Our Broken Pieces (The Ladies of Back Bay #3)

Chapter One

Marcus

“ H e was clearly fucking safe. That umpire is shit.” Gigi is on her feet, yelling at the TV.

“Language, Gigi.” I shield six-month-old Millie’s little ear as I hold her in my arms.

She lowers the volume of her voice. “Shit, sorry. Or sorry. Ugh, I need to get better about that.”

Gigi sits back down on the couch beside us and rubs Millie’s foot through her onesie, leaning over her. She’s close enough that I can smell her jasmine perfume. “Aunt G should be more ladylike around you, love bug. I’ll do better.” She makes a couple of absurd faces at the poor child.

Millie keeps a straight face as her blue eyes peer at her over her bottle. It’s 7:30, and she should be falling asleep soon. It’s Friday night and our best friends Linc and Melonie are out on a date night, so Gigi and I volunteered to babysit. I’ve never really connected with kids before, but Millie has made it known that I’m her favorite out of our friends and I don’t mind it. She’s a quiet, happy baby, and she’s a good listener. She doesn’t see me as standoffish; she doesn’t think I’m introverted. I’m just uncle Marcus, which is nice, so I’m happy to spend time with her.

Over the past six months, Linc has given me a crash course on baby care and now my guest room is filled with stuff for when she’s here. Small humans still make me nervous, so Gigi usually helps when I have her.

I met Gigi almost two years ago when my other best friend, Jax, introduced us to his then girlfriend, Audrey, and her two friends. We became quick friends, and we had a good time that night watching the aftermath of Melonie laying into Linc because they had hooked up a few months prior and Linc left in the middle of the night, creating a one-night stand. Linc was a bit notorious for those back in the day, and when he did it to Melonie, it came back to bite him in the ass. Long story short, after they slept together again the night of Jax and Audrey’s wedding, Millie came into the picture. Linc worked hard to win Melonie over and now they’re a family. I still don’t think he realizes how lucky he is.

Millie’s eyes are slowly closing, eyelids growing heavy, as she finishes her bottle. I set it down on the end table beside me and move her to my shoulder.

“I’m going to go lay her down.”

Before I stand up, Gigi places a kiss on her blonde hair. “Goodnight, love bug.”

I walk down the hall to her room and gently lay her in the portable crib I keep set up in her room. I lay her down, gently put her in her sleep sack, and pause for a moment to make sure she stays asleep before I leave the room.

“Sleep tight, Mills.”

I grab the baby monitor and return to the living room to retrieve the bottle to rinse out. “Do you want a beer?”

Gigi nods, her wild red curls bouncing. “Yes, please.”

I walk into my kitchen and clean the bottle, returning it to Millie’s diaper bag. I open the fridge and grab a couple beers, then I lock the patio door and turn off the exterior lights. I’m the only one of our crew that lives outside of downtown. I’m only about a twenty-five minute drive from Jax and Audrey, in a house I bought a couple years ago. After living in downtown Boston for years, I needed space. I was sick of sharing walls with strangers and wanted to be able to make a home my own. I have an open floor plan on the first floor, with Millie’s room and a guest bath to the side. I knocked down the walls on the smaller second floor and created a large master suite that takes up the entire space. My family owns a contracting company, so I got materials for cheap and had help with electrical and plumbing from some of the guys on the team.

I walk back to the couch and hand Gigi her drink. “Thanks, prince.”

Gigi gives everyone nicknames. Millie is “love bug”, Linc is “pretty boy”, and she insists on calling me “prince”. I hated it at first, but every time I protested, she just did it more, so I gave up and it stuck.

“You’re welcome, princess.”

The corner of her mouth turns up in a grin. “Princess?”

“If I can’t get you to stop calling me that ridiculous name, then it’s high time you get paybacks.” I take a drink of my beer, sitting down on the couch.

“What if I like it?” I turn my head to look at her and her green eyes are bright and she’s smiling.

Well, that plan backfired.

“Damn it. I’m not calling you princess now.”

“Oh, come on. You call Millie ‘Mills’. Now I can be ‘princess’. I think there’s a secret nicknamer hiding inside you.” She smugly nods.

“Maybe I’ve just been spending too much time with you,” I joke.

“Never! You love spending time with me!” Her hand slaps her chest like I physically hurt her with my words.

I shake my head and try to hide my smile. I bring my beer to my mouth so I don’t admit that I actually do love spending time with her. Always have.

It’s 9:30 a.m. on Monday morning, and I just sat down for my meeting with my father. It’s the weekly thirty-minute window for him to tell me what I’m doing wrong or give me a new assignment. It makes me dread Mondays even more than the average individual does.

I sit waiting in our conference room, laptop and reports ready. I pull out my phone and see a text from Gigi. She sent me a picture of her coffee, probably some sort of caramel sugar bomb, along with “Rise and shine, prince.” She sent it at 8:15. I had already been up for four hours at that point. I’m not the best sleeper, then add in what I know Monday brings and I might get a solid three hours. I send back a text, telling her good morning, then silence and pocket my phone.

I raise my black coffee to my mouth and get a sip in before my father walks into the room. I stand, and he goes to his seat at the end of the table next to mine. No ‘good morning’, no ‘hello, son’. Not that I expected it.

William Marcus Holt is CEO of Holt Contracting, a company that my grandfather started in 1968. My grandfather handed the business down to my father in the 90s, and now I’m being primed to take it over from him. Holt Contracting is a general contracting company that supplies materials, labor, and any other service needed in construction projects. During the time it’s been in business, we’ve gained the trust of the Boston community and now oversee multi-million dollar projects that range from remodels to new builds.

My latest project has been to set up our expansion offices an hour south in Providence. It’s been my father’s goal to see the company expand into other cities, and he’s making it happen. So, I’ve secured office space, a skeleton staff to open the doors with, and started to prospect projects within the community.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Son.” He opens his laptop. “Do you have the updated bid spreadsheet?”

“Sharing it now. We’re at a sixty-eight percent win rate, but I believe we’re at a good point to get up and running. I would suggest we have the offices set up by the beginning of next month and have projects started by the fifteenth. We’re ready.”

I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished with the Providence office. I feel good about the staff I’ve chosen. We’ve won enough contracts to recoup the expenses of the finish out and new gear for the teams within the first three months. I’m basically handing my father exactly what he asked for, under his financial and timeline requirements.

I sit quietly as he scans the document I sent him. My heart rate picks up like it always does when I want his approval or when I’m nervous for his feedback. It’s like I’m ten again, handing him my report card.

“Everything looks good. Give the go ahead to open the offices and start the contracted projects. Keep an eye on the consistency of new projects coming in and don’t let it drop off.”

“Will do.” I feel relief wash over me. He used the word ‘good’ and from him, that’s a big compliment.

He closes his laptop and leans back in his chair. “There’s one more thing we need to talk about this morning.”

I open a new Notes file and get ready to hear his new demand. “All ears.”

“We talked a while back about you settling down, finding someone to commit to. I haven’t heard you talk about anyone lately.”

Months ago, my father said I should think about trying to meet someone, that people respect a family man, that being a bachelor can be distracting. I recall how angry I was after that meeting. He can demand all he wants from me in my professional life, but he’s never been concerned about my personal life. It felt like an intrusion, like he was trying to inch his control into every single corner of my life.

“What are you getting at, Dad?” I look him directly in the eyes.

“I feel like you’re at the point that you’re ready to take over the company, Marcus. You’ve shown your commitment to its success, and the team likes you. They say you’re fair and calm. But—”

There’s the fucking ‘but’ I was waiting for.

“I want your personal life to reflect that same sense of commitment. Your mother was always a huge help for me. Someone to come home to on rough days, someone to occupy the other wives at dinners and functions so I could close business, someone to give me children, specifically you, to carry on our legacy.”

I hate the way he talks about Mom. Like she was only there to do a job. No talk of how, when I was growing up, she would take care of him when he was drunk, how she would clean up the messes he created when he would come home angry after losing a big contract, how she took care of me or my brother when he took his anger out on us. How she lied to us about the yelling we heard from their bedroom some nights. Just how she helped present a shiny image to his buddies and business partners. Anger pumps through my veins.

“That’s why I’m going to hand over the business to you on your wedding day. It will be my gift to you and your future wife.”

I narrowed my eyes at him from my seat. My blood is heated. I feel the frustration rising up in my chest.

“You’re serious?”

“Very.”

“All due respect, Dad, but I’ve exceeded your expectations on every single thing you’ve asked of me over the past six years, even if you won’t say it, because God forbid you offer me any praise. I’m more than good with giving you free rein over my goals during business hours, but you don’t have the right to tell me what I need to do in my personal life.”

“Do you want the CEO position?”

I pause, because I’ve never really wanted it. It’s just what’s been expected of me.

“It’s the Holt name on the doors. I intend to carry that on.”

“Then it will be yours when you’re married.”

“Dad—”

He stands, gathering his things. “You have one year.”

He doesn’t even look at me as he leaves the room.

One year to find a woman to marry? I hear my heartbeat in my ears as I lean over the table. I want to scream, throw something, but that would be something he would have done and I refuse to react in a situation like he would have. I take measured breaths as I collect myself enough to walk back to my office. I have no clue how the hell I’m going to make this happen.