Chapter Twenty-Two
VIVI
The first thing I notice when I wake is how quiet the house sounds without skates clacking around the mudroom and a grumpy nine-year-old humming Disney songs while she hunts for her other sneaker.
Trey left at dawn for morning skate, a kiss pressed to my temple and a murmured, “Eat real food today.” Adeline’s due home this afternoon.
I was going to use the quiet to do normal things to prepare for Adeline coming home and a fun full week of activities for us for do. I still need to take care of the laundry, a grocery run—maybe stock up on those cinnamon granola bars she demolishes in two days.
I’m mid-pour on my coffee when my phone buzzes across the counter.
Richard Sterling: Emergency board meeting. 11 a.m.
I stare at the text, the words “emergency” and “board meeting” feel ice cold. It doesn’t take a genius to guess why. The push alert from last night is still echoing in my head.
Jameson Holiday’s jet spotted landing in the U.S. Is the prodigal son finally returning?
Of course he’s “returning.” Of course there’s an emergency. And of course I have to be the one to stand in front of a table of people who think my personal life is a business lever you can yank like a slot machine.
I drain my coffee, tug my hair into a low knot, and swap Trey’s T-shirt for a black sheath, blazer, and flats I can actually move in. If I’m going back into my building on a Monday morning, I’m going in armored.
The elevator doors on the parking level slide open just as a town car nose inches past the concrete pillar and glides to a stop. The rear door opens. Chanel jacket. Pearls. Immaculate blowout not even Seattle’s March “wetness” can touch.
“Mrs. Holiday,” I say.
“Vivi,” she returns. The driver falls in two steps behind her like a shadow. “Shall we?”
We cross the marble lobby together, two women who currently dislike each other for very different reasons, and I brace for the humiliation of my key card throwing a red denial light again.
It doesn’t.
The panel clicks green, and the elevator opens.
I blink. Try it again just to be sure. It turns green, again.
It shouldn’t make my eyes sting, but it does.
Not because the board suddenly gave me back the keys to my own kingdom—because obviously someone did.
The who is a coin toss between the man who left before dawn with a kiss, and that “friend” of his who owns a private security company and treats rules like suggestions.
Martin Howard wouldn’t have done this for me. But he might have done it if Trey asked/forced. Or if Callum Lawson felt like flexing from his couch for sport and is pulling in another favor for Trey.
I file it away. Not the place. Not the time. But I pocket relief to use on Trey later as a thank you.
Genevieve and her driver file into the elevator with me. “I’m guessing you know what this briefing is about?” I ask as the doors close, and I push the eleventh floor.
“Of course. I’m the one who called it,” she says, exuding the confidence of a woman in her position with that much power.
“Jameson is back in the States.” She lifts her phone, the screen flashing an itinerary.
“He touched down in New York and is claiming he’s closing the deal he started in Greece before he returns to Seattle. ”
“Claims,” I echo.
She ignores my question. “We need to prepare for his arrival.”
“But he’s not in Seattle yet?” I ask to clarify.
“Not yet. But I expect him in before the next two weeks are up as per the trust and the board’s instructions. Though the board wants this deal to go through and may be willing to give him more time to close. That’s something I will be asking today.”
I knew this deal was important to the Holiday board of directors, but I didn’t realize that it’s this big of a deal that they would potentially be willing to push back our set date for the business deal on a chain of hotels.
“I knew that’s why Jameson pushed for our honeymoon to be in Greece—so he could work on getting the owners to sell to him. But I thought it was a lucrative passion project, not some massive venture.”
“It’s the kind of venture that would dramatically move the profitability of Holiday Enterprises and it opens other doors. It’s a big deal.”
“So we’re still pretending that everything is on track for us to elope in two weeks?” I ask, trying not to sound as annoyed as I already am about having to lie just to save a job for a company that I started.
In the elevator, our reflections are pinned side by side in polished chrome, our differences on display. Her pearls glowing, my irritation simmering. She taps a manicured finger against her bag. “Pretending is our only option until my son remembers who he works for.”
“His mother?”
“The trust,” she says without apology. “Try to keep up.”
The doors slide open on eleven, and the temperature in my body drops five degrees. Virginia looks up from reception, eyes wide, relief skating across her face.
“You’re in,” she whispers when I pass. “I don’t know how—”
“I do,” I whisper back, and then I’m moving because conference room three is already full.
Holiday Industries has colonized the left side of the table with navy suits and watch faces you can see from the next building.
My board sits on the right, looking like they got invited to a party and realized too late it’s a funeral.
Martin Howard is at the far end, neat as a paperclip but he does shudder a little when he sees me—the product of a visit from my boyfriend, no doubt.
Richard stands when I enter, a politician’s smile already in place.
To be fair. I don’t even blame Richard. He’s doing exactly what he believes is in the best interest of the company, and that’s precisely what he was hired to do. Only giving Martin Howard my position was a terrible decision.
“Vivi.” He gestures to the empty seat opposite Genevieve, because of course. “Thank you for coming in on short notice.”
“As if I had a choice,” I murmur too low for him to hear me, but I don’t follow his suggested seating arrangement. I walk over to where Genevieve’s driver just pulled out her seat, and I sit next to her.
She and I don’t see eye to eye about plenty of things, but in this moment, she’s the closest thing I have to an ally in this room, so I’ll be sitting next to her.
She glances over at me as her driver helps push in her chair. There’s almost a softening in her facial expression, and it’s the first time that I realize we’re both the only two here who have no one on our side.
My company doesn’t have my back, and she doesn’t have the backing of Holiday Industries or her family trust on her side.
And though she’s trying to force me to marry a man I don’t love, once upon a time, I gave her my word, and if we play our cards right, in a couple of weeks I’ll be her daughter-in-law and banding together could make us unstoppable.
We need each other and, in this moment, I realize that she and I aren’t really all that different. She’s fighting for her family…for her son. And I’m fighting for my company…my own baby in a way.
Twelve faces swing in unison toward Genevieve and me sitting there together, our spines board straight as if we’re here to play ball. I lace my fingers on the table and keep my shoulders back.
Richard steeples his hands. “As you’ve likely seen, there’s been new…movement. Jameson Holiday has returned to the U.S.”
“Landed in New York,” pipes in a Holiday director I don’t recognize. He’s the kind of man who treats his voice like a gavel. “He’s at The Whitmore. We have him on a schedule to meet with legal and finalize the Greek acquisition. Then we intend to fly him west as soon as this evening.”
“Intend,” Genevieve says. “So he still isn’t answering your calls either.”
I hold back my desire to high-five her for that bitch slap of a response.
The man blinks, unused to being interrupted. Genevieve’s mouth twitches. “Regardless,” she says, “this is our window. We are moving forward with a controlled re-entry into public view. Tonight, if we can manage it.”
“Tonight,” I repeat.
Richard slides a folder toward me. “Our communications team has drafted a few hints to drop into the gossip columns to go out. ‘Insider close to Jameson said that he’s on his way back to his blushing bride after working on a new venture. Someone close to the family says that Vivi has her final dress fitting this week and she can’t wait for their nuptials that are all set to take place in France next month. ’”
I press my tongue against my cheek, knowing I should bite my tongue instead of speaking, but I can’t. “So the plan is to feed the beast.”
Richard leans in, softly. “Optics, Vivi. We all know this isn’t ideal. We just need to get through the week.”
I think of Trey this morning, before light even touched out on the pavement, tugging on a hoodie, kissing my forehead like I’m the thing he doesn’t want to leave.
Of Adeline’s pink backpack waiting by the door because she asked me to “pretty please check if my homework folder is still there.” Of the way my access panel just flashed green after weeks of red.
“Walk me through this,” I say, because I want them on record. “Jameson lands here—when?”
“We’re not sure,” the Holiday director admits. “But the trust is not currently willing to push the timeline back.”
Genevieve’s diamond-clad wrist rests lightly on the table. “Which means,” she says smoothly, “we have less than two weeks to convince the public that my son and Ms. Newport are happily engaged and on schedule for their elopement.”
Richard nods. “We have talking points prepared for both of you, Vivi. Outfits, appearances, even which events you’ll be ‘seen’ together.”
I glance down at the folder in front of me. Blushing bride. Final dress fitting. Can’t wait to marry the love of her life in France next month. My stomach turns.
“And if Jameson doesn’t make it back in time?” I ask, looking straight at Richard.
“Then we have a problem,” he says without missing a beat. “One the trust is unlikely to forgive.”
Which is code for: You lose your company, and he loses his inheritance.
“Optics, Vivi,” Richard adds, like he’s offering reassurance. “We all just need to stay on script.”
I keep my expression polite, but my nails press into the folder. Isla’s words come back to me: “Is this worth it?” On script means I smile while Jameson gallivants around the world with our wedding planner, then play bride-to-be when he strolls back into town.
Though I am the one who left him at the altar. I have no leg to stand on here.
Genevieve leans forward. “This only works if you sell it. No cracks in the foundation and no hesitation. You’ll wear the ring in public, attend all scheduled appearances, and, when the time comes, stand beside him like nothing ever happened.”
My gaze flicks to her, and I catch something almost like a warning in her eyes. She’s not giving me a choice—she’s reminding me there isn’t one.
I swallow my pride and nod once. “Fine. Just tell me when and where.”
It’s the only concession I can make without giving them the satisfaction of seeing me fold.
“Good,” Richard says, like I’ve just agreed to a spa package instead of a hostage negotiation. “We’ll have a detailed itinerary by this afternoon. Until then, I suggest you rest up. It’s going to be a busy two weeks.”
The meeting moves on to legal language and brand protection strategy.
It’s another half hour of executives discussing my life like it’s a marketing campaign.
The France wedding bringing in other opportunity for cross promotion of Holiday Industries, sponsorships coming in for brand deals, news outlets begging to be invited to cover the elopement.
I sit through it all, spine straight, hands folded, letting them think they’ve got me right where they want me.
Because they do.
For now.
When we’re finally dismissed, I gather my folder and push back from the table. Genevieve stands when I do, falling into step beside me as we leave the conference room. It’s not camaraderie anymore, just choreography.
In the hallway, she murmurs just loud enough for me to hear, “Two weeks, Ms. Newport. Don’t waste them. Then the work really begins. If you do everything I tell you, you and Jameson will have a happy and fulfilling life together.”
“Forced to marry?”
“I too was arranged with Jameson’s father.
It wasn’t easy at first, but we did come to love each other in our own way.
I found myself in my children and being the matriarch of this family.
And someday, that responsibility will rest on your shoulders as the first Holiday wife.
It’s a lot of responsibility, but I trust that you, of all people, can do it. ”
I don’t say anything else. And then the Holiday director calls Genevieve back for a private conversation.
I keep my chin high as I head for the elevator, but my pulse pounds in my ears. Two weeks to sell a lie. Two weeks to keep my company. Two weeks before this whole thing either explodes…or swallows me whole.