CHAPTER TEN
“You’re wearing out the carpet,” Keeley points out, grabbing the last of her stuff from the spare bedroom in my condo. “What is going on?”
I stare at the time on my phone again—8:58 p.m. Nerves are gnawing a hole into my gut. If Britta doesn’t call in the next few minutes, I have to start down a path of administrative forms and legal battles and court proceedings, all of which will net me some grudging visitation with my son. I’d rather have more. But even if she does call and agree to my scheme, there’s every chance she’ll hate me for that, too.
Makaio didn’t just set a quick wedding date. He fucking maneuvered me into a corner to see if I’d fight my way out. I’m sure I counterpunched harder than he expected. I had to. I certainly won’t underestimate him again.
As my thoughts circle, Keeley stands in my living room, waiting for an answer. If I spill the details to my best friend, she will give me a tongue whipping about the thousand and one ways I’ve totally screwed up. And my brother, who’s standing impatiently in the doorway, will help her just to speed the process along. Obviously, he’s dying to take Keeley back to his place and get her naked. He won’t let anything paltry, like my torment, get in the way.
Lucky bastard, getting to spend the night with the woman he loves.
“I’m all right.”
I have to be. What’s done is done. I can’t take the ultimatum back. And I don’t want to. So listening to Keeley tell me why I’ve fucked up isn’t helpful. She’s way better at untangling my problems once they’re deep. I’ll call her then.
Keeley’s face softens and she approaches me, left hand on my shoulder. I see her sparkly new diamond there. I’m happy for them…even as I’m worried the ring I bought for Britta will simply continue to sit in my safe and gather dust for the rest of my fucking life.
“Are you really, Griff?” Keeley asks.
“Yeah. I’ll be in a better place to talk tomorrow. Tonight, I need to get some quiet and think. Don’t worry about me. You’ve barely been engaged twenty-four hours. Think of Maxon. He’s desperate over there. Hell, think of our brotherly bonds. They’re tenuous now because if I don’t shut up and let you leave now so he can do naughty, unspeakable things to you back at his place, he may stop speaking to me.”
She rolls her eyes and laughs. “You’re so full of shit. Call me in the morning.”
“I will.” I kiss her cheek. “Do you mind if I talk shop with my brother for a second?”
Keeley looks between us, her fiery hair brushing the tops of her shoulders. She’s not fooled for a second, but like a trooper, she bows out gracefully.
With a little wave, she grabs the handle of her smaller suitcase and rolls it toward the door, pausing in front of Maxon to kiss him softly. “I’ll wait in the car.”
He caresses her face and looks at her as if she’s his world.
It’s funny. I’ve seen my brother take apart his adversaries. I’ve seen him verbally dismantle someone in under two minutes. I’ve even seen him beat the shit out of an asshole threatening our little sister in high school. But I’ve never seen him happy, tender, centered.
It’s like I’m seeing Maxon for the first time.
“I won’t be long, sunshine.”
After tossing a smile to us both, Keeley is gone.
The second the door shuts, Maxon turns to me, brow raised. “What did you do to Britta this morning?”
“You want the ‘office-friendly’ version?”
“Fuck no. I want the truth.”
“All right. I forced her to deal with me.” I explain my ultimatum.
Maxon’s eyes bug out. “You’ve got balls the size of Jupiter. The gravitational pull obviously sucked your brain from your head. Holy shit. How did she take that?”
I glance at my phone again. Straight up nine p.m. “I’m waiting to find out. But I need to talk to you about an idea… I can’t keep Jamie in my condo. Britta has valid points about why. I won’t live with her in her house. She has memories of Makaio there. I refuse to compete on what’s essentially his turf. So that leaves my options short. I mentally ran through a few and had this thought… So I called George Stowe and talked to him about the caretaker situation. He understood. And he seemed awfully relieved when I said I would do it for free.”
“You’re going to move Britta and Jamie there?”
“Temporarily. Even if the estate sells this week, it won’t close right away. The place will need maintenance until it does. If it doesn’t sell quickly…well, at thirty million bucks, it’s not as if we’re going to show the property every day. Or even once a week. It’s also closer to work than Britta currently lives. Jamie will consider it a giant adventure…” Plus, it’s romantic. Fuck, it’s a honeymoon suite on steroids. I’m really hoping it will help sway Britta to think of me not as the enemy but as her lover again. So we can spend time together as a family.
“Yeah. All right.” Maxon nods. “If the Stowes are cool with the idea, I know you’ll respect the house. It’s probably better than hiring someone with dubious follow-through skills. We’ll certainly save money.” He shrugs. “I like it.”
I’m relieved. “Good. Thanks, man.”
Once we get there, I’ll have Britta walk the property with me and tell me what kind of kid proofing she needs. Beyond that, I think it’s the perfect solution.
Now, most everything is settled. All I’m waiting for is Britta’s answer.
I glance at my phone—9:02 p.m. Why isn’t it ringing?
“You look like you’re going to crawl out of your skin,” Maxon observes.
“Remember when you were waiting to find out if Keeley was going to board the plane?”
“It’s like that, huh? Sorry. That sucks. I know.”
“But you’re happy now, right?”
The smile that transforms his face is unlike any expression I’ve seen on my brother. He isn’t just happy. He’s completely, utterly content.
I’m thrilled for Maxon. I’m also hoping that if he can find his way to a great life with the woman he loves, I might be able to finagle the same. I don’t know how I’m going to persuade her to admit that she still loves me, but I’m working on it.
“I honestly never knew what happiness was until Keeley.” He winces. “I’m sure with Mom and Dad serving as my example for the great institute of marriage that I’ll fuck up from time to time. But this woman gets me. She knows what’s in my heart. She loves me anyway.”
Every one of his words settles like a boulder in my belly. Britta gets me. But does she like anything about me at all? I’m trying to tell her how much I care. So far, she’s unconvinced.
“That’s fantastic. I expect to be your best man.” I laugh.
“I don’t know.” Maxon shrugs. “Keeley was thinking you’d make an excellent maid of honor. She’s thinking you’d look great in peach chiffon.”
I punch him in the shoulder. “Take her home and make sure she remembers the difference between men and women.”
“I’ve done a pretty damn good job reminding her all day if I do say so myself.” He gives me a loopy grin.
“Ugh, I don’t want details.”
My brother laughs. “We also called her mom and stepfather. They’re really excited for us.”
“Did you tell our folks?”
“You think they’d give a shit? Mom would want to know when she could come preside over the grand celebration. Dad would tell me I’ve lost my fucking mind because Keeley can’t bring me money, power, or prestige. No. I called Harlow. She was happy for me. She’s a tough girl, but I think she even shed a tear. So all that’s left is for us to pick a wedding date. Keeley is thinking fall. I won’t wait that long.”
The topic of overeager grooms brings me back to my problems. I reach into my briefcase and pull out the stack of Britta’s bridal mags I retrieved from her trash can. Maybe she’s bored with them. But why go to all the trouble to flag certain pages and photos, complete with colorful notes, only to dump it all? I’d suspect that the wedding is off…except she’s still wearing her engagement ring and is calling him her fiancé. Nothing makes sense. The whole incident sets off my suspicions.
I’m going to get to the bottom of this.
“Any idea why Britta would ditch these?” I lay them out on the counter. “I had to make a quick stop at the grocery store during lunch, so I looked at the magazines on the shelves. It’s not as if there are more updated editions available.”
Maxon frowns. “No idea. That is weird, though.”
“She’s been poring over this stack and combing websites for days. All of a sudden, she’s not interested anymore?”
“She hasn’t said anything to me. But if I get a chance tomorrow, I’ll feel her mood out. She usually talks to me…”
Well, she did until Maxon and I decided to be brothers again. I’m not sure if she’ll confide in him now. She must suspect she’d be feeding information directly to a spy of sorts. So she probably won’t say shit to Maxon.
“That would be great. If it doesn’t work out, don’t worry. I’ll be leaning on her, too.”
He nods. “Shouldn’t she have called you by now?”
A glance at my phone tells me it’s 9:06. She’s out of her mind if she thinks I won’t hop in my car and drive over to her place and demand an answer right the fuck now.
As if my very thoughts compelled her, my cell starts to buzz in my hand. Her name pops up on my display.
Here we go…
My brother claps me on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know what she decides.”
I nod at my brother gratefully, then tap my thumb over the button to accept the call as the door shuts behind him. “Britta? You’re late.”
“I have a life.”
Yeah, with me.
I try not to clench my jaw. I try even harder not to lose my temper. She feels powerless in this situation, and I’m pretty sure this is her little defiance. It won’t last. I’ll make sure she feels plenty happy and powerful as soon as she’ll let me.
“Everything all right with Jamie?”
As usual, that subject defuses some of her anger. “He’s fine. A little fussy tonight.” She pauses like she debates the wisdom of saying more, but she finally sighs. “He asked about you.”
“I miss him,” I say softly.
My chest actually hurts at the thought I won’t see him again tonight. If I’m honest, a part of me worried he would forget me in the span of a couple of days. I can’t have made a huge impact on his little life yet, so the possibility that I’d have to start all over with him again tomorrow night disturbs the hell out of me.
“Griff…” she begins. I hear the tone in her voice. She’s about to ask me to be reasonable.
“I don’t want discussion. I just want your answer. What is it?”
“Seriously, this is such a huge upheaval for Jamie and—”
“He’s young. Kids are adaptable. He’ll benefit in the end because he’ll be better off with both parents. I don’t want more excuses, Britta. Yes or no? It’s very simple.”
“I can’t leave my house—”
“You can. We’ll check on it.”
“And my fiancé—”
“He’s a big boy.”
She sighs in exasperation. “Did you ever stop to think that I’ll miss him?”
“No.” I’m going to make sure she doesn’t have the time or inclination.
“When am I supposed to see him?”
“Have lunch,” I toss back. Yeah, there’s a hint of sarcasm. “You’re still stalling. Yes or no?”
She huffs now. Obviously, she doesn’t want to answer me. She hoped to drag me into a debate about the wisdom of this idea or shade my insistence with some detail that I frankly don’t give a shit about. Maybe that works with Makaio. On me? Not so much.
When she still fails to answer, I grip the phone tighter. “I’ve got my attorney on speed dial. Ten seconds before I hang up and give him a ring. And yes, he’ll take my call this late. He’s also a friend. It’s really handy.”
“If you’re trying to prove to me what a bastard you are, trust me. I already know.”
Another argument starter. I’m not taking the bait.
“Five seconds.”
She still doesn’t reply, and I can all but feel her resistance through the phone.
“Three, two, on—”
“All right, you pushy, insufferable asshole. You’ve got me for the next fifty-two days. On the fifty-third, I’ll be marrying Makaio and I’ll expect you to have signed my papers. But I’ve got one condition.”
So she’s given this more than passing thought. Good. I expected her to load some ammo into her weapon. I was a little surprised she didn’t when we argued in the office, and I can only imagine she was too stunned to think through scenarios that would benefit her.
“I’m listening.” I also don’t have to agree, but I won’t say that just yet. I’ll hear what’s on her mind and decide if it’s worth the brawl.
“You’re basically cutting me off from…intimate contact with Makaio for almost two months.”
Not basically. I am.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Think of how much you’ll have missed him by the time your wedding night rolls around,” I drawl.
“Don’t be flippant. I’m not letting you come between us, Griff. He’s my fiancé. I’m going to see him. That’s only fair.”
“Fair to whom? The point of our time together is to experience what it would be like if we were a family. If one of us is stepping out, then we’re not a cohesive unit. And you can’t argue with me on that. Dad always had a mistress on the side when I was growing up. He still does. You’ve met my family. There’s no way you can make a case we’re functional.”
“You’re not. But you and I aren’t married,” she points out. “I can’t shove my relationship with Makaio on the back burner simply to ‘play house’ with you.”
“Can’t he do without you for a while? Or are you worried he can’t control himself if you’re not around?”
“This isn’t about sex. He’s barely accepted the fact that I intend to move in with you, even temporarily. If I tell him I can’t be with him because I have to be faithful to you and our ‘family,’ what do you think his reaction will be?”
Since he’s not a total dumb ass after all, I’m pretty sure he’ll understand their relationship is doomed.
“He seems like an understanding guy.” I try not to vomit. “I’m sure he wants you to be really sure before you say ‘I do.’ Besides, you just said this wasn’t about sex. Why is it not about that where he’s concerned, but when I’m involved, it’s about nothing else?”
“Because I’m engaged,” she reminds me, exasperated. “I’m committed to him.”
“For the next fifty-two days, you’re mine. Only mine. After that, if you want to be his again, I won’t stop you. Or I can call my attorney right now. What’s it going to be?”
If she agrees to this, she can tell herself that I’ve twisted her arm and that she’s only protecting Jamie. But I don’t believe for one minute that she wants me out of her life more than she’s afraid of sharing our son for a few nights and weekends.
“That’s not fair.”
“You having sex with him is a nonstarter for me.” If she’s giving her time and attention to another man, she’ll never consider what it’s like to live with and love me. “That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
Britta pauses, then finally grits her teeth together, sounding like she wants to strangle me. “God, you’re such a bastard.”
She can think that all she wants, as long as she’s willing to concede this point. Once I have her away from that cocksucker she’s engaged to, I’ll work on changing her attitude. Since he doesn’t seem to give her much of anything, I doubt it will be too hard for me to shower her with everything she needs.
“Does that mean we have a deal?”
“Not so fast. Reciprocation is only fair, Griff. If I can’t be with Makaio for the next fifty-two days, then you can’t touch any other woman. Or this whole deal is off. I move out. You sign the papers. I keep Jamie. You go away for good.”
Does she imagine for one moment that I could possibly have my dick in a knot for any other female? If I did, I wouldn’t be up in Britta’s business right now. I’d be pursuing that woman. But I get it. Three years ago, I left her and jumped right into a full and busy sex life. She’s convinced I have a wandering dick and that she’s going to end up with the custody arrangement she wants because she’ll trip me up on a technicality. In her head, when I fuck up by fucking someone else, she’ll be vindicated and have everything she wants.
That’s never going to happen. In fact, she’s in for one hell of a shock when she realizes how attentive and focused I’m going to be on her and her alone.
I bite my tongue to hold in a laugh.
“Define touch?” I say both to be very clear and to needle her. “If I buy something at the drugstore and I happen to brush fingers with a female cashier as I’m picking up change…”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“So incidental contact doesn’t count? Okay. My sister is coming in April. I’m going to hug her.”
She grunts like she’s exasperated. “Now you’re just playing stupid.”
“You tell me then, angel. Where’s the line?”
“What would you consider cheating in a relationship? I’m assuming that sort of thing registers with you. But if not and you need more explanation about what it means to break a commitment by crawling between someone else’s legs, I’ll be happy to show you a picture. I have them, after all.”
Oh, meow. She’s jealous. I’m absolutely loving this, mostly because it’s clear what—or who—I do matters to her.
“I’m not so much into pictures. Maybe you’ll give me a demonstration?”
“Stop provoking me,” she warns.
I haven’t even started yet. “Okay. If you’re looking for a working definition, how about this: cheating is conduct with anyone else where sexual arousal or penetration of any sort is intended.”
“All right. So, for instance, kissing. Obviously cheeks of friends and hands of old ladies don’t count,” she says.
“Right. But kissing like I want it to lead somewhere that involves heavy breaths, tasting of skin, and peeling off of clothes? That’s a no-no.”
I hear her swallow across the line. “This definition of cheating should also include any touching of body parts people generally cover in polite society, beach excepted. And no matter what anyone says, oral sex is, in fact, sex. Which means actual copulation—”
“Is just fucking someone else and is totally cheating.”
She sucks in a breath. “Yes. So if you behave in any of the ways we just outlined, I win.”
“All right.”
“All right…what? Are you agreeing to the definition or the deal?”
“Both.”
“Really? You didn’t even think about that, Griff. Maybe you should. That will lead to fifty-two days without sex for you. Aren’t you worried you’ll go blind? Or crazy? That the top of your head will blow off? That you won’t be able to handle it?”
Her sarcasm is thick. Sure, I could tell her that I have no intention of going without sex for that long. I’ll have her, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she happily provides whatever gratification I want while I pleasure her so thoroughly and so often she won’t have the energy to object—or think of Makaio. But just for grins, I should make this interesting.
“Don’t you worry about me, angel. I’ll manage. Neither of us will kiss, touch, or…what did you say, copulate with anyone else for the next fifty-two days. That’s not going to be a problem for me. But if you can’t resist Makaio, then I win.”
I’m going to win anyway. I’ll let her think she has a chance, but this is a slam dunk. Last time we were alone, she barely lasted five minutes without returning my kiss and climbing my body in silent pleading for more. There’s no way she resists me for nearly two months.
“This is ridiculous. It… I can’t. No. You and I aren’t—”
“Those are your choices,” I remind her. “I don’t know what you’re worried about. Since you threw away your stack of bridal magazines earlier, I’m assuming that means the wedding is already planned. If you love each other and you hate my guts, what could you possibly have to worry about?”
“You dug through my trash?”
How interesting that’s the first topic she addresses, rather than her feelings for me. Not confirming that she hates me is almost an admission that she doesn’t.
“It made a lot of noise. I couldn’t help but notice. It’s great that you’ve got the ceremony and the reception all nailed down. You always were organized, but wow. I have to congratulate you for—”
“Stop it. I threw them away because Makaio wants a traditional Hawaiian wedding, and he’s asked me if his mother can plan it on our behalf. She really wants to.”
Is she fucking kidding? Her fiancé cares more about his mommy’s feelings than his bride’s? It’s cute, I guess. Well, it would be if he were Jamie’s age. But any idiot knows that most women have been dreaming of their wedding since childhood. And Makaio doesn’t seem to be thinking twice about taking that from Britta. All her planning, all her careful consideration, everything she’s yearned for…all flushed down the toilet because he’s a mama’s boy.
I stalk my way to the counter and flip open the first magazine, riffling through until I come to a flagged page. She’s circled a bouquet of tropical flowers. Another page has a margin note about bridesmaids’ dresses in a color called cornflower. No idea what that looks like… Toward the back, I see she’s starred an ad for a company that prints custom invitations quickly, themed for the perfect wedding. She’s jotted down notes about timeframes and prices. I’ll bet the rest of the magazines have more of her choices lovingly selected.
In fact, I’ll bet Britta has already planned the perfect wedding in her head. Makaio stole her joy.
Asshat.
I hurt for her. I’m angry for her, too. But I don’t let on. “Well, that saves you a lot of trouble, right? Much easier for you, less stressful.”
“That seems to be the prevailing sentiment.” She sounds pissed.
I can only imagine that’s how Makaio pitched the idea of his mother planning their wedding. If he thought for one second that would make Britta’s life better, he doesn’t know my color-coding, calendar-keeping, deeply organized angel like he should if he intends to marry her.
I grin.
“Since you don’t have to worry about that now, let’s talk about our next eight weeks. I’ve already found a place for us. We’ll take care of the childproofing tomorrow evening. Do you need help packing? I can come to the house right now and—”
“I’ve got it,” she snaps out. “Griff, this arrangement is ridiculous and will never accomplish anything.”
As far as I’m concerned, she’s totally wrong. “Well, then you shouldn’t have a care in the world. Be ready after work. We’ll pick up Jamie and move into our temporary home together.”
The following day turns into hell. On the one hand, it works well that Britta and I are too busy to say much. Her response to my morning greeting was grudging and chilly. I feel hostility simmering under her skin. It’s fine. I’m prepared for the fact that she’ll send more my way before I break through the fortress around her heart.
I’m trying to shove all that out of my head when Maxon and I meet the representative for our potential mystery buyer at the Stowe estate promptly at ten a.m. She’s a petite Asian woman who’s got the stature of a domestic kitten but the bite of a shark. She gives nothing away regarding the identity of her client or even her feelings about the property. She simply takes snapshots and asks questions.
“The price tag seems a little steep,” Lian comments. “When the estate last sold three years ago, it fetched just over ten million. I’m hard-pressed to imagine the value has tripled since then.”
Our pricing was aggressive. Maxon and I both agreed to a listing amount on the high side that allowed for more negotiating room for one simple reason.
“There’s nothing else on the island like it,” Maxon supplies. “The acreage and expansiveness of the water views alone command a hefty price. But add in the fact that the previous owner significantly remodeled and updated the estate, that every room overlooks the ocean…”
I add to his argument. “The square footage of the outdoor spaces equal those of the interior. There are four infinity-edge pools, all on different levels of the property, connected via waterfalls. So no matter which you decide to swim in, you’ll have the illusion of your water stretching out to the ocean. The estate has a chef’s kitchen, detached ohana for guests or rental property, and flexible space for an exercise or media room, whatever your client wants to use it for. The grounds are impeccable. This is really the premiere property in Maui.”
“But I can find most of these features elsewhere in Hawaii for less money.”
“Not with this kind of privacy,” I argue. “It’s gated and it has a guard post in case your client would like the estate’s security manned. There are no visible neighbors. Even the beach is private. Those factors, in some ways, make this place both unique and priceless.”
She cocks her head like she’s considering. “I’m going to walk the property again. You don’t need to escort me, thank you.”
Nearly two hours later, I’m guessing Lian has inspected every inch of the place once more when she finally saunters onto the lanai off the family room.
“Any questions for us?” Maxon asks, rising from a comfy chair.
I let him be the polite one. I’m not feeling terribly sociable. I’m itching to get back to Britta now, and have to bite my tongue from pointing out the mystery buyer is either interested in seeing the property for himself or he’s not.
“No, but I need a moment to confer with my client.” Lian excuses herself to make a call in the dedicated office space with stunning views of both the Pacific lining the front and the tropical gardens behind. Maxon paces between the kitchen and the family room, looking anxious.
I probably should be, too. Instead, I use the opportunity to walk the interior of the house again. I’ve seen it a couple of times, but I’ve looked at it from a Realtor’s perspective, not a tenant’s. Not as someone who will spend nights and weekends with his family here.
The bedroom on the top floor is an elaborate master suite with full ocean views from the bedroom, bathroom, and attached sitting area, the latter of which can be closed off from the rest of the room with an ornate pocket door. The remainder of the bedrooms are scattered around the property, mostly upstairs, on the far side of the floor from this amazing retreat.
For my purposes, the layout is perfect.
When I hear the opening of a door and the clacking of heels, I dash back down. Lian is clasping her phone and looking resolute. “My client would like to offer you twenty-four million. All cash. He insists on closing in exactly seventy-five days. Yes, that’s a Sunday, but I trust you can make that happen. For this price, he also expects the estate to come furnished.”
I somehow keep my jaw from dropping. Doesn’t the client want to see it for himself? Sometimes investors don’t, which I always think is a mistake. But I’m not about to blurt my opinion and throw a wrench into this offer.
Maxon and I exchange a glance, then fall back into old patterns. He talks. I evaluate our position. We’ll compare notes before anything is signed.
“It absolutely comes furnished,” my brother assures. “The current owners have already taken everything from the premises they want, so what you see comes included.”
“Excellent. Have the papers drawn up. My client will sign. Once you present the offer to your sellers, they have twenty-four hours to respond.”
At that point, Lian is clearly done. After a crisp thanks, she turns and leaves the premises. Because she insisted on coming in her own vehicle, she jumps into a sleek white Jaguar and departs. Maxon and I watch. As soon as the automatic gate closes behind her and she rounds the bend, he and I turn to each other and shout like rowdy teenagers.
Chest bumping and high-fiving aside, we scram back to the office to ready all the forms. Britta faxes them to Lian, seeming as shocked by the swiftness of this deal as we are. Maxon calls the Stowes. To say they’re thrilled is an understatement.
This deal, if it goes through, is a sudden blessing. It’s also a bit of a curse.
I thought I’d have more time to spend with Maxon before we had to decide whether to keep our respective businesses separate or merge again. But in less than two weeks, it looks as if we may have sold the biggest estate of our careers.
Decision time is upon us.
Maxon strolls in, wearing a smile. “I think twenty-five and a half is their bottom line, so if Lian’s guy will come up another one-point-five, this is done.”
The Stowes will make a huge chunk of cash off this transaction. The buyer will have an amazing home for himself and whomever he wants to share it with, along with all the privacy he can imagine. Maxon and I will both have money to spare and a basis to discuss our professional future. Best of all, Britta and I will have someplace to be with Jamie as a family virtually without interruption for the duration of our agreement.
The counteroffers fly back and forth, Lian signing with legal authority on behalf of the buyer’s corporation. The Stowes push for a sooner close. After all, a bunch of their inheritance is tied up in this place until it’s officially sold and money changes hands. But the mystery buyer is firm. On May seventh, he will close. That’s nonnegotiable. In exchange, he agrees, after a lot of haggling, to come up to twenty-five-point-eight million. Not a penny more. At four p.m. Hawaii time, which I know is six hours later in Vermont, the deal is finally done.
“Let’s go out for a drink!” Maxon says about three seconds later. “I’ll call Keeley. We should raise a glass or two. This is great money we didn’t have to work terribly hard for.”
“Amen.” I slap him on the back.
Rob is definitely in. If it involves quitting early and imbibing, he’s all for it. “Where to?”
Only Britta demurs. “Thanks for the offer. I’d rather use this time at home to—”
“Nope.” My brother isn’t having any of her excuses. Good. I’m not, either. Maxon protesting thankfully saves me from being the bad guy today. “You’re part of the team. We celebrate together.”
Despite my silence, she shoots me a glare—about the hundredth for the day. I do my best to ignore it, hiking back to my desk to grab my car keys and shut down my computer. Through the internal window, I see Britta grab Maxon by the elbow and drag him into his office.
I can write the script on this conversation. I’m forcing her to move in with me. She already has to put up with me in the office all day and now under one roof all night. She doesn’t want to socialize with the same rat bastard who will only end up fucking up her life seven ways from Sunday again, etc.
This is when it pays to know my brother. He can be both persuasive and stubborn. In less than two minutes, he’s shaking his head, patting her shoulder, and leaving his office. Britta stomps out, looking ready to take off someone’s head, preferably mine.
“Ready, angel?” By the front door, I toss my keys up and catch them as if I don’t have a care in the world. “Let’s get your suitcases and boxes into my Escalade.”
Yes, I drove it today. I also installed a snazzy new car seat in the backseat early this morning. I’m a dad now. Jamie is going to be spending plenty of time with me. We’ll be going on adventures. We’re going to be close. I’ll damn well work hard to be the dad he needs.
And I know Britta. Wherever Jamie is…she won’t be far behind.
She insists on taking her own car. Fine. If it makes her feel more in control of the situation, I have no problem with that.
We all arrive at a nearby bar/restaurant on the ocean that serves greasy food and good times. Best of all, it’s less than half a mile from Jamie’s daycare.
Rob’s live-in girlfriend, Alania, joins us. She’s quiet and pretty, a good foil for the brash asshole we share an office with. Maxon arrives a few minutes later since he had to pick up Keeley to bring her over. They come in hand in hand, looking ridiculously in love. Their smiles are contagious. A ghost of something soft and envious plays at Britta’s mouth.
I rise to hug my bestie. “Hey, gorgeous.”
“Get the fuck away from my girl,” Maxon grouses.
We laugh as Keeley hugs me back, then whispers in my ear. “You all right? Britta looks like she wants to kill me right now.”
“She’s right, bro. It’s going to take a lot of fast-talking to keep you from crashing and burning with her.”
I pull back and fist-bump my brother, glad my angel can only see my back. “It will be a bumpy ride for a while, but I’ll work it out.” Then I turn back to Keeley. “I need to talk to you when Britta isn’t around. I need a huge favor.”
Keeley smiles. “You got it.”
We break apart and sit at a couple of small tables Rob pushed together. Maxon and I maneuver Keeley and Britta beside one another and exchange a glance. We’re both hoping like hell that they become friends. Britta and Tiffanii barely tolerated each other, and that made for an uncomfortable Super Bowl party, tense cookouts, and a really crappy Fourth of July.
Everyone orders a drink and some appetizers. The place isn’t crowded since it isn’t yet five o’clock, so the silence, other than Rob speculating about the buyer’s identity, is telling. Britta looks so taut, glancing at her phone and completely ignoring everyone, especially Keeley and me.
As soon as the waitress sets down our first round, Keeley swallows back some of her Crown and Coke, then shifts to face Britta head on. “I’ve never slept with Griff. I don’t have any interest in hitting the sheets with him, either. Never have. You don’t have anything to worry about from me.”
I look over Britta’s head at my bestie and I have to restrain a laugh. Well, that’s one way to break the ice.
“I never said I…” Britta shakes her head. “What you and my ex have or haven’t done doesn’t make any difference to me.”
I sense Keeley resisting the urge to give my angel a disapproving frown. She’s pretty good at spotting lies, and I personally think this one is a whopper. If the tables were turned and Keeley was talking to me, she would give me a thorough dressing down. But I respect that she’s not completely jumping on Britta all at once. Her opening maneuver probably feels like a headlock, but at least she didn’t go for the body slam, too.
Keeley raises a dubious brow at Britta. “Did you know that I first met him because he was seeing a psychotherapist to try to work through his problems? He was a real mess.”
Oh, shit. I didn’t want her to spring that on Britta.
“What?” Britta turns to me with a frown. “You?”
I’m sure it’s a shock that I was volunteering to talk about my feelings—or even admit I had them.
“Briefly. I only saw Dr. Wilson for a couple of weeks.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat. This is not how I wanted to start my first evening with Britta.
“His stint in her office wasn’t brief because Griff didn’t need more therapy,” Keeley clarifies. “He totally did. When he first arrived in the office, he’d barely slept in four months. His focus was shot and—”
“It was a patch of stress. That’s all. I got over it without Dr. Wilson’s ‘help,’” I cut in before Keeley makes me sound any more like a head case.
“You’re a liar. Zip it. This is my story,” she scolds, then turns back to Britta. “Griff was suffering from way more than stress, and he was an absolute asshole.”
Britta’s face tightens with an acid smile. “That I can believe. Some things never change.”
“He used to storm out of his therapy sessions because Dr. Wilson was too clinical and—”
“She had the compassion of a steaming pile of shit,” I set the record straight.
“I’ll give you that,” Keeley murmurs with a nod. “Anyway, I overheard in his sessions that he was also suffering from an erratic heartbeat and what he called ‘periods of anxiousness.’ He was working twenty hours a day and picking up a new bed partner every three or four days, so I—”
Britta chokes on her wine, then shoots a stunned look over her shoulder at me. Her expression says that I’m the devil. “Are you serious?”
I glare at Keeley, silently asking what the hell kind of friend are you? “You’re distressing Britta.”
She gives me her most innocent expression. It’s utter bullshit. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
Of course, I plan to tell Britta everything about our time apart, including my “number,” but not until she’s ready to know. When she finally asks, I’ll make it clear that every single one of those women meant nothing to me. It’s the truth. But until then, she’s not invested enough in the relationship to hear anything except that I screwed half of Maui or believe that I never forgot her.
“No, I’m being honest with her. I’m explaining how we met. It’s important.” Keeley focuses on Britta once more. “So he was playing a lot of musical beds, it’s true. But the only woman he ever wanted to talk about was you.”
Britta freezes. I wish like hell I could see her face now. I wish I knew what she was thinking.
She shakes her head. “Please don’t think you have to make our relationship more romantic than it actually was. I don’t care what he did after we separated. I’m getting married in April, and once he’s done pretending he wants to be a daddy, then—”
“I’m not pretending,” I lean in and growl in Britta’s ear. “About Jamie or about you.”
Keeley reaches around Britta to slap my arm. I’m grateful that Maxon seems to be distracting Rob and Alania or this entire conversation would be deeply humiliating.
“Shut up, moron. I’m telling her some things she needs to know that you’re too proud and macho to say. You and Maxon are so alike sometimes…” She shakes her head. “I’m saving you at least two weeks of torment.”
“Keeley…” I’m basically begging now. Short of gagging her or dragging Britta away, I can’t stop this info dump.
Compassion crosses her face and she sends me a smile meant to comfort me. “Trust me.”
“He’s physically incapable of that,” Britta scoffs.
I clamp my lips together and grip the arms of my chair. If I don’t, I’ll only do whatever it takes to stop this public lynching and prove Britta right. I can’t deny that Keeley understands people and relationships. If anyone can improve this situation fast, it’s her.
“I do trust you.” I sigh, contradicting Britta’s jibe. “This just isn’t what I had in mind.”
“I know.” She doesn’t say anything more. She simply waits for me to give her permission to continue or shut her down. “But it’s your call…”
I look like a sex-addicted nut job if I let her continue or a control freak with something to hide if I don’t. Fuck me.
With a wave of my hand, I tell Keeley silently to go on. It’s not as if I’m going to be able to stop her for long anyway. And hell, maybe she’s right.
She nods her approval before focusing on Britta again. And she’s wearing an expression that says she understands my angel, woman to woman.
Britta turns to me as if she’s surprised—no, totally shocked—that I’m allowing Keeley to smear my character. She blinks at me like she’s desperate to figure out why.
“She’s telling you the truth.” I nod.
Still gaping, Britta turns back to Keeley. “What happened next?”
“I talked to him a few times before he slammed his way out of Dr. Wilson’s office. I figured out right away that he was tightly wound. No one else was going to help him. He wouldn’t let anyone try. He merely snarled like a lion. I think I’m the only one who saw the thorn in his paw, so to speak. I knew I could help, and I hate to see people hurting. Not only is doing nothing bad karma, I just…” She shakes her head. “I want everyone to be happy. So I struck up a conversation. Griff wasn’t terribly forthcoming at first, but I started figuring him out. I realized he didn’t need another lover. He didn’t even require a therapist. I mean, it could only help him, sure… But what he needed most was a friend. He had no one.”
“Because he left everyone,” Britta points out.
I hear the defensiveness. I hear her saying that she would have stayed by my side and loved me with her whole heart if I’d given her a chance. It hurts.
“If you’re going to do this, could you at least make me sound less pathetic?” I grouse at Keeley.
“Why? I won’t lie to the woman. Geez…” She shakes her head and ignores me again. “I pointed out to him that sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger, so he took me out for coffee. About five hours later, I figured out that he wasn’t close to either of his parents. His sister was busy with school and lives on the mainland. And he had wounded the two people he loved most as deeply as they’d hurt him. Even if you and Maxon actually had wronged Griff—though I know you didn’t—he wasn’t sure how to atone for leaving you both without a word. He was even less versed in apologizing, especially for an act so egregious.” Keeley frowns as if the speech is about to get painful—as if it wasn’t already. “He never knew about Jamie. And the endless parade of skanks was his attempt to find some sort of intimacy that he missed like hell sharing with you. I know you might not think he deserves a second chance, but if you don’t at least listen to what he has to say, you’re going to ruin him for good.”
“That’s enough.” I can’t hear this anymore. And I certainly don’t want Britta’s pity. “Let’s go get Jamie and go…home.”
While I can’t say for sure what’s going to happen if I don’t intervene, I’m pretty sure the conversation would only get more excruciating and invasive. It’s already beyond what I can take.
But when I grab Britta’s hand, she yanks it out of my grip and glares at Keeley. “How dare you? You don’t know what it was like to get naked pictures of the man I loved with a woman I despised mere days after he left me. What it was like to find out shortly after that my stomach flu was really pregnancy hormones. Or how it felt to have to call my mom, a single mother who always preached about having a husband before kids, and tell her that I was expecting a baby but the man was long gone. I moved alone. I gave birth alone. I’ve been raising my son alone.” Britta’s talking in a low voice, but she sounds shaken and angry. “Don’t give me a speech about ‘poor Griff.’ He lost his temper, and rather than asking questions, he made terrible assumptions. He didn’t trust me and wasn’t man enough to apologize when he realized he was wrong. You can’t imagine what I went through, so don’t preach at me to take pity on him.”
“You’re right. I can’t even begin to imagine,” Keeley agrees softly. “I’m only speaking as someone I hope will be your friend someday. Adding more misery to this situation isn’t likely to make either of you happy. At the very least, you have a child together. Jamie needs parents who can be cordial and provide him plenty of love. But honestly, I think you and Griff are both still in love with each other and need to give it a chance. If you don’t, you’ll always regret it.”