Never The Best (Savannah's Best #5)

11. Rhett

CHAPTER 11

Rhett

E scape ! Somehow, at the age of thirty-two, my main goal in life had become to get away from my mother, my fiancée, her mother, my sister, and my father, and in that order.

They were talking about the wedding all day, every day. It was now only twelve months away. That was a whole fucking year, but if you heard Josie, you'd feel like we had minutes to go before tying the knot, and what the fuck about the fucking flowers!

According to my friend Royal, I was behaving like a man who didn't want to get married. Royal had recently married the love of his life, and I knew he was happier than almost any other husband I knew.

"Why do we get married?" I wondered when I met him for a drink at The Alley Cat Lounge, a dimly lit speakeasy tucked into an unassuming brick alleyway downtown.

As was the norm with such establishments, the entrance was marked only by a small, engraved plaque next to a nondescript black door. You had to know where it was to find it.

Inside, the bar was a cozy labyrinth of low ceilings, exposed brick walls, and vintage lighting. Edison bulbs added to the vintage theme, their warm glow reflecting off the polished brass bar top and the rows of glass shelves stocked with rare spirits.

All the furniture at the speakeasy, including the tables and chairs, were from the twenties and thirties. The mismatched but beautifully restored furniture added to the place’s appeal.

Royal rested against his leather armchair with an Old Fashioned in hand. I had my elbows on the antique table as I stared down at my glass of Johnny Walker Blue.

I took a sip and then loosened my tie. I'd already removed my suit jacket before I sat down. The weight of the day felt like it was peeling off me, layer by layer, in the sanctuary of this dark, quiet bar.

"Different people get married for different reasons." A smirk tugged at Royal's mouth. "I married for love."

"I don't love Josie."

"No," Royal agreed.

When I rolled up the sleeves of my white dress shirt, Royal sighed. "What? Wedding planning becoming too much for the Vanderbilt heir?"

I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face. “You have no idea. If I hear one more conversation about hydrangeas versus peonies, I swear to God, I’m going to lose it. ”

Royal took a slow sip of his drink. “Classic avoidance behavior."

"How did you…how did you walk away?" I asked. It was well-known in Savannah that Royal had broken ties with the Legere family. There were a few others I knew who'd done that, but the majority of us just put one foot in front of the other.

"I'm assuming you're asking about how I did it emotionally rather than financially?"

"Financially, I think my father has more to lose breaking off with me than the other way around." I managed the Vanderbilt wealth and did it profitably.

"Let me ask you a question." Royal set his glass down. "How do you feel after you speak to…say, your father?"

“Speak about what?”

“Anything. Just when you talk to him or are in his presence. How do you feel?

"Like I want to ram my fist into a wall,” I replied.

"Is that because you argue?"

"No one argues with George Vanderbilt."

Royal nodded. "You want his approval."

"Yes." I ran a hand through my hair. "He's my father. I don't want to disappoint him."

"Every encounter I had with any member of my family, except for my grandmother, left me feeling like you do after you talk to your father," Royal explained. "What I realized was that, at its core, my family and I didn't share the same values. Once I internalized that , it made no sense to continue the farce of having a relationship. Then Grandma died, and she was the last Legere I gave a fuck about."

"I've been raised to care for the Vanderbilt name. You know how that goes?"

"I do! Take Gabe Rhodes. He took over the Rhodes hotel business. His brother Rafe, on the other hand, wanted to get into academia, and the family was fine with it. Gabe wanted to marry Aurora, his parents supported him. They share the same values. Can you see the difference between your situation and his?"

"I don't have any brothers like you do," I pointed out.

"It doesn't matter, Rhett," Royal explained patiently. "What you need to think about is that this is your only life. This is not a drill. You marry Josie, who you obviously don't like no matter the show you put on for everyone else—you'll be unhappy for the rest of your only life."

I stared at my drink, the amber liquid catching the light, swirling slightly as I tilted the glass.

Royal arched an eyebrow. “Why are you getting married, Rhett?”

"Because I knocked her up, and now, even though there is no baby, I'm expected to."

He shrugged. “I got married because I found someone I can’t imagine living without. Someone who makes me better. Someone who feels like home.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Josie feels more like a real estate deal. Great on paper, looks good to the outside world, but inside….” I trailed off.

“Then why would you do this?” he asked exasperated.

I hesitated, swirling my drink again. “Because it’s easier to keep moving forward than to stop and ask yourself if you’re going the wrong way.”

Royal leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “That’s not a reason, man. That’s inertia.”

That was the word, I thought, inertia , that made the world put one foot after the other. We didn't want to fuck with the status quo, so we kept making the same mistakes over and over again.

"I know," I confessed. "But if I internalize that, I'll be stepping into a free fall that I'm not sure I’ll survive."

My friend Sage joined us then. “Sorry, I’m late.”

She gave Royal a quick hug and did the same with me before taking a seat. She looked from Royal to me and raised her eyebrows. “Who died?”

“I think he’s reevaluating his social life,” Royal mocked.

Sage’s eyes widened. “Tell me you’re going to dump that bitch.”

“Told ya.” Royal raised his glass smugly.

A server came by, and Sage ordered a Sazerac before focusing on me again. “You can’t stand her.”

“How will it look, Sage?”

“Like you can’t stand her,” she offered and then shook her head as if disgusted with me. “Why the hell are you so afraid of your father?”

“I’m not afraid of him,” I snapped. “I respect him.”

“Why?” Sage asked, bewildered. “The man is so conservative he thinks women who wear pantsuits are lesbian and should be put to death. ”

Alas, that was only a slight exaggeration. “I’ll lose my family if I do this.” I had been raised to respect my elders, take care of my family, and be the man I was supposed to be.

“Maybe they aren’t worth keeping.” Sage put a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“You should talk,” I shot back. When you have no defense for yourself, you go on offense.

“I should.” She smiled. “I know what it feels like to sacrifice your happiness for doing right by the family. I paid for it…I’m still paying for it.”

My friends’ words stayed with me as I escaped once again, this time leaving Savannah for a conference in Newport Beach. I was relieved because that would give me a break from the incessant familial nagging, and I was excited because Pearl was going to be at the same conference.

The conference was being held at the opulent Resort at Pelican Hill, perched on the bluffs above Newport Beach, with sweeping ocean views that seemed almost unreal. The place was straight out of a luxury travel magazine, all Italian-inspired architecture—terracotta roofs, colonnades, and lush green courtyards dotted with fountains. Even the air smelled expensive—of salt from the ocean breeze and a scent that was faintly citrusy, probably pumped in through hidden vents.

A few people from Savannah Lace and my company attended the conference, which focused on the architecture and construction business.

Our small contingent from Savannah met for dinner after a long day of lectures and workshops. After our meal at one of the resort's restaurants, we gathered around a fire pit, the flames crackling against the cool evening air. Overhead, strings of lights hung in lazy loops, casting a golden glow over the patio. Beyond us, the ocean stretched into the horizon, dark and endless, with the occasional glimmer of moonlight reflecting off the waves.

I sipped my bourbon, letting the warmth of it settle in my chest as I listened to the conversation flow around me. Layla Warren, Savannah Lace’s CFO, was deep in discussion with one of Pearl’s colleagues about supply chain strategies. A few of my team members were chatting about an upcoming client pitch, their voices low and serious despite the relaxed setting.

I had managed to sit next to Pearl—I had not been able to help myself. I felt drawn to her—I probably always had been. When I looked back at our teenage years, I remembered her as this elusive and charming person people made fun of.

I had approached her because of the bet, but I stayed because of her . She was the only authentic person I knew in my young life. She was open and honest—na?ve and affectionate. There was no calculation. That young girl was no more. The woman sitting next to me had her walls up. She wasn't the innocent girl any longer. She had lived her life—and from what I could see, what happened then had not changed just me but also her. The consequences of that one thoughtless, heartless act had forced me to look at myself and strive to become a better person—but what had it done to Pearl ?

She looked relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, a sparkling drink in her hand that she barely drank. She wasn't particularly seeking out conversation; she was comfortable in herself and the silence. She didn't seek attention, but she didn't fade into the background, either—she never had. She had an effortless presence. Why had this made so many of us insecure when we were young?

“…and that’s when I told him, ‘ If you’re going to try to micromanage a spreadsheet, at least learn how to use Excel first ,’” Layla was telling a story about a previous consultant, her tone half exasperated, half amused. Everyone burst into laughter.

“You actually said that?” someone asked.

“Of course, she did,” Pearl interjected, her grin mischievous. “I mean, he was color-coding cells like it was an art project. Someone had to stop him before he hurt himself.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Pearl had a way of being sharp without being unkind, confident without being mean.

As the conversation shifted to market trends, I found myself watching her more than listening. I noticed how expressive her hands were as she spoke, how she leaned forward slightly when making a point, and how her clear and steady voice got respect without her ever demanding it.

She wasn’t gossiping, wasn’t talking about who was dating who, or what scandal was brewing in Savannah’s social circles. She was talking about ideas, challenges, and solutions, and she did it with a kind of ease that made everyone at the table want to hear what she had to say.

And I realized, with a suddenness that made my chest tighten, that I was falling for her. I wasn't just physically attracted to her—though God knew I was that, too—but actually falling for her for the way she thought, the way she carried herself, her easy charm— everything .

I was sucker punched.

I recognized that this wasn’t just some passing interest, wasn’t some fleeting curiosity about a woman I’d once wronged. This was deeper, messier, and far more dangerous. Because as much as I wanted her, I couldn’t have her. Not the way I wanted, not while Josie was still wearing my ring, and my life was tied up in knots I hadn’t figured out how to untangle.

“Rhett, you with us?” Layla’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

“Sorry.” I set my glass down. “I was a million miles away.”

Pearl watched me with curiosity. “Layla asked if you thought the industry was ready for more aggressive fin-tech integration,” she supplied, tilting her head slightly. “Or do you think we’re all still a little too afraid of change?”

I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat. “I think there’s always resistance to change.” I forced myself to focus and be social like I'd been taught and trained. “But the ones who embrace the right kind of change early tend to be the ones who come out ahead. It’s just a matter of convincing people that the short-term disruption is worth the long-term gains.”

"Spoken like a true consultant,” Pearl remarked, her tone teasing but not unkind .

“Guilty as charged," I said graciously, thrilled that she was talking to me.

Since our conversation by her pond, the antagonism between us had diminished. We could talk to one another without constantly bringing up the past, without me apologizing, and her telling me to go fuck myself.

The conversation moved on, but my attention stayed with Pearl.

"How has the conference been for you?" I wanted to talk to her and get to know her better. I respected and admired her. All things I was fully aware I didn't feel for my fiancée.

"Good." She let out a deep breath. "As exhilarating as these conferences are, they leave me exhausted. The time zone shift and constantly being on , it takes a lot out of you."

The staying-on part was a problem for me as well, and it was probably a bigger one for Pearl, who was an introvert.

"Do you feel like going for a walk?" I asked impulsively.

She stared at me, and I waited to hear her verdict of how she saw the man I'd become because I wanted to be the kind of man Pearl respected.

"Yes," she agreed.

We left the others and went to the beach. Pearl walked barefoot, her sandals dangling from one hand. The hem of her ankle-length dress swayed in the breeze, and her ponytail had loosened into soft strands that framed her face. She looked beautiful. She was so damned gorgeous and it broke my heart to think I’d ever made her feel less over something as trivial as her body weight .

"Tell me something true," I asked, desperate for her to open up to me.

She stopped and turned to look at me. "What do you want to know?"

I licked my lips. Everything I wanted to say, but how could I when I had a fiancée waiting for me at home?

"How…how…." I closed my eyes and waited for the storm to pass. "Tell me how I hurt you."

Her eyes went wide, both with, I thought, shock and emotion. "What?"

This was not the time for this conversation, but I desperately wanted to make amends, and the only way to do that was to understand the damage I had done.

"You're a different person than you used to be," I explained. "So am I. That day changed me, too, Pearl."

"How?" she demanded, challenge flickering in her eyes.

The crash of the waves against the sand merged with the roar of my guilt as I confessed the truth. "It made me realize that I had no integrity. I was the kind of person who could hurt another human being simply because… I could . I felt a lot of shame. But not enough, Pearl. Not nearly enough.”

She folded her arms, her sandals still dangling absently from her fingers, as if she needed to comfort herself.

"When I saw you a few years later, I pounced at the opportunity to absolve myself. I thought if I said I was sorry, you'd accept, and it would be over, this cycle of shame and self-loathing." I smirked in self-deprecation. "I was such a fool. I didn't understand then that a mere apology was worthless. I was even annoyed that you wouldn't accept my generous confession of remorse."

"My mother and Cash were quite upset with me for being rude to you." I could feel her disdain for them and me in her tone. “I didn't come back to Savannah for several years after that."

"I know." I gave her a weak smile. "I waited, you see, for you to come so I could…do better."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Really?"

"But, I realized too late, actually, only recently, that a man who was not a coward would have followed you to California and made his point." It was not easy to lay myself open to her, especially since I didn't know if she'd kick me in the ribs while I was down. But if she did, it was no less than I deserved.

She turned and began walking again. I kept pace with her. We were silent for a while. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost drowned out by the sound of the waves.

"It messed me up…big time," she began, and I immediately felt my stomach tighten because I knew whatever she was going to tell me was not going to be pleasant. But if she'd lived it, I had to have the balls to hear her out.

"It was my first time," her voice was small.

"Yes." I could barely get the word out.

She walked straight, looking ahead, while I looked at her, watching her face, waiting for her to explain the devastation I'd brought upon her.

"It took me a while to have sex…I did…I mean, I do. But I te nd to go for short relationships, one-night stands. Sex is complicated when you…." She trailed off.

"When you went through what you did?" I finished softly.

She shook her head. "When you look at your body and you hate everything about it."

Fuck!

"Pearl, I thought you were beautiful then, and I think you're beautiful now. It has nothing to do with how you look—though you are gorgeous, it was always about who you are."

She stopped walking and turned to face me.

"You said that my being a virgin made up for how I looked."

She remembered what I'd said, just as I did. You never forgot the time you dropped the lowest you ever could as a human.

"I didn't want them to know that I was attracted to you. That sex with you had been…amazing."

She swallowed.

"You called me Bumblebee."

I closed my eyes because I could feel emotions well up, and it wasn't fair for me to show her my tears and make this conversation about me when it was about her.

"I'm sorry." What else was there to say?

She smiled wanly. "Do you know what my Tinder handle is?"

I shook my head.

"Bumblebee1703. "

March seventeenth was her birthday.

"I owned that name," she said proudly. "I had to work through a lot. I was never the best for anyone . My parents always thought Cash was better, and Birdie wished Josie was her daughter. I was too fat, too dull, too ugly. You…well…let's not belabor that point. You know what happens to a young person who only hears about themselves in reference to their body?"

I could guess, but I didn't reply to her rhetorical question and waited for her to reveal her truth.