No One Like You

by Heather McGovern

  “I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. But today, the nurse said flu season ain’t over until May. I had to cancel my out-of-town gig. And this prom. Everything hurts, man. Everything.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell, just…” This was a big deal. The seniors of Windamere were counting on him.

  Brooke was counting on him.

  “I’m sorry,” Bobby said. “I even called a friend of mine in the business, but he’s booked already.”

  Trevor scrubbed a hand over his face.

  Think, think, think.

  He had to fix this. Brooke was going to freak out.

  But how?

  “You know I’d do it if I could. Doc put me on Tamiflu, but it ain’t doing jack that I can tell. If I feel better in the next couple of days—”

  “No, you won’t feel better that fast, Bobby. You just came down with it today?”

  “Like out of nowhere. I’ve never been run over, but I woke up feeling like I had.”

  “Yeah, you’re going to be down for the count for a least a week. Unfortunately, I’ve been there. You puke yet?”

  “Oh God, dude. I feel like I’m going to right now.”

  Trevor closed his eyes and pressed the back of his head against the headrest.

  The words “backup plan” marched through his mind in a military formation.

  The notion was ludicrous. They didn’t have the money for that, but Brooke was right. He’d celebrated too soon.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Bobby asked.

  “No, I wish. Right now you just have to concentrate on getting better.”

  But Trevor couldn’t wait and hope DJ Knight might emerge victorious from Bobby’s influenza within a few days, ready to DJ a prom.

  Only in his dreams.

  “Go rest,” Trevor told him. “Lots of water and sleep and Tylenol. That’s about all you can do.”

  “Thanks. Again, I’m sorry.”

  As he said goodbye, he told Bobby, once more, this wasn’t his fault.

  This was Trevor’s fault.

  He ran inside and called every good DJ he could think of. Then every halfway decent one.

  Nothing. Even crap DJs were booked.

  The prom was two days away, and he’d failed.

  Chapter 28

  Brooke’s office bordered on arctic and she cupped both hands around her coffee as she waited on her computer to wake up.

  Two days until the prom and everything was lined up and ready to go. At least she could breathe easier about that, because there was no breathing at all when it came to the hotel’s finances.

  As she entered her password, Beans scampered into her office, helping himself to her lap.

  The chateau’s accounts stared back at her from the monitor, in all their gaunt glory.

  “Things don’t look too good, Beans.” She scratched the center of his head.

  Beans was decidedly more optimistic, his curly tail wagging as much as it could.

  The prom this weekend would drum up some publicity, but that wouldn’t be enough. The local paper was running an article on what Jolie was doing for the school—Honeywilde included, though that didn’t bother her quite as much as before—and she’d gotten one of the regional TV news channels to do a segment on it. Still, buzz took a while to build and they needed the income sooner rather than later.

  “Maybe pooch people will start noticing our ads and checking in.” Brooke scratched behind one ear, glancing down into his soulful black eyes.

  He tilted his head back and forth, as if trying to understand.

  She’d run the promo for a pet-friendly Jolie too, but so far, no bump in bookings.

  “There he is.” Laurel approached her desk and tilted her head, looking a bit like a confused puppy herself. “Were you talking to the dog?”

  “No.”

  Laurel stared, expressionless.

  “Maybe.”

  “Awwww.”

  “Don’t start.”

  “You’re bonding.”

  Brooke handed Beans over. “I can’t help it. He’s cute and comforting.”

  Laurel cradled Beans like a baby, and then spoke to him like one. “You are cute and comforting, aren’t you? Are you as cute and comforting as Trevor Bradley? I think you are. Yes, I do. Yes, I do.”

  “Laurel.”

  “I’m surprised he was with you, is all. And call me crazy, but you looked like you were enjoying the quality Beans time. Last month, he wouldn’t have set foot in here without me.” Laurel studied Brooke, understanding in her steady gaze. An awareness that was far too keen for comfort. “Dogs sense a lot, you know.”

  “So you’ve told me.”

  “Because it’s true.”

  Another long, unnerving silence. Is this what Trevor meant by the Sargent stare?

  Laurel bounced Beans over to her hip. “You’re happy, and Beans can sense that. Happiness suits you, sis.”

  “Thank you.”

  She turned to go, but pointed to Brooke’s inbox. “And please go through your mail. It’s slowly taking over the office.”

  A potential avalanche of envelopes filled the decorative metal bin.

  Brooke gave the pile of papers the side-eye. Her focus needed to be on chateau financials, not dozens of solicitations, catalogs, and inescapable invoices.

  She poked at the pile like she was poking at a bear. The tower toppled to the side, glossy postcards and stock paper envelopes sliding across the mahogany top of her desk.

  One envelope stood out among the rest. Creamy white, high-quality stock, with gold embossing on the envelope.

  She knew that look well. Her attorney was the only contact she had who’d spend that kind of money on mail.

  As she reached for the thick envelope, a crater opened up in her stomach.

  For days she’d avoided her attorney’s calls and voice mails. She’d called the Barracuda back once and the short conversation was more than enough. Nick wanted more. He wanted Jolie. He wanted her soul, and Brooke refused to let him have it, no matter how much she had to pay her attorney to fight him.

  What more was there to say on the matter?

  With her mother’s old letter opener, she sliced through the top of the envelope and tried to steady her breathing with a sip of coffee.

  She read a few key words and set her coffee down to keep from dropping it.

  Definition of marital property.

  Defendant seeks negotiation.

  Acquired asset.

  Equitable distribution of property.

  This whole ordeal was only about money. She had to remember that. More precisely, who ended up with the most money in the end.

  Like everything else with him, this was a competition for Nick and he didn’t want Brooke to win. She might’ve been the one to leave, but he’d be the one triumphant.

  Trevor’s words pushed through her mind. Her ex’s bitterness and anger weren’t her fault. This had nothing to do with her, and Nick’s misery wasn’t because she was a bad person.

  She knew that now.

  Still, the attack stung. Even though she knew it was coming, his destructive greed hurt.

  Her ex-husband’s attorney’s signature filled the bottom corner of the last page, scrawled in in inky, jagged lines.

  She hated that signature. Hated the stupid, pompous twenty-four-pound paper he used and its cream color, because twenty-one pound in ivory wasn’t fancy enough. She hated that this paper and these letters were the last bastion of communication she had with a man she struggled not to despise, the last link to a part of her life that she wanted to leave far behind.

  But Nick wouldn’t let her.

  Brooke’s gaze caught on the words Equitable distribution of property.

  “Equitable distribution, my patoo
t.”

  Nick only cared about winning, and that meant getting more money. She had precious little money. All she had was Jolie and he could not have it.

  Paying her ex alimony was ludicrous to begin with. The judge didn’t think so, but it wasn’t her fault Nick had scuttled his career and she’d been successful.

  She removed the do not disturb flag on her phone and finally forced herself to scan through Nick’s texts.

  We’re not done. If you don’t want this to get worse, you’ll call me.

  She opened her mouth to scream. But there could be guests in the lobby.

  She grabbed the nearest thing. Her planner. And launched it across the room. The space was wide enough that the planner didn’t hit anything except the floor. Dozens of notes and memos flew out, scattering across the floor.

  He couldn’t have Jolie. Her attorney would never let that happen. But in his attempt, he kept stopping her from moving on. He kept his claws dug into her life.

  She was finally moving on. Trevor had strolled into her life and brought some calm and contentment. A chance at happiness was something she believed in again, but true happiness remained out of reach, because Brooke would be dealing with this…with her ex…forever.

  Nick won, even if he was awarded nothing.

  And she hated him.

  It was wrong to hate. Bad for the soul. But hate him, she did.

  Grinding down on her back teeth, she clenched her fists until her nails bit into the skin of her palm.

  Maybe she would scream after all. Who cared what the guests thought? Not like there were a ton of them checked into the chateau anyway.

  Nick brought out her absolute worst.

  Four years she’d put up with living like this. The accusations, the cruel comments. Now that she’d finally fought back, the situation kept getting worse.

  Brooke crumpled and threw the letter.

  She should burn it.

  Nick’s attorney claimed that Chateau Jolie was worth more than reported, and that the property was Brooke’s while they were married.

  She’d never worked for Jolie or had any part of it while they were married. He couldn’t come after her family’s hotel and vineyard.

  But he could try.

  She remembered thanking God that they never had children; otherwise she’d never be rid of him. Now it seemed he was going to stay in her life forever anyway.

  Finally, she did scream.

  The agonizing sound had to come out.

  She screamed at the monster he’d become, or maybe he’d always been one. She screamed for the life she wanted without him but couldn’t attain. And she screamed at the young woman she’d been. The woman who was stupid enough to let him into her life.

  Moments later, Reagan was in her office, panic stricken. “Are you okay? If you saw a rat, I’m going to die.”

  Brooke fought back the tears.

  Not of hurt. She’d gotten over being hurt years ago.

  Fury. She wanted to punch somebody.

  “Uh-oh.” Reagan’s face fell. “Nick.”

  Brooke nodded and swallowed the knot in her throat. “His attorney has filed a motion. I got a letter from my attorney. He’s going through with trying to take part of Jolie.”

  “That’s bullshit!”

  “I know.”

  “He won’t win.”

  “I know.”

  “Everything was in Mom and Dad’s name until last year.”

  “I know.”

  “You have to fight him.”

  “Reagan,” she snapped, “I know. But fighting him will cost money. Money that we don’t have.”

  “I don’t care.” Her sister, always “ready, fire, aim,” thrust out her chin and pointed her finger at no one in particular. “If we have to sell off everything that isn’t vital and live off beans for a year, we’ll do it. We are not giving up any part of Jolie to that a-hole. If I need to start dating the honorable old Herbert Allen to get some free court costs, I’ll do it,” Reagan said, referring to the ancient judge who ruled over the city courthouse downtown. “I mean, he’s about ninety, but whatever.”

  The knot returned to Brooke’s throat as she laughed.

  Reagan was bossy and overdramatic, but fiercely loyal. She meant every word she said. Ninety-year-old boyfriend and all.

  But they weren’t going to starve or date Herbert Allen.

  Brooke sighed.

  She didn’t have the answer, but somehow, she’d save Jolie.

  Chapter 29

  Trevor’s guard went up the moment he walked into Jolie.

  A thick sense of dread filled the air, and not just because he was walking to the gallows.

  Something dire had already gone down at the chateau.

  He made his way to Brooke’s office. The door was closed. He knocked.

  “What?” With a jerky motion, the door opened. Brooke stood, grim, on the other side. “Oh, hey.” Her planner clutched to her chest, she grabbed a handful of papers off the floor.

  “Hey.” He eased into the room like easing around a snake. “Everything okay?”

  His bad news about the DJ needed to wait for another day. Except, they didn’t have other days.

  “Just dandy. You?” Brooke’s tone was tight, her posture rigid, as she stood and returned to her desk to put down everything in her hands.

  Trevor cut through the bullshit rather than dance around the pile. “You’re upset. What’s going on?”

  She searched her office with the most hopeless, lost gaze he’d ever seen on her face.

  “Brooke.” He moved closer and placed his hand on her arm. “Seriously. Are you okay?”

  “Not really.” She tossed a hand up in the air, dislodging his touch. “Same stuff as always. Can’t get away from it, no matter what I do or how hard I try.” With a glance toward him, she laughed, but the sound held no humor. “No matter who I meet.”

  He rubbed the arm he touched. “Okay. I might need a little more to go on. I’m not following.”

  “I’m trying to run a business and…I can’t.”

  “What are you talking about? You aren’t trying; you’re doing it.”

  “No. I’m failing. I’m failing my family and myself, Jolie is struggling, and all of this on top of trying to leave a life behind that won’t let me go. My sisters want to help and they love me, but this is my fault. I should be able to clean up the mess I made, but I can’t. It’s too much, Trevor.”

  “I know.” He held her arms again, rubbing them as he led her toward the chairs that faced her desk.

  Brooke was spiraling.

  He wasn’t clear on exactly what she meant or what catalyst caused this whirlpool, but he had to figure it out if he was going to help.

  Finally, she sat and he took the seat next to her.

  “What’s going on?” he tried again.

  Brooke simply shook her head, her glassy-eyed gaze a thousand miles away.

  “You know I’ll listen. I’m here for you.”

  This brought her gaze to his. “I know. You’re…” She reached over, sliding her fingers across his forearm to hold on. “You’ve been nothing but good to me. You don’t need to get dragged into all this.”

  “This what?” He placed his hand over hers.

  “Jolie. The mess we’re in. Things are only going to get harder around here.”

  “I’ve been through hard times. For a long time.”

  “I know, but if you think I’m a lot to deal with now, there’s no telling how bad I’ll be in the next few months.”

  “Who said I think you’re a lot to deal with now?”

  Brooke Sargent’s stare bore into his skull. “I know I’m a lot to deal with.”

  “So?”

  “The new pet-friendly advertising isn’t working. The publici
ty from sponsoring the prom isn’t working. Nothing is working. We’re still losing money left and right because we can’t book rooms.”

  “You need more time. The promo only hit recently. Seeing results takes a few weeks, at least. You know this.”

  “Doesn’t matter what I know. I don’t have a few weeks.”

  He had no response. Unless Jolie’s situation was a lot direr than she initially let on, they should be able to wait a few weeks or even a few months for the buzz and promo to kick in.

  “What can I do?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I could use a hug though.”

  “Of course.” He stood, opening his arms. He embraced her in the warmest hug he’d ever offered. If he could chase away her problem he would.

  “At least the prom is progressing without a hitch,” she said.

  His stomach dropped. “Um. I do have some bad news about the DJ.”

  Brooke stiffened in his arms.

  “Still fixable, somehow, but the guy I booked has the flu. He canceled on me last night.”

  She lurched away. “Last night. Are you freaking kidding me? And you’re only telling me now?”

  “Because I was trying to find someone else. Literally all night long.”

  “I knew this would happen.” With a squint and pursed lips, Brooke appeared ready to choke someone.

  That someone didn’t need to be him.

  Brooke turned, digging her hands into her hair as she put several feet between them. “What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m working on it. I’ll figure something out.”

  “How? You said you stayed up all night looking for someone else. Did you find anyone?”

  “No.” He grimaced.

  “Then there you go.” She threw her hands up. “We’re screwed.”

  “No, we aren’t. Very worst-case scenario, I’ll get some speakers and a Spotify list. I have great taste in music.”

  “No!” she snapped. “That’s exactly what Lance was going to do before, and we told them we would do better.”

  “But in a worst-case scenario, we’ll have to do whatever we can. Those kids won’t be upset. Not with everything else they’re getting.”

  “I will be upset.” Brooke jabbed her finger against her chest. “I care. We have to fix this.”