Chapter Five
VIVI
Vanilla buttercream and chaos—that's what Berkeley's eighth birthday smells like.
Through the sliding glass doors of Isla's kitchen, Seattle's signature February drizzle pitter-patters against it, but it doesn't stop the pack of kids racing through the backyard, their shrieks piercing the afternoon air.
The bounce house is their haven from attempting to stay out of the rain…
but it's a futile attempt. Yet none of them seems to care.
It’s been a week since the board kicked me out of my CEO position, and the ticking time bomb of my upcoming elopement…to no one at this point, is now down to seven away.
I still haven’t heard a word from Jameson, and the few texts back and forth from Genevieve confirm that he’s not talking to her either. His whereabouts are mostly being tracked by the private eye she hired to watch him.
The whole idea of hiring someone to spy on your son is a little cringy, or at the very least an invasion of privacy, but I get that his decisions don’t just affect him, they affect his siblings as well. I just have to wonder if she has a private eye watching me too.
Good thing everything I’ve been doing is completely mundane and boring.
I’ve never not had a job, and rearranging my furniture for the tenth time isn’t cutting it.
I need something to fill my time and pay at least my bare minimum expenses until the board comes to their senses and gives me back my position and my salary.
"Hold this." Isla shoves a frosting-filled piping bag into my hands while she adjusts the "Happy Eighth Birthday Berkeley" sign.
The professional cake decorator nailed the hockey theme, complete with tiny fondant sticks and a Hawkeyes logo, but my sister can't help adding her personal touches.
A condition caused by the fact that she's an athletic wear designer and perfection is her worst quality, though I can't blame her.
It may not be genetic, but we both have it.
"And while you're at it, spill. Have you gotten the board to change its mind? "
I pipe a small rosette onto the corner of the cake board, buying time. "I've been trying to get a call with Richard, but all he does is ask if I've talked to Jameson."
"Jesus." She steps back, examining the banner's tilt. "Well, keep my car as long as you need. You know that. I still can't believe they took your car. You still own a huge share of the company, and Jameson isn't returning your calls."
"They want it to hurt. Apparently, running out on your wedding creates some PR complications. Who knew?" I say, sarcastically, rolling my eyes.
“Speaking of running away before walking down the aisle, have you talked to Dad yet? He tells me that you’re not returning his voicemails or texts. You should talk to him. Your board director respects Dad. Maybe he could have a word with Richard on your behalf.”
“No way. I don’t want Dad getting involved. Keeping him out of my business was the whole point of me marrying Jameson to begin with,” I tell her and then glance around the room, realizing I haven’t seen our father here yet. “By the way, where is Dad? He never misses the kids’ birthday parties.”
"He called and video chatted Berkeley this morning. His assistant personally flew down her gift this morning so he could watch her open it, but he was very vague about where he was. Said he’ll be out of the country.
I’m guessing that’s code for getting married to a new wife somewhere because the US must cut you off at ten ex-wives, right? ” Isla teases.
“It hasn’t been that many,” I say—though it’s been at least six.
“So, if you’re not going to use Dad’s influence to get you out of this mess, what’s your plan? Can’t you just fire everyone on the board and be done with it?”
“That’s the problem with creating a board of directors,” I say.
“The moment I did, I gave up total control. And now, with the Holiday merger, I don’t hold the majority share anymore.
It was part of the deal I made so they would take us public.
The board can, and will, vote me out as CEO.
” The word tastes bitter. “So unless I can get Jameson to pick up the damn phone, I can kiss my corner office goodbye.”
She adjusts the happy birthday for the hundredth time, tilting her head from right to left to decide if the placement is better. I swear it didn’t move an inch. "Jameson still hasn't reached out to you though, right?"
"Nope." I pop the p with false cheerfulness. "He's too busy enjoying what should have been our honeymoon in Greece. With our wedding planner. Poor girl." I say under my breath. I owe her the biggest for all of this. I can't imagine what consequences of me walking out on my wedding cost her.
Her commission?
Her job?
Her freedom?
A burst of male laughter cuts through the kitchen chaos.
Through the open concept layout, I catch sight of Trey in the living room, standing with Aleksi and Wolf.
His dark blue Henley stretches across broad shoulders, and the sleeve tattoos I glimpsed at practice are on full display.
Something warm coils in my stomach at the sight of him—all six-foot-five of raw power contained in faded jeans and careful control.
He's gorgeous, but anyone with eyes can tell that.
There's something else about him, though, that has always caught my attention.
Maybe the fact that he's a trained Special Forces Night Stalker bad ass who used to fly Black Hawk helicopters into combat war zones and who could probably kill a man forty different ways with his pinky alone. Yet the way he is with Adeline is so nurturing and sweet. Like a giant teddy bear.
And how—even though I’ve seen him punch a man straight off his skates with more force than anyone I’ve ever watched play—he’s also the first guy on the ice to try talking down a fight.
It’s as if his fifteen years of military service came with a side of hostage negotiation training, because he’s damn good at diffusing a situation before it blows.
He’s a conundrum. A mystery.
And maybe I’m just curious enough to find out what makes him tick.
He's also the polar opposite of Jameson Holiday. Where Jameson is charming, charismatic, and professional, Trey seems authentic, centered, and mysterious.
"Earth to Vivi." Isla waves a hand in front of my face. "You were saying? About Jameson?"
I drag my attention back to her, though I swear I can feel Trey's presence like a physical pull. "Right. Well, apparently, we're planning to elope quietly in the South of France in seven weeks."
"Seven weeks?" She frowns. "That's specific."
"That's the ultimatum." The words come out sharper than intended. "Either Jameson and I marry by then, or the board votes me out and he loses his inheritance and his position as the head of Holiday Industries."
Before Isla can respond, Berkeley races through with a pack of sugar-high kids on her heels. "Mom! Can we have cake yet?"
"Soon, baby." Isla smooths her daughter's wild curls. "Go play with your friends."
I watch Berkeley dash off, her dark curls bouncing.
She might not be Isla's by blood, but she's every bit her daughter.
When Kaenan discovered his ex had kept their child secret until her death, he'd been devastated.
Then fate—and my meddling—brought him Isla as Berkeley's nanny.
Now they have this gorgeous home, Berkeley, and little Oliver.
The kind of life I used to dream about before I traded romance for practical business arrangements.
Another burst of laughter draws my attention back to the living room. Trey's smiling at something Wolf Ziegler, the Hawkeyes’ right defense, said, and the sight hits me like a sucker punch. He looks younger when he smiles, less guarded. More like someone I could …
No. I can't go there.
"You know what the worst part is?" I lower my voice as another group of kids thunder past, looking to sugar up with Capri Suns.
"I actually thought Jameson might call. Not because I deserve it for leaving him at the altar, but because we were partners in this.
I screwed up leaving like I did, but now we both have something to lose.
Why isn't he calling so we can make a game plan about how to move forward?
I mean, for all I know, he's not going to come back, and we'll both lose everything. Maybe that's my punishment."
But would Jameson really do that? He's a fierce CEO.
I've seen the way he handles a boardroom of investors with a calm yet charming demeanor.
Never once have I seen or heard of him being vindictive, but I wouldn't blame him if he decided not to be with me.
It's just that, to be fair, he loses more than I do in this.
Isla pulls me toward the pantry, away from little ears and prying eyes. "What exactly do you mean by 'something to lose'?"
I lean against a shelf of pasta, my eyes clamping down for a moment as I prepare to tell my sister about the complete shit show that my running away put into action.
"The Holiday trust has strict rules about marriage.
If Jameson doesn't marry who his parents choose, he loses everything—all the Holiday kids have to follow it.
And it's not just his trust fund—his CEO position at Holiday Industries, his seat on the board, even his shares in the company. "
"And your board?"
"They've wanted to go public for years. The deal with Holiday Industries would've given us the capital and connections to make it happen.
" I rake a hand through my hair. "Without it, there’s no IPO. Which means I can kiss the stock options I was planning for my staff goodbye. Genevieve is already threatening to delay the IPO if I don’t marry Jameson. "
"They'll force you out," she finishes.
"Exactly. And the best part? While I'm stuck here dealing with their threats and the media circus, Jameson's living it up in Santorini."