CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Scarlett
March
Flipping through the children and YA leaflets I requested from publishers, I mused over my picks for summer. I liked to choose a few and highlight one or two for summer programs for the local kids.
Stuck between two titles that sounded similar I was barely aware of my boss until she cleared her throat.
I looked up from my spot behind the main counter at Angela. She was beaming at me.
“What?” I asked, suspicious of that smile. That smile said she wanted something from me.
“Okay, so I just off the phone with J.P. Williams publisher and he’s agreed to come to the library to do a reading.”
My eyes practically popped out of my head. J.P. Williams was a popular children's author. He wrote a series of books about a strange orphanage where misfit children with special powers always seemed to end up. His fourth book in the series was out next month.
“When?”
“Well, girl, I know Saturday is your day off, but a month on Saturday. You gotta be here for that.”
"Let me just check." If I had something planned, I could move it. There was no way I was missing that. Plus, I was very grateful Angela had given me another chance considering how the drama of my life had played havoc with her library. I was only part-time, but that worked great for me because I was slowly helping to take over the running of the club as a household so that Xavier could take more time off.
I flipped through the calendar on my phone. "Oh no." I grimaced as I stared at the little box that said ‘Lunch with Oliphants.' "I promised Griff I'd attend lunch with a business partner and his wife."
“So can’t you get out of it?”
"Let me check. Watch the counter?"
“Sure.”
I withdrew into Angela’s office for some privacy.
In the two and a half months since Griff and I officially got back together again, life had been exciting, fast, and wonderful. All of the things that had been troubling us seemed to have worked out. I even chatted with my sister every and now then. With O'Connor behind bars awaiting trial, it was safe for her and Octavius to return home, but they were enjoying traveling.
As for Griff and I, we'd found our way as a couple. We were still learning about each other but this time around there were no walls. We checked in with each other during our working days. We watched movies together, we went on dates. Elite had run a few articles about our marriage and how we ‘seemed to be back on track' but we ignored all that stuff.
Griff was too busy with a couple of construction projects – a luxury apartment block by the harbor and the other in Ten Hills on the banks of the Mystic River— to care about gossip magazines. These last few weeks I'd done my best to alleviate his stress levels which were high these days.
Hugo Oliphant was the planning officer whom Griff had wined and dined to convince him to pass planning permission for the project on Mystic River. He was proving to be more of a pain in the ass than Griff and his partners first thought, showing up to see the progress every week and to make sure they weren't doing anything untoward. It bothered Griff because he'd given Oliphant his word that the design would be exactly as they'd said it would be. Moreover, if Griff did do something different he knew the planning office could have the building torn down so there was no way Griff or his partners would risk that.
Still, despite it galling my husband, he kept his cool with Hugo. It also meant agreeing to have lunch and dinners with him and his wife now and then.
We had some events coming up as society opened for spring so when Oliphant and his wife, Geena, asked us to have dinner at their home, we had to agree to lunch because we had Amelia's birthday dinner that night.
Griff already felt uncomfortable that we couldn’t commit to a date until the beginning of April. But surely he’d understand that organizing a reading for a New York Times bestselling children’s author was a big deal for me.
Giddy with excitement about sharing the news with him, I swiped the screen on my phone for his initial and called him.
It rang five times before he answered curtly. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“Oh.” Flustered by his abruptness it took me a second to remember what I called to say.
“Scarlett?”
“Yes, sorry. Um, I’m just calling because I was wondering if you could go to the Oliphants yourself on the 6th? J.P. Williams, this New York Times Bestselling author is coming here to do a reading and Angela would like to organize that. I want to.”
There was a pause then, “We’ve had that lunch booked for weeks.”
I wrinkled my nose. Did he not just hear my cool news? “Yes, but this is a reading with a New York Times bestselling author.”
"Scarlett," he sighed, "You know how important it is for me to keep this man on my side."
Growing aggravated, I huffed, "I do know that, but surely I don't need to be there for that."
"I ask you there to support me," he bit out quietly. "I thought that was obvious."
Refusing to feel guilty I snapped back, “I support you all the time.”
“Then you’ll be at the lunch.”
“Griff, no—”
“Look I’m in the middle of something important. We’ll talk about this later.”
Hurt, I raised my voice, "If you don't think this is important we’ve got problems.”
“I can’t get into a childish argument with you right now. I’m hanging up.”
“Go fuck yourself.” I hung up first and just stopped myself from throwing the phone at the wall.
Okay, so I knew my husband was stressed, and he had a lot on his plate between the club, investments, real estate, and the construction projects. But since when did that mean that what I was passionate about wasn't important? It wasn't about him not having time to talk about it. We could have discussed it later in bed. It was the fact that he thought his shit was more important than mine!
When he didn’t call me back, I felt tears burn in the back of my eyes.
Angela was waiting for me at the main counter when I reappeared. She gave me a sympathetic smile. “It got loud in there, huh?”
“He’s an asshole.” I slumped against the counter.
"That means you can't do it?"
"Oh, I'm doing it."
“Marriage is tough, girl. Even the good ones like Mandeville can be jerks.”
“Big jerks,” I muttered, my mood completely wrecked. And I’d been so excited about organizing the reading.
"Well, your shift is nearly up. Maybe Mrs. Donovan can dispense some wisdom for you."
Despite my glumness, I nodded.
I only worked in the morning three days a week and after my shift, I drove to Mrs. Donovan's in the Tesla Griff had bought me. I hadn't wanted a car, but when I started working at the library, my husband insisted. It was either that or be driven everywhere in a town car. If I had to drive, I wanted it to be environmentally conscious, so I'd chosen a Tesla to Griff's disgruntlement. If it were up to him, I'd be driving a Mercedes GLC or a Buick Enclave because of their safety ratings.
But I liked my electric car.
It was the fanciest thing I’d ever driven.
Not that I was feeling particularly grateful toward my husband for anything right now.
And as it turned out Mrs. Donovan didn’t have a lot of advice to give me. “You’re mad at him, be mad. He’s got to know you’re not his beck and call girl.”
I’d flushed at that because not too long ago that was what I’d been hired to be.
However, Mrs. Donovan was right. This was a marriage, and up until today, I thought Griff understood it was a partnership. It was about give and take.
He didn’t get to snap at me just because he was stressed and he didn’t get to declare his work more important than mine.
Upon my return, I parked my car in the garage at the back of the club and strode into The Patrician with anger pushing my steps forward. I took a route through the kitchen, greeting the staff as I went.
“Lunch, Mrs. Mandeville?” Chef called to me.
I hated arguing with Griff, so I wasn't that hungry. "Just a little soup maybe."
“Jerusalem artichoke with chips today.”
“Thank you!” I called, having no idea what that was, but knowing Chef it would be yummy.
Xavier didn't seem to be anywhere in sight as I walked out into the front foyer of the club. It wasn't open yet. The place was so quiet all I could hear were my heels echoing off the marble floor. I got my keycard out of my purse for the elevator and then pressed the ‘up' button.
The doors pinged open, and I was startled by the sight of my husband leaning casually against the back of the elevator. He seemed to take up the entire space as he looked at me with narrowed eyes. He was brooding.
Rolling my eyes I got on the elevator, keeping my distance from him as I turned my back on him and used my keycard to access penthouse level.
The elevator juddered upwards.
“I don’t particularly like being hung up on,” he seethed behind me.
I blew a raspberry at him in my mind.
"Or told to ‘go fuck myself.'"
I smirked. He deserved that. Pompous ass.
“Or being ignored right now.”
I shrugged.
“And I particularly don’t like it when my wife does all three things to me.”
The doors opened out onto the penthouse, and I strode out, taking a second or two to remove my heels as I wandered through the apartment to our suite. I'd officially moved most of my things into Griff's bedroom which was now our bedroom.
I felt him following me as I walked into our walk-in-closet to change out of my work clothes.
“Are you going to speak? I don’t have time for this, Scarlett.”
I cut him a dirty look as I angrily undid the buttons on my shirt. "Oh, you made it perfectly clear that you don't have time for me right now."
“What the bloody hell does that mean?”
I gaped at him. "Are you kidding? First, you answered the phone like you were talking to a minion rather your wife."
Griff's jaw clenched, and I knew he knew I was right.
"And I called to tell you something I was excited about and not only did you not give a shit," I shrugged out of the shirt and threw into the laundry bin. I yanked on the zip on my skirt in anger and nearly broke it, "You practically berated me for even daring to suggest that it was more important than some goddamn lunch we need to go to with people we don't even like."
My hose tore as I yanked them off too.
“How the hell am I supposed to discuss this with you when you’re standing there in your underwear?” his dark eyes smoldered at me.
"No." I waved a finger at him before I grabbed a dress off a hanger to cover myself. "This isn't a ‘we're so angry so let's have sex to defuse the tension' moment."
“What kind of moment is it?”
"It's an ‘I know you're stressed with work, and I'm sorry, but you don't get to mistreat me because of it' moment."
He was quiet, so I brushed past him without looking at him.
If he didn't realize he was in the wrong, then I didn't know what to do.
My stomach hurt.
This was our first big argument since before Christmas.
I was halfway across the bedroom when he called out to me. I turned, and he stood in the middle of the room, his hands in his suit pockets, and he looked exhausted. "Oliphant changed his mind about a part of the design this morning. He's asking for it to be reviewed again despite having signed off on it. If the planning office agrees for it be reviewed, we'd have to take them to court, and the lengthy, expensive legal battle would mean our building is sitting their half-finished draining money by the second."
Sympathy coursed through me. “I’m sorry, Griff.”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth and shook his head. "It's not an excuse for the way I spoke to you," he smirked sadly. "You're the only fucking thing that makes me happy at the moment, and while I'm kissing that prick's arse, I'm snapping at you. Makes no sense. I'm sorry."
Despite my earlier hurt, I forgave him. I understood. Crossing the room, I looped my arms around his shoulders, and Griff buried his face in my neck with a soft groan.
“We take our crap out on the people we love and on the people who love us,” I soothed him. “Because we know they’re the ones who’ll forgive us.”
He brought his head up to stare lovingly but wearily into my eyes. “You forgive me then?”
“I forgive you.” I scratched my fingers over his stubble and realized it was getting thick. “You almost have a beard.”
“I haven’t had time to trim it.”
“It looks good.” I brushed a thumb over his bottom lip and sighed. “I’m sorry you’re so stressed.”
“I’m sorry I was a dick about your author reading thing.”
“J.P. Williams.” I grinned excitedly. “Can I go? Can I?”
Griff laughed. “How can I stand in the way of such fucking adorableness?”
"You can't." I shook my head smiling. He kissed me. I moaned as he edged me back toward our bed.
“I thought you were busy?” I murmured against his lips seconds before I found myself flat on my back.
He braced his body over me, sliding one hand under my dress. His gaze smoldered. “I’m never too busy to give my wife an apology fuck.”
Shaking my head, smirking, I huffed, “So romantic.”
"You know it," he growled, drowning out my laughter with his kiss.
And just like that, all was again right in our private little universe.