation for this weekend warranted to the highest degree.
“You should get another car,” Josephine mutters.
“Or take the opportunity to finally get that closure,” Olive says. She knows how confused I was over the entire thing.
“Let’s not talk about him,” I say, and gather a few tops to try on. “I’ll be back.”
Inside the fitting room, I tug the new shirts on and off. Nothing fits right This day keeps getting better.
I gather the tops, narrowly missing a woman with dark hair coming out of a dressing room. “Pardon me,” she says sweetly.
“Sorry, I’m not watching where I’m going.”
She grins and lifts her haul as she leaves. “Shopping days can do that.”
I chuckle under my breath and hand over my rejections. A quick glance at the clock, and I pick up my pace. We need to get going. Jace is officially moving to Honeyville and we’re due to help drag in boxes and eat pizza. Good to have another distraction after all the Sawyer talk, and I’m giddy to have her tucked so close to us.
I almost feel lighter just thinking about it until someone snatches hold of my arm. Lily is dragging me around some of the racks of clothes, and with the pace she’s keeping, the woman isn’t messing around about hiding. Weird.
“Where are we going?”
“You don’t want to go that way,” Lily says.
“Can I just say that if your job was to keep me away from somewhere, you’re terrible at it.” Now I want to wheel back and see exactly what she’s keeping me from.
Spoke too soon.
I freeze, my blood cold when I catch sight of Sawyer’s tall, stupidly handsome head. Why in the blazes is this town so small? I rub the spot over my heart, trying to slow the pace. Lily squeezes my arm and mouths sorry.