The terror of taking this step can paralyze me, but there’s no turning back now. I know the alternative.

Life without risk.

Life without the love of my life.

Life without Liam, the man my heart screams for.

So I share. But the universe has an uncanny sense of timing. My next half hour with Liam goes down like this. I bare my soul. I tell him the deepest darkest secrets about my mother. I talk about my grandmother. I show him the tiny picture of her inside the locket. I spill tears. I ugly cry. He doesn’t judge me, but rather, consoles me and goes as far as suggesting that no one is perfect, including my mother. I try to explain how difficult it was, being raised by her.

I ask him, “Do you know what it’s like, living with someone who treats you like a complete stranger? And they don’t open up to you no matter how hard you try to reach out to them?”

He replies with, “It sounds like a trick question.”

“Why?”

“Because I do know what it’s like.” He presses his lips together in a thin line. “It’s natural to hold your parents to a higher standard than anyone else…including yourself.”

Wait a second.

Did Liam just suggest that I’m not much different from my mother? Is he calling me a hypocrite for expecting more of her than I give of myself? The bastard’s got some nerve. I’m torn now. Do I thank him politely or punch him in the face for being way out of line?

I’m rearing to tell him off and strike down his assertion, but I don’t get the chance.

My mother knocks on Liam’s hotel room door.

More like she pounds on it.

And it’s my name that she’s shouting through the study wooden barrier.

Giving Liam a curious look, I wrap my robe tightly around me and head out of the bedroom for the main door.

“What’s going on? The reception’s not for almost an hour,” I tell Mom as I pull the door open.

Her discerning gaze travels down my body and back up to my damp hair. “Get dressed.”

“How did you know I was here with Liam?”

Mom rolls her eyes. “Please. A blind man can see he’s in love with you. Where else would you be?”

Wow. Okay. I’d like to spend some time dissecting her statement, but I’m more curious about why she’s here in the first place. “What’s this about, Diane?”

She pulls me out into the hallway, moving me aside as she steps into the room and looks on the inside of the door. “We can’t talk in here.” Her fingers swing the metal security jamb outward so that the door won’t lock. “I need you to take a look at something I found. I don’t want to set off any alarm bells with Craig or Liam. Just get dressed for the reception and meet me downstairs in the lobby in fifteen minutes.” Her glance lands on my hair. “Twenty minutes. Take care of, of that. Put it up in a bun or something. You won’t have time to style it.”

I open my mouth to object, but she shakes her head and stops me. “There’s no time. Just trust me and see for yourself.”

“Fine.”

“And don’t say a word to Liam. As I said, I don’t want to cause a panic if there’s a reasonable explanation.”

“Okay.”

“Twenty minutes,” she repeats and hurries off.

I don’t want to lie to Liam, but as I have no clue what’s gotten into my mother’s head, I tell him she’s having a moment and wants to talk to me privately. That explanation satisfies him, leaving me with enough time to put on my little black cocktail dress, slide on the sparkly Louboutin fuck-me shoes that Liam likes, throw my hair up into a messy bun and apply a bit of makeup. Liam steps out of the shower as I head for the door.

* * *

Without my grandmother’s locket, I’m naked, helpless and incapable of handling what my mother learned and proceeded to share with me.

She figured out that the Wainwright Group’s been up to some reporting that can be considered to be in the gray area. It’s hard to believe how she found out. Mom made a wrong turn going from the lobby to the conference and banquet rooms. She noticed a pattern in the naming conventions used for each room, and out of curiosity, pulled up one of the reports attached to an email I sent her while I was in Chicago.

Shoving her smartphone into my hand with the attachment open, she points at each room as we pass it. “Look. Gilbert Hall, then the Edison Complex, the Salon Elite, Liberty Vista, and now, the Chelsea Lounge. They’re empty meeting and banquet rooms, not self-contained venues with individual revenue-generating operations. I’m sure the city hasn’t issued individual liquor licenses either. Do you understand what I’m showing you?”

“Yes, I think so, but it’s possible this is the only misreported location.”

“It’s possible, but we can’t recommend the sale until an outside party verifies the data. If the Wainwright Group doesn’t acknowledge an error, then it means they intentionally disclosed false assets. At a minimum, they inflated the property valuations. If it’s rampant, it can be considered fraudulent. O’Sullivan Entertainment would be out a lot of money if the deal closes as is.”

“But Craig can sue after the fact.”

“He can request that we initiate a bad faith civil litigation right now, even before we close the deal. But we won’t take that route. You need to go back to Craig and offer him two options. Walk away, or bring in a dedicated facilities audit resource. Someone responsible for attending each location and marry up the asset with the proposed valuation.”

“At whose cost?”

“Craig’s, simply for an unbiased assessment.”

I'm relieved to learn about this now, but my mother informs me that I have to let Liam and Craig know. Tonight, after the reception, she expects me to drive back to New York with Liam and provide the information to Craig. It’s our legal obligation.

Correction.

My legal obligation.

Because I’m the associate.

I implore to her for some compassion and guidance. I’m new, for crying out loud. O’Sullivan Entertainment is my first client. One of my childhood friends is about to get married, and I’m a bridesmaid. But she doesn’t care.

“It's the cost of admission,” she tells me.

If I don’t advise my client immediately, I face a potential breach of ethics, and can be called in front of the Bar to answer for it.

Yes, she pointed that out too, with something to the effect of, “I'd hate to have to report you to the Bar, Vanessa. I’m obligated to report a suspected breach within one working day of discovering it. Or it’s my ass too.”

“You just said it yourself, Diane. Even if you’d do such a thing to your own employee… your daughter, we’re learning of this now, at the end of business day on a Friday. I have to report it to Craig by the end of the day on Monday so that you don’t have to throw me under the bus. And by the way, do you see how unreasonable you’re being?”

“It’s my name on the door of my firm, Vanessa. You need to act. Tonight.”

Is this woman even my mother? She’s willing to throw me, her daughter, to the wolves for the sake of preserving her squeaky clean reputation. What kind of parent does that? I press my hand high on my chest, over the spot where the locket would normally rest. I know what kind of parent would do it. The one standing in front of me. The one who resented having children, kept us at a distance, gave her career the best of herself to the detriment of Dad, Dylan and me, then turned around and blamed us for it.

The threat of tears blurs my vision and fuels my anger that I placed my budding legal career in the hands of this woman, and she put me in an unreasonable position the first chance she got. Soon, my hand pulls from my chest and tightens into a fist. She can’t get another free pass.

Not this time.

“I don’t have a problem telling Liam on my own. I’ll do it tonight. But I need you when we let Craig know, and it’s going to have to wait until Sunday, after the wedding’s over.”

“You don’t get to call the shots,” she objects.

“And you have an opportunity to live up to your capacity for some compassion. I’m your daughter. Grow a backbone.”

“You’re an Associate. Earn it. No one gave me any breaks. Don’t expect me to hold your hand and baby you.”

“You can say that now because Grams isn’t around to tell us otherwise.”

“Leave my mother out of it. I’m not going. Not tonight and not on Sunday.”

“The hell you aren’t, Diane. No. Mom. You’re backing me up, and that’s the cost of being a goddamned parent.” I play the dirtiest hand possible by adding, “Don’t make me accidentally let this entire ordeal slip into my first ever interview with the media.”

* * *

A hush moves across the room as Dahlia and Jackson enter the reception ballroom. I should be enjoying this more. I should feel something, but the weight of having to tell Liam then Craig the bad news about this deal they were so looking forward to sucks the joy out of me. Jackson has Dahlia on his arm. They’re perfect together, coordinated in their soft cream and black formalwear. All heads face their direction, and in turn, they acknowledge every guest with nods and embraces.

As the crowd picks up where they left off in conversation, Liam leans in close to my ear.

“Just tell me.”

Looking him in the eye has never been this difficult. Telling him what I learned will be even harder. But I have to do it. He deserves the truth. I lead him out into the hallway, away from the lighthearted crowd. Even out here, it’s not the right place to break bad news to him. I can also use a fundamental piece of my personal support system, so we head back to his suite, and I find my locket.

Taking a deep breath, I clasp my fingers around my locket for strength and tell him everything. As I confess what I’ve learned, and my difference in opinion with my mother, the person I know as Liam fades away from the man sitting before me, and is replaced by a hard, stern, cold facsimile with the iciest, most vicious stare I’ve ever seen. He has every right to be angry, but I get to a point where I stop myself from continuing because I’m genuinely afraid of what this seemingly darker, more ruthless Liam will do.

“I’m going to fix this,” I try to appeal to him.

“No.” He gets to his feet and storms from the living room to the bedroom. “I agree with Diane. We need to leave.”

“I don’t appreciate that you’re siding with—”

“Stop right there before you say something unprofessional that proves how green you are. You don’t have to change your opinion about Diane’s parenting decisions to take her legal advice. She’s been around the block. At least give her that. This is a big fucking deal. A huge transaction for Craig, and he’s your client. He deserves as much time with the information as possible. Tell me something. Would you do anything differently if you stood to lose hundreds of millions of your own money? What if I were putting up a portion of the money to help Craig close this deal?”

“All right! You made your point and then some. Let’s go.” This is one time where I don’t object, resist or defy him. He’s right, which means my mom’s right too, and that alone makes me cringe. Gathering my laptop and purse, I wait at the main door.

Now he’s the one who won’t look at me. The annoyance and anger in his eyes and the tight strain in his voice as we head to the elevator cause a lump in my throat that I can’t manage to swallow. I hate that I’ve disappointed him. That he doesn’t see me in the same light as an hour ago. That we don’t quite see eye to eye about my willingness to do what it takes to get things done. What we had before all this sharing was so much simpler than it is now.

But that may be Liam’s point. He’s been saying that he knows me better than I believe he does. These last few weeks, he’s forced me to face myself, he’s challenged me, and Christ, he just compared me to my mother, and came to the alarming conclusion that I’m. Just. Like. Her.

Thinking back now. I don’t know why I put up such a fuss about going to the city tonight. Explaining the details to Liam was clear enough, so why did I feel she needed to be there to pass the same information along to Craig? Our trip to Manhattan won’t affect our ability to attend the wedding either. We can be back in the Hamptons by midnight, depending on how much time Craig needs us to stick around. Sure, we’ll miss part of tonight’s reception, but it’s attending the wedding that matters most, and that’s not until two in the afternoon tomorrow.

I wish I can blindly lay blame on my mother, but I probably owe her an apology.

Because this time, it’s all on me.