Bad Love (Modern Romance Book 2)

by Piper Lawson

  Sorry doesn’t fix the hole in my gut or the fact that everything I took for granted as a part of me is spilling on the floor. It hurts, but I’m numb at the same time.

  “Tell me you weren’t dumb enough to initiate.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Even I’m not that dumb, Montgomery.”

  He curses. "You can't change her mind? You're a bulldozer. You'll wear her down with sheer enthusiasm."

  Normally I'd use whatever I had to get my way. But I don't want her coming to me if it's not what she wants.

  I shake my head as I stop in front of a bag of corn chips, break the seal, and grab one. "That's just it. She's not the kind of woman to be talked into things. And even if I could, she’s used to being with guys who want her to change. So even if I win, I lose."

  I know I could convince her to fuck me, but for once, that's not the answer. I don't want her in bed.

  I want her everywhere.

  I hold up the chip and inspect it. It's oddly translucent, as if it's more air than corn.

  Maybe it is.

  Maybe we all are.

  "All right. So you have to let her go."

  My stomach clenches at Monty’s words. I toss the chip in the trash because the idea of eating has gone from disinteresting to revolting.

  "What do you do when you're fucked up over a girl, Monty?"

  He sighs. “Nothing healthy.”

  “If I was gonna fix this with yoga and self-reflection, I wouldn’t have come to poker.”

  My best friend rubs a hand over his beard. "Fine. You really want to know? I’d throw myself into work. Deal with the shit I can control. Pretend it isn’t happening.”

  I stare down my friend, thinking for the first time in a long time that Monty hasn’t had a serious girlfriend for as long as I can remember. I’d always thought running Hunter’s Cross was his calling, but it never occurred to me that he might be throwing himself into that instead of people.

  “You can't make her want to be with you,” he goes on. “But you can keep your life from circling the drain so that, when you do feel like living again? Your life’s still there."

  Sarabeth's is busy on Saturday morning, but when I get there fifteen minutes early for our reservation, the hostess seats me.

  "Somewhere private," I request.

  I look through the glass onto the indoor atrium, checking the messages on my phone and pretending the next hour won’t shape the rest of my life.

  "You wanted to meet before the board meeting?"

  I look up at the sound of my grandmother's voice. My gut twists as I take in her expression, mostly in case it’s the last time I see it. My grams can be tough across a negotiating table—or the dinner table, for that matter—but she’s always had a kind look I swear is reserved for me.

  I don’t think I’ll be getting that look once I finish what I have to say.

  I pull out her chair, and she slides easily into the seat. "I hope you've thought about what I said at the party."

  My neck itches, but I resist the urge to rub it as I sink into my chair. "I have. And I need to tell you something."

  She lifts a brow.

  "I fucked up."

  She doesn't flinch.

  "I said I was running marketing. Until a month ago, I wasn’t. I did the PR and in-front-of-camera stuff. But Deacon was doing the heavy lifting. It was my idea. I only started doing more a month ago because he quit."

  I fill in the details before she can say anything.

  Her eyes have sharpened. It’s not her boardroom look, but there’s a wariness that wasn’t there a moment ago. As if she thinks she’s about to be ambushed.

  Smart woman.

  "Did Montgomery know?" she asks carefully.

  "Yes. But he didn't approve."

  The waitress comes over. "Can I get you something to drink?"

  "Tea," I say.

  "Bourbon," says my grandmother.

  "Err—I’m not sure we have bourbon."

  "Fine. Coffee. Black as it comes. Logan—" she starts as the waitress disappears.

  I hold up a hand. "Wait. It gets worse."

  Her fingers twist her napkin before laying it across her lap. "Oh dear."

  I square my shoulders. If I’m going to deliver this, I’m damn well going to do it like a man. "I wagered my stake in the company. It was an ignorant bet I was sure I could win. But that doesn't excuse the fact that I did it, and I shouldn't have."

  I meet her cool gaze. She doesn't look as shocked as I’d thought she would, but she's good at maintaining her composure. Being a businesswoman, she has to be.

  “I don’t want you to think that I made the bet because I don’t love this company. Or that I don’t respect what you’ve built. On the contrary, I respect it—and you—more than anything in the world. The poor decision rests entirely on me. On my…” I struggle for words—a rarity. “Weakness of character.”

  Our drinks come, and the waitress takes our food order. I don’t notice what I order or what my grandmother does.

  Hell, I'm assuming we'll be here long enough to eat, though that may be untrue.

  When we're alone again, my grandmother picks up her steaming cup of coffee.

  She sips it, her steely eyes on me from over the rim.

  I start to wonder if she's forgotten what I said. The possibility gives me hope.

  Briefly.

  When she sets down the cup, she says, "That behavior is irresponsible and impulsive."

  Her sharp voice cuts me to the bone.

  "I understand. And I'm not leaving Hunter’s Cross like this." I hand over the folder I've been working on for the last two weeks. "I've been working on ideas for how to grow the business. You don't want me running the company, or even the marketing department, but I put together some plans for the next person who takes it over.”

  It turns out Deacon wasn't perfect either. He was behind on paperwork. Deferred numerous projects that should’ve gone forward and green-lit others that should’ve been axed.

  "I know why we're not growing. And I'm going to fix it,” I say. “I'll make sure of it before someone new takes over. I can't make up the amount of value I've lost, but I will work until I do."

  The waitress returns with our plates. I stare at the eggs Benedict, hollandaise running over brioche. Not sure I’m gonna be able to eat any of that today.

  When the waitress departs again, I clear my throat. "I've never expected anything from this business. But I've always admired what you did. How strong you are. I wanted to love it the way you did even if I didn't deserve to."

  She peers down at the folder for barely long enough to count the pages.

  The hollow feeling in my stomach grows.

  "You've given me more than enough to think about. In light of everything you've raised, I think breakfast is on you."

  29

  "Hey. I haven't seen you around in forever." The barista grins at me from across the counter. "The usual?"

  "Sure. Plus whatever he wants." I turn toward Rory, who's studying the menu with a critical eye.

  "Little brother?" the barista asks.

  "Rory's my son."

  His smile wanes a few degrees, but I don’t care. I fish in my pocket for change and come up with a flash drive.

  "Ahh… we don't barter."

  "Of course. I'm not sure where that came from." I hand him a credit card instead.

  Once upon a time, I thought the guy was cute.

  I don’t know when I last thought that. Probably around the time I met Logan Hunter.

  "How about that for your talent?” I ask Rory as we pass a busker juggling on the way to my office. “I bet we could find a YouTube video. You could juggle in no time."

  "I don't think so."

  I hold in a sigh. "Honey, it's this weekend. Maybe you should memorize part of your favorite book."

  "Mom.” He stops.

  I turn back to see my son rooted to the sidewalk. “What is it?”

  “I’m not doing the t
alent show.”

  My stomach flips over. "Come on, your grandparents said they'd come. And your dad.” Though I’m less excited about that part.

  “It seems like every time you talk about it, you’re worried. I don’t want you to worry.”

  “Rory, I’m fine.” I go to ruffle his hair, but he ducks away.

  “Then why are you sad all the time?” His compassionate gaze works over mine. “Is it because Logan hasn’t been around?”

  Damn it. My own kid knows my head’s a mess. I fight against the emotion that rises up. “Remember when you left that cookbook behind on the train and you were sad for a few days? Grown-ups get like that too.”

  He takes my hand and squeezes. “What’d you leave behind?”

  Just my heart.

  I don’t know how to do this. I can be strong by myself, but when Rory looks at me like this, it’s so hard. I force a smile and suggest we play our usual game on the way to my office.

  As we enter the kitchen at Closer, Rena asks, "Who do we have here? Are you the new intern? How nice of you to get me coffee." Her eyes sparkling with recognition, she pretends to reach for his cup, and he holds it away.

  "I'm Rory," he informs her. "You know me."

  "You do look vaguely familiar."

  "PD day at school," I explain, feeling more under control after a few blocks’ walk in the sunshine. "Daisy let me bring him to work. Rory, want to go water the plants?"

  "Okay."

  He heads for the conference room, and I watch through the glass wall.

  "How’s the big campaign going?”

  "Sales are a little low, but we had a second set of product reviewers testing the vibe. Their comments should go live today.”

  "What's in your hand?"

  I eye the flash drive with a combination of trepidation and guilt, surprised it’s still there. "It's from Logan for Rory. I was so overwhelmed with everything that I stuck it in my pocket and forgot he gave it to me."

  Part of me wants to leave it alone. Breaking up with Logan was hard enough. I hadn’t expected him to leave such a big hole in my life after only a couple months.

  Like when I see a beautiful travel destination and want to ask Logan if he’s been there. Or look at the “Do Me” list and have zero appetite for any of the things on it. Or when Rory wants to talk about a new recipe.

  "Don't you want to know what it is? You'll always wonder,” Rena prompts.

  With her permission, I plug the drive into her computer, then Rena and I share her earbuds.

  I'm not sure what I expected, but I'm startled when the chef from the restaurant we went to on Rory's birthday pops up in a video file. "Happy Birthday, Rory. Logan asked me to give you some advice from a current professional chef to a future one. When I was nine, I used to bake all the time. Some people don't understand that. Ignore them. Do what you love."

  What the…?

  The screen cuts away, and there's another chef.

  The bar at the bottom of the screen says we're only a quarter of the way through the file.

  "How many are there?" Rena asks in awe.

  I click through spots. Six chefs, at least half of whom I've heard of—and not only from Rory—are wishing him luck and saying happy birthday.

  "What are you watching?"

  We jump as my kid comes up behind us.

  I swallow. "Logan made you something. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you sooner."

  I hand him the headphones, and he pops them into his ears. When I restart the video, his face transforms. He's totally engaged, rapt.

  My hand hurts, and I realize Rena's squeezing it.

  "That's a pretty epic gift," she says softly.

  I can't imagine how long it took him to round up all these people, even with the connections he must have.

  "Bloody hell!" Rory explodes, delighted.

  I pull the headphones from the jack, and the audio cuts in. "If you have questions about becoming a chef or what it's like, you can email me. And I hope you'll visit me at my restaurant. I'll show you around the kitchen, and you can help me with pasta service. I understand that's your favorite food."

  Damn it.

  There are no words. There's only the look on my kid's face.

  As if someone looked inside him and smiled at what they found.

  Logan saw Rory, really saw him. He got Rory, and he respected him for who he was.

  Not whether he was in a talent show or whether he could ride a bike.

  He did exactly what Rory needed. Logan was the only one who did.

  The numbness in my chest dissolves into a throbbing ache, and I press my hand over my ribs as if I can rub it away.

  "Can I watch it again?" Rory asks, cutting into my thoughts.

  "Sure. Excuse me a sec." I go to the kitchen and grab a tissue, sniffing before I blow my nose.

  "You okay, lady?" Rena asks, her voice full of kindness.

  I toss the tissue away and suck in a deep breath. Moms don’t cry. "I put all this blame on Logan for not showing on Rory's birthday. But he said something about how it's not Rory keeping us apart—it's me.”

  Fuck it, maybe moms do cry.

  I grab another tissue. Plus one for insurance.

  I rub my eyes, knowing I’m going to look like a raccoon and not even caring. "I’ve always been the girl who screwed up. With Blake,” I explain through hiccupping breaths. “I don't want to prove them right by falling for the kind of guy you fall for when you're twenty, Rena. Who's too hot for real life, who has a grin that melts your panties, who makes you want to do dirty things every hour of the day and offers to help you with them."

  She lifts a brow. “Because…?”

  "Responsible women don't go around having crazy sex with former models. They take care of their kids, try to make good choices. Better choices," I amend, realizing how stupid it all sounds now.

  "What if there's nothing wrong with your choices? Not then, not now, not ever?"

  I ball my tissues into a tight wad and squeeze it in one fist, lifting my chin. "Then I'm an idiot."

  Motion in the doorway has us both looking up. "Mom?" Rory asks. “I have an idea for the talent show.”

  Later that afternoon, I go in the back end of the website for the vibrators.

  If sales are continuing on the same trajectory, we should be halfway to target.

  But when the page loads, the numbers are off.

  I hit refresh twice to be sure.

  No.

  Purchases have dropped off significantly even though lots of people have been viewing the page.

  What’s going on?

  Holding my breath, I click over to the main website.

  I know the stakes resting on this. I gave Logan my word I'd see this through. My ability to pick clients and send Rory to camp is one thing, but this is Logan’s company we’re talking about. His family’s company. And the consequences are real for him.

  That's when I see it…

  The dozen great reviews have been drowned out by nearly fifty terrible ones.

  My stomach plummets. That’s impossible.

  What happened? Did Ben's tech let us down? Was there some part of the product I overlooked?

  I click the reviews and read. They’re truly appalling. They don't sound anything like the tester feedback we got…

  I start to call Logan, then hesitate as I reread the last review.

  Nowhere near as good as the old one. That thing was clutch.

  “Clutch.” Not exactly the most common way to describe a vibrator.

  But I do remember someone using that word recently.

  Fire starts in my gut, the kind I haven’t felt in years.

  I hit the number for the Charlotte Hotel. "Could you put me through to Nelson please? Tell him it's Kendall Sullivan."

  A few minutes later, his voice comes on. "Kendall. You looking to host another event at the Charlotte?"

  "That’s not why I’m calling. Those product reviews on the new Petal vibe sound suspicious
ly like you.”

  I half expect him to deny it, but he doesn’t.

  “You'd tank your own company to win a bet?"

  I can almost hear him shrug. "Won’t be my company long. It’s going on the auction block."

  My brain races to get out ahead of his warped logic. "But we put work into this product. You could make money on this, Nelson. At a minimum, having a strong-selling product makes this company worth more when you sell it. Logan did you a favor."

  "Never said I didn’t appreciate Hunter.” The blasé tone is gone, and there’s an edge underneath. “You didn’t know him then, but back in school? He was the go-to guy for everything. A bet. A trip. A party. But so were a lot of guys. Later, most of them decided they were too good for that. They traded the good times for eighty-hour work weeks and conference calls.

  “But those assholes will wake up in twenty years and see that building businesses, putting their real lives on hold to run on some made up hamster wheel—it’s all bullshit.

  “They think what we do is play games? They’re playing a bigger one, and they don’t even get it. Hunter gets it. He doesn’t care about shit that doesn’t matter and never has. But lately, I dunno what’s got into him. He’s not the same."

  Nellie’s voice drops off at the end, and I realize he’s not pissed—he’s sad.

  Nellie doesn’t like that Logan’s growing up and taking an interest in more than poker and bets.

  I feel for him.

  Because I know what it’s like to lose Logan, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

  My gaze drops to the origami flower on my desk, a double of the one I made at home. I’ve made two flowers, a dog and a cat for Rory, and a tiny box Rena claims is for her coke, which I’m pretty sure is a joke.

  I wouldn’t have made any if it wasn’t for Logan.

  "I'm not taking him away from you,” I say softly. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. But Hunter’s Cross means the world to him. You're his friend. You must know that."

  "Well… yeah."

  "So, you'll take down the reviews?" Hope leaps in my chest.

  I can almost see the wheels turning in his head as he says, "I could. But it'd take some time. And I’m not backing down on this bet. We’ve come too far for that."