Bad Love (Modern Romance Book 2)

by Piper Lawson

  Frustration works through me. “Come on, Nelson. Please.”

  "Come on you,” comes the response. “You’re the marketing girl. You think this is God's gift to women? You tell 'em how good it is."

  I hang up, lowering my face between my knees and rubbing my temples.

  Think, Kendall.

  This isn’t about sending Rory to camp or about picking my clients.

  This is for Logan.

  If you’d told me six months ago I’d be running a national campaign to sell sex toys—ones I had a hand in improving, I’d have laughed and blushed you out of the room.

  But I’m not that woman anymore.

  Because there’s something that matters more than all of it: Logan’s family’s company.

  I dig my fingers into my forehead as if the small circles will dislodge something important.

  Then I pull out my notebook and open to a new page after the list of contacts I used to sell talent show tickets.

  Nelson’s words play back through my mind.

  “You think this is God's gift to women? You tell 'em how good it is.”

  My pen stills on the page as my gaze flicks back to the list.

  I have an idea.

  30

  "Next order of business," Monty says from the corner of the boardroom table. "Reviewing projections for the next twelve months."

  The shareholders’ meeting is small relative to most companies’ because Hunter’s Cross is held by a few people. My grandmother. Me. Monty. Two silent partners who provided capital in the early days. The only other senior management reps are our CFO and Freddy.

  Monty walks us through the documents distributed in advance.

  My vision blurs, not because the content bores me, but because I’ve been poring over it for weeks. Enough that it’s tattooed on the backs of my eyelids when I sleep.

  "To summarize, because of current economic conditions, we’re expecting slow growth to a modest contraction over the next year. There’s a possibility we’ll need to make some cuts, but we’ll do everything we can to avoid that outcome.”

  Because of the small number of people in the meeting, it's conspicuous when one person is avoiding looking at another the way my grandmother hasn't looked at me since I confessed about the bet with Nellie.

  I want to take off. To drive to La Guardia, hop on a plane to somewhere in Europe. I could lose myself partying and diving and forget all of this.

  But that won't fix the hole in my chest that was there before all this shit with Hunter’s Cross came tumbling down.

  “Logan, anything to add?"

  “Yes, I have something to add.” I straighten. “Those projections are bullshit.”

  Every pair of eyes around the table sharpens.

  “No disrespect to conservative planning. I know we need to cover our bases and make sure we protect the company and keep our employees paying their mortgages,” I say with a look to Monty. “But expecting contraction feels like conceding defeat.”

  “How do you propose growing?” our CFO prompts.

  “Tradition without the bullshit.” I remind him of our tagline. “There are individuals and brands that’ve been in this market as long as we have. Longer. Ones with an eye to excellence. We can bring that into the future

  “The new fruit beers are only the beginning of the new recipes we could try. But we need to balance that innovation with discipline.

  “But that only works if people know about it, which is why we start exclusive partnerships lined up with celebrity chefs to promote the brand.”

  My grandmother taps her fingers on the table. “Chefs? What chefs, Logan?”

  I open my tablet and hit a few keys to connect to the projector at one end of the room. The website of one of New York’s hottest restaurants pops up.

  “Him.”

  I flick my finger and another one appears. “Her.”

  Again. “Them.”

  I show them half a dozen more across the northeastern United States.

  Then I outline the joint promotion plan I’ve been assembling for weeks, though the seeds of ideas started before then.

  “And what makes you think they’d partner with us?” the CFO asks. My grandmother is silent, watchful.

  “Because I’ve spoken to them and it’s a done deal. All you have to say is yes.”

  My grandmother, Monty, our CFO, and Frederick look at one another.

  If the past two weeks of solitude did me a favor, it’s that I had plenty of time for soul searching. I can’t run pivot tables, but I know beer, and I know our customers. I don't have the results of the bet yet, but this is something I can control.

  Either way, this is my last time in this room. What I haven't told these people is that whether I lose to Nellie or win, I’m stepping back from the business. If I win, I’m giving my voting rights to Monty.

  "This is an interesting proposal.” Monty looks down at the papers, but my grandmother doesn’t bother with niceties.

  "What the hell is this?”

  I meet her gaze head-on. "My best ideas for how to grow the company. Deacon was good at a lot of things, but he left value on the table. It's not fair to the business or the customers or to you. You taught me that.”

  Silence falls over the table.

  Monty clears his throat. "All right, then. Perhaps given the nature of this relatively new material, we should table it for the next meeting and give the board time to review.” I nod. I won’t be here, but at least they’ll have all the information they need to move ahead. If they want to shoot themselves in the foot, it’s on them. “Next order of business: the transition of shares. Mrs. Hunter, you have an announcement."

  My grandmother shifts forward, folding her hands. "Yes, I do. My grandson, Logan Hunter, will be taking over majority ownership of the company. I will be transitioning my fifty-one percent ownership to him over a period of twelve months."

  My ears ring, and I shake my head because I'm not hearing right. "Wait. Since when?"

  "I need someone creative. Who can get out of problems. I also want someone who'll admit to them. Besides, you’ve provided so many ideas. Now we need someone to implement them. Unless you're not up to the task?"

  I rub my hands on my slacks under the table as I turn the words over in my head. Majority ownership would mean that even if I lose the bet and my current twenty percent goes to Nellie, I’ll still call the shots.

  I've got lots of ideas. And over the past month of pinch-hitting, I've been learning more about how the business runs.

  "I’m not doing it alone,” I say at last. “Monty would need to commit to continuing as chief executive. Any issues we can resolve together.”

  My best friend nods tightly. “Fine by me.”

  There’re a few minutes of discussion I try to focus on despite the ringing in my ears. We take a vote, and somehow I end up getting my grandmother's share of the company.

  After the meeting wraps up, I approach Monty. "Did you know about this?”

  He packs up his laptop computer. “I had a feeling.”

  “And you’re okay with it.” I stare him down. “I haven’t made the best decisions in the past. With the business. Hell, even with you.”

  My best friend frowns. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?”

  I shove a hand through my hair, nodding to the others as they leave the room. “That dive in school, for one.”

  “Christ, tell me you’re not still hung up on that.” His eyes close. “Things happen we can’t control. All we can do is try to get ahead of them. And when we can’t, we react as best we can. I’ve never regretted calling you my best friend. Not once.”

  I let out a half laugh that feels at odds with the tightness in my chest.

  "Now that you’re responsible for Hunter’s Cross, you're going to have to be at the office before ten," Monty quips.

  "Let's not go crazy."

  I pack up my things, and a slip of folded paper slides out of my padfolio onto the table.
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  “What is that?”

  I reach for the pink flower, thinking about the night Kendall gave it to me. “A gift.”

  Monty shakes his head. “La fleur que tu m'avais jetée, dans ma prison m'était restée.”

  Carmen.

  The flower that you tossed to me, in my prison stayed with me.

  “You would quote Bizet at the end of a board meeting.”

  He folds his arms. “What I’m saying is you haven’t given up.”

  I turn the flower in my fingertips. “Nah. Not given up.”

  I can’t give up on Kendall. And now that I’ve done my best for Hunter’s Cross, I’m turning every part of my attention to winning her back.

  I don’t care if she’s not ready to talk. I’ll make her see she’s the only one I want. That I’d give anything I have to make her happy. That I’m the only man who can.

  As I tuck the origami flower safely away, my phone buzzes.

  Nellie: Well played, asshole.

  It’s accompanied by a picture of a key card with a fancy C sitting on what looks like the concierge desk.

  It takes a minute for me to catch up. The key’s for the penthouse at the Charlotte.

  My heart hammers in my chest, a heavy thud that echoes in my ears. “I won.”

  Nellie: I didn't see your savior coming to the rescue.

  “What the hell?” Monty demands, staring at the link Nellie included with the text.

  It’s a link to a video on a major news network.

  I follow it, and the video autoplays.

  “Is that Kendall?!”

  I’m as floored as Monty, but he’s not wrong.

  It’s just a woman’s face in the frame.

  A gorgeous woman. A woman I never thought I’d see smile in my direction again.

  But there she is.

  And she’s not talking to me.

  "I’m sending this video to you not because you’re a close friend, but because you’re a mom in my network. You’re trusting me by watching this, and to be honest, I’m trusting you by sharing it.”

  She swallows, taking a steadying breath.

  “My name is Kendall Sullivan, and I’m a mom. Since you are too, you know how hard life can get. No matter your family situation, career situation, there are so many pressures to do things right and not make mistakes. To be the person they want you to be on the outside. To put everyone else ahead of you.

  “But recently, I met a man who showed me there’s another way. And before you start asking, I’m not talking about Jesus.” I choke on a laugh. “Although he and I still have a good relationship.

  “This man came to me for my help, but really? He helped me. He showed me it’s possible to be yourself and love other people. To be bold in trying new things.”

  My hands tighten on the phone.

  “And that thing he wanted help with? It was selling vibrators. If he sells ten thousand, he gets the thing he always wanted but never realized he did. And second chances are a beautiful thing.

  “So, I hope you’ll consider buying one. It’s for a good cause. Two good causes, really.

  “Before you start thinking this is exclusively some play on your emotions, let me assure you: the product is amazing. I can testify to that.” Kendall holds up the vibe in the frame as she explains how it works. My gaze drifts from her full lips to her earnest hazel gaze to the faint flush in her cheeks, and I'm so full of feelings I don’t know where to put them. “No matter what your sex life is like, this will help. If you’ve been denying yourself for a while—or forever,” she goes on, the pink spreading to her neck, “this could be what you need. Or if you have a dresser full of toys—no judgement here—then share this with someone who might need one in their life.”

  Monty and I watch the thing through to the end. The numbness that’s taken up residence in my gut for the past few weeks melts to incredulity, then evaporates too.

  What’s left is powerful enough I can barely breathe.

  Gratitude. Longing. Love.

  "Damn, Logan,” Monty mutters. “I can’t believe she put her face on camera to sell vibrators for you.”

  "I know.” Not only does it sound like she sent this to the same parents’ networks she hit up to sell talent show tickets, but it seems her appeal’s taken off. The video’s seen nearly one million views since it was posted.

  “A viral vibrator love note,” Monty muses. “That might be the most twisted romantic shit I think I’ve ever heard.”

  "It is, isn’t it?”

  31

  "Well done, Timothy. Thank you for that rousing rendition of ‘Old MacDonald.’" The crowd applauds as Nadine beams from the podium. "These are not only our children—they’re leaders of tomorrow."

  The school gym is decorated to the teeth. Murals of famous doctors, politicians, and scientists cover the walls in honor of the theme. In between hang medals, which are supposed to represent knowledge. Or victory. Or something.

  "When's Rory's turn?" my mom asks, leaning over.

  "He's next." I smooth down my dress. "I'm glad you guys came. I know it wasn't easy."

  My father smiles.

  I glance at the empty seat next to him. In the end, the tickets sold out, but there were a few no-shows. Meaning Rory’s dad had a place to rest his behind. "Where's Blake?"

  "He left to take a call. He missed work to be here," my mom says.

  "That's too bad," I say deadpan as I shift back toward the stage.

  "What's Rory's performance?"

  "You'll see."

  We brought over all the props this morning and set them up.

  "Next up is Rory Sullivan. Performing"—Nadine’s smile wanes a few degrees—"magic."

  Rory takes the stage, stepping in front of a long table. He scans the room as if realizing how many people are here, and I let out a little whoop of applause. His gaze meets mine, and he nods. I nod back.

  "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” My heart squeezes at his small voice filling the room. “Today, I'm going to reveal amazing things to you."

  He pulls something white from his pocket and shakes it out with a flick of his wrist. The crowd jumps.

  "What is that?" my mother asks.

  I bite my cheek. “Showmanship.”

  He dons the apron with a flourish. "Today we'll be making magic. Culinary magic." He bends in front of the table and pulls out a cookie sheet. "It will start with this very ordinary tray."

  My mom makes a startled sound as we watch him produce a bowl, small bags, boxes, and mixing things, all the while talking about what he’s doing. "He's… making scones on stage?”

  I beam. "Technically he's doing the prep on stage. We couldn’t get an oven for obvious reasons. So, he baked this morning." Got up at five to make three dozen fresh so there were enough to pass out to at least the first few rows.

  We watch for a few minutes as Rory describes the ingredients. My heart is so big it hurts right now, but it’s a different hurt than the one that’s kept me company these past weeks.

  "Surely a little boy should be spending time doing other things instead of in the kitchen. What about the bike Blake bought him?"

  Her whisper is audible, but I focus on my kid on stage, informing the room of the pitfalls of incorrect whisking technique.

  "He's not interested in the bike, Mom. He likes to cook. I think I'll buy him a sous vide cooker for Christmas," I decide.

  I realize the room's gone silent amidst a smattering of applause. Rory's done, and he's standing on the stage, his smile wavering as he holds a plate of finished scones in front of him. The tray of prepared unbaked ones sits on the table at his side.

  It takes me a minute to process what's happening.

  He’s finished, and the crowd isn’t sure what to make of it. My kid’s expression of achievement is slipping with each passing second.

  Before I can stand, a shrill whistle from behind us splits the room. The entire gym turns in alarm.

  “Way to go, Rory!” Logan hollers,
hands cupped around his mouth to ensure the sound reaches every dark corner of the gym.

  I turn back to the stage, my chest tingling as I shout, "Go, Rory!"

  The rest of the room grudgingly jumps in as my kid's smile broadens an inch at a time until it’s blinding.

  A little while later, after the show ends, my kid runs out, and I wrap him in a hug.

  "You were the best, Rory." I look over his head for Logan, but he's gone. I shake that off for the moment. "You save any of those scones?"

  He holds two bowls of scones. "That bowl’s not baked. They’re just for show. Want one, Grandma?" He offers the bowl of baked scones to my mother.

  She looks between us, then gives in. “Oh, all right.”

  It's amazing what lemon blueberry can do to mend fences.

  "Kendall." I turn, and there's Nadine, standing with a pasted-on smile on her face. "Rory’s talent wasn’t what I expected, but I should’ve known you’d go for something unorthodox. Especially given your video that’s been making the rounds.”

  "I understand completely," I say. “Scone? They’re lemon blueberry."

  With a moment’s hesitation, she reaches into the bowl.

  “Not that one! Those… aren’t baked.” I wince as she lifts her hand, covered in goop. “Sorry,” I murmur as she turns on her heel with a pained smile.

  "What video?" my mother asks as Nadine leaves.

  "She didn’t show you, Mrs. Sullivan?” I shut my eyes at the sound of Blake's voice. Of course he came back in time to embarrass me.

  He holds up his phone with my video. My parents watch in growing horror as I set the bowls on a chair and hold my hands over my kid's ears.

  I knew this was a risk of making that video. Especially when I proceeded to distribute it through the mom networks. When it went viral… that was something I hadn’t anticipated.

  But in place of the humiliation I’d expected to burn my stomach as my parents watch, a feeling of calm washes over me. "I’m sorry you found that, Blake. I never meant to publicly confess that I'm having better sex now than I ever had with you."

  His face goes satisfyingly pale.