Chapter Eleven
VIVI
After dropping off Adeline at school this morning, grocery shopping, and dropping off every legal document I have in my possession about my position as CEO, my rights as a stockholder, and the marriage agreement documents that I signed with Genevieve and Jameson, I’m exhausted.
Yvanne said that she’s going to pore over everything and see if there are any loopholes or rights that I’m not aware of. Anything to stop them from being able to terminate my CEO position if I don’t marry Jameson.
I slide into my car, glancing at the time. After all of that, I need to get back on the road, get to Adeline’s school for pick up, and take her to ballet on time.
Thankfully, I packed her backpack with her tutu this morning so that she can change at school.
Just as I take a deep breath, my phone rings.
"Good morning, Mrs. Holiday—" I say, seeing Genevieve’s number highlighted on my phone.
"Is it a good morning? Did you enjoy yourself last night? The press certainly did."
I quickly rack my brain about what she could be referring to. "I'm not sure I understand—"
"The Hawkeyes game. That Hartley player certainly seemed comfortable wrapping his arms around you to shield you from the press. What is going on, Vivi?"
Oh shit. The memory of Trey's protective stance, his massive frame blocking photographers as we left the arena, his jersey hanging loosely on my frame…it probably didn't look great.
"It's nothing. He's a family friend whose nanny dropped out on him last minute, and since I don't currently have a position at the moment, I've been helping him out with his niece."
"You do have a position, Vivi. Getting my son to come back before your futures are both ruined.
Not gallivanting around with some war-hero heartthrob hockey player and his niece, getting photographed in his jersey with my son's ring still on your finger. This isn’t good news. What if my son had seen these photos?"
“War-hero heartthrob…?” I ask.
How much does she know about Trey?
“It was the headline they were going to publish this morning until I stopped them. Can you even begin to understand what an uphill battle that would have been to fight against publicly? He would have gotten the sympathy, and everyone would have wanted him to win you over. Instead of the billionaire playboy image my son needs to shake. Not to mention Jameson’s disappearance from all social circles. It’s not a good look, Vivi.”
She's right. I have no idea how this would look to Jameson, though he's also in Greece spending our honeymoon with another woman…or at least I assume they're still together at this point. I haven't heard anything from either of them.
"I know, I'm sorry. I didn't realize the press would recognize me and put two and two together."
"It's literally what the press gets paid to do. Make connections, whether they're true or not. And a scandal like this? Big money."
"You're right. I should have been more careful."
"Lucky for you, my private eye caught the photographers and paid them for the images last night before they could go public and ruin everything I'm trying to do.
My son didn't see these, but I'm warning you Vivi, the press is out for anything they can get about you and my son.
A scandal with a Hawkeyes player or Jameson taking the wedding planner on your honeymoon would sell for far more money than the story that you two are quietly marrying in the South of France when he returns.
You both need to take this more seriously. "
Her examples have me wondering if the private eye she has watching Jameson in Greece has paid off photographers as well.
"Have you gotten confirmation that Jameson and Natasha are still together?" I ask, still worried about Natasha and how I must have cost her everything. She has to hate me at this point.
"I'll just put it this way. You both are costing the Holiday trust fund more money in photography payoffs than has ever happened in the history of this family, and I expect you both to do better in the future. Do I make myself understood?"
So he and Natasha are getting photographed together.
I want to ask follow-up questions, but I suspect they won’t be met with warmth and openness at this point.
I just want to know that Natasha is doing fine and doesn’t blame me for ruining her commission that would have paid for everything she needed.
"Yes, Mrs. Holiday. I understand."
"Good." The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone for a long moment, guilt and frustration warring in my chest. The rain patters against my windshield as I sit in Seattle traffic, already running late to pick up Adeline from school before ballet.
The weather called for a thunderstorm and based on the dark clouds looming over the city, I think that’s likely.
That's when I feel it—the telltale thump followed by the rhythmic flapping of rubber against asphalt. The steering wheel vibrates under my hands as I ease onto the shoulder of I-5, hazard lights casting an orange glow through the sheets of rain.
"No, no, no…"
Seattle's signature March drizzle has evolved into a proper downpour, drumming against the roof like artillery fire. Through the windshield, brake lights blur into red streaks as traffic rushes past, throwing up walls of spray. Each passing semi rocks my car, reminding me how exposed I am out here.
I climb out, immediately regretting my choice of a silk blouse as the rain soaks through to my skin. The rear left tire isn't just flat—it's shredded. Fantastic.
Back in the relative safety of the driver's seat, I dial my company's emergency assistance line that we offer to all of our clients, just another perk, water dripping from my hair onto the leather. The dispatcher's voice carries that forced cheerfulness I used to insist on during training.
"Newport Staffing Solutions, Roadside Assistance, how may I direct your call?"
"Hi, this is Vivi Newport."
A pause. "Oh. Ms. Newport…" Her voice drops to barely above a whisper. "I'm so sorry, but Mr. Howard sent a company memo that you're currently cut off from all company services. Including roadside assistance."
The bastard. Of course he did. "You're kidding? Is there any way you can connect me to Richard's line?"
He's the only one who can overturn Martin's decision.
"Unfortunately, he's out on vacation this week." Another pause. "I'm really sorry, Ms. Newport. This isn't right."
Tyler from security, then Virginia, my receptionist, and now our dispatcher in Roadside Assistance all see how this company policy about me is wrong. How does the board not see this? They're undermining me at a company I built.
I hang up before my frustration shows. Two hours minimum for a tow truck, they tell me when I call. Perfect. Apparently, I'm not the only person in the Seattle area with a shitty day piling up and in need of roadside assistance.
Next, I text Isla.
Vivi: Flat tire on I-5. Any chance you can grab Adeline with Berkeley?
Isla: Of course. Where are you? Do you need me to come get you?
Vivi: No, I'm fine. Just stuck in this mess. Tow truck's coming…eventually.
Isla: You sure? Kaenan can come.
Vivi: Really, I'm good. Just keep Adeline distracted. I'll meet you at ballet if I make it.
Isla: If you're sure…but text me updates or I'm sending search and rescue.
Finally, I call Trey. It goes straight to voicemail—he's at practice and I know they can't have their phones on them, but I still feel like I need to let him know what's going on and that I have Adeline's pickup and ballet handled.
"Hey, it's me." I try to keep my voice steady despite the chill setting in.
"Just letting you know I got a flat tire, but Isla's getting Adeline.
The tow truck's coming since my asshole Interim CEO suspended my access to our maintenance department as well," I blow out a breath, realizing that I'm rambling.
"Sorry, you don't need to know any of that. I just wanted to keep you in the loop."
It’s less than a few minutes before he calls back.
"Where exactly are you?" His voice carries that command tone that makes my spine straighten automatically.
"I'm fine, really. Two exits down from the stadium. The tow truck will be here in a couple of hours."
"Vivi." The way he says my name—soft but firm—makes my pulse jump. "Which side of the highway?"
"Northbound. But you don't need to come."
"Send me your location and don't move."
The intensity in his voice sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with my wet clothes. "Trey, you're at practice. You can't just leave in the middle to help your nanny with a flat tire."
"Watch me."
I hear the sound of his SUV roar to life. "I'm not leaving you on I-5 for hours. Traffic moves too fast—it's dangerous. A semi could swerve into the shoulder and rear-end you. I'm already pulling out of the Hawkeyes parking lot."
I pin my location and send the link. "Got it. Stay there. Don't get out of the car for anything, do you understand?"
"Yes," I tell him, my chest flooding with relief, not realizing how bad I needed someone to show up for me right now. Of course, it would be him. Running out on practice even though it could cost him time on the ice for the next game.
He hangs up without another word. Ten minutes later, his black SUV pulls up behind me, hazards flashing.
I start to open my door, but his voice carries through the rain. "Stay in the car! Don't come out here."
He's already moving to my trunk, lifting the gate, and pulling out the spare tire into the compartment.
"If someone hits us, you're safer in the car.
Don't get out. Not for any reason." His eyes are on me through my rearview mirror.
He waits for me to nod, and then he gets back to work.
I watch him work efficiently despite the downpour.
He squats down by my rear left tire, his T-shirt clings to his broad shoulders, rain dripping from his hair as he works with the car jack and starts pulling off the lug nuts quickly.