Chapter 5 Atticus #2
"Oh, I prefer to see things as they truly are, not dressed up for inspection." My mother's gaze is evaluating but not unkind. "And please, call me Vivienne. I feel we're going to be seeing quite a bit of each other."
The implication makes heat rise to my face. "Mother, what are you doing here? The gala isn't for another two weeks."
"And miss the buildup? The community integration my son has supposedly committed himself to?
" She waves a dismissive hand. "Besides, the Whitaker estate in Aspen was unbearably dreary this year.
Same people, same conversations." She turns back to Sloane.
"I hear you're the one who's convinced Atticus to participate in actual holiday festivities.
I'm impressed. Usually, he holes up with spreadsheets until New Year's. "
Sloane's eyes meet mine briefly, amusement dancing in their hazel depths. "He's been surprisingly cooperative. We've got him signed up for the children's holiday pageant and everything."
"Remarkable." My mother sounds genuinely impressed. "The last time I suggested he attend his cousin's children's recital; he invented an emergency board meeting."
"It wasn't invented," I protest, though it absolutely was.
"Well," Sloane says, "Hope Peak has a way of bringing out the best in people."
Something in her tone makes my mother look between us more carefully, her eyes narrowing with speculation. I've seen that look before, it's the same one she uses before making a particularly devastating move in chess.
"Indeed," she says finally. "I look forward to experiencing this magical transformation myself." She turns to me. "Now, darling, I've taken the liberty of booking myself into that charming lodge on the north side of town. The one with the stone exterior and appalling Wi-Fi."
"The Evergreen?" Sloane asks, surprised. "That's... rustic by your standards, isn't it?"
My mother actually smiles. "I wasn't always Vivienne Morgan of the Upper East Side, my dear. I grew up in Vermont. I can rough it when motivated."
This is news to me. In all my thirty-six years, I've never heard my mother mention her childhood in Vermont or any ability to "rough it."
"You'll join me for dinner tonight," she continues, making it a statement rather than a question. "Both of you. Seven o'clock."
"Actually," I begin, searching for an excuse, "we have a...”
"Community commitment?" she finishes, eyebrow arching. "Surely not dinner, as I've checked the schedule that Marcus so helpfully provided. You're free after five."
I shoot a betrayed look at Marcus, who has the grace to appear apologetic.
"We'd be delighted," Sloane says smoothly when I remain silent for too long. "The Evergreen has an excellent chef."
"Perfect." My mother gathers her designer handbag. "And Atticus, darling, do wear something less corporate. You look like you're about to foreclose on the Christmas tree."
With that parting shot, she glides from the office, leaving a vacuum of silence in her wake.
"I'm sorry," Marcus says the moment she's gone. "She can be very... persuasive."
"It's fine, Marcus," I assure him, though it absolutely isn't. "Could you give us a moment, please?"
When the door closes behind him, I turn to Sloane. "You don't have to do dinner. I can make your excuses."
"And leave you to face the inquisition alone?" She shakes her head. "Not a chance. Besides, I like your mother."
"You like the idea of her embarrassing me with childhood stories," I correct.
"That too." She steps closer, lowering her voice. "Though I am curious why she's really here two weeks early."
"To meddle." I run a hand through my hair. "She's suspicious. Did you see how she looked at us?"
"I did." A small smile plays on Sloane's lips. "Guess we're not as subtle as we thought."
"We've been 'us' for less than twenty-four hours," I point out. "There's no way she could know."
"Mothers have a sixth sense for these things." She straightens my tie, a casual intimacy that feels different now after last night. "Besides, we've been dancing around this for years. Maybe everyone saw it before we did."
The thought is both unsettling and oddly comforting. "Still, dinner with my mother wasn't how I planned to spend tonight."
"What did you have in mind?" Her voice drops lower, eyes darkening with suggestion.
Images from last night flash through my mind, Sloane beneath me on the plush rug, in her shower this morning, in her bed, and I have to physically step back before I do something entirely inappropriate for my office.
"Nothing suitable for discussion in a workplace environment," I manage.
Her laugh warms me from the inside. "Rain check, then." She glances at her watch. "We should head to Skyline. Lunch with Levi and Mindy, remember?"
The reminder brings me back to the reality of our day, community commitments, business obligations, the delicate balance we're trying to strike between Blackwood's interests and Hope Peak's character.
"Right." I nod, professional mask sliding back into place. "Let me grab my coat."
"And maybe put on a tie that doesn't scream 'corporate takeover'?" she suggests, eyes twinkling. "I think there's a red one on your desk that would be perfect."
"How do you know what's on my desk?"
"Please. I've been your best friend for three years. I probably know your filing system better than you do." She heads for the door. "I'll meet you in the lobby in ten."
After she leaves, I find myself staring at the closed door, a warmth spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with the office heating.
Three years of friendship, and somehow everything has changed in the span of twenty-four hours.
Yet underneath it all, the foundation remains the same, the easy understanding, the shared humor, the implicit trust.
I reach for my coat, pausing when I notice a small wrapped package on my desk that wasn't there before. The tag reads simply: For lunch with the locals. -S
Inside, I find a dark red tie with subtle pine tree accents woven into the silk, corporate enough to maintain my standards, local enough to show I'm making an effort.
It's so perfectly balanced, so thoughtfully chosen, that I find myself smiling as I remove my navy tie and replace it with Sloane's gift.
Fifteen minutes later, we're walking through fresh snow toward Skyline Bar & Grill. The town is fully embracing the holiday season now, with garlands strung between lampposts and shop windows decorated with twinkling lights and festive displays.
"Nervous?" Sloane asks as we approach the restaurant.
"About lunch with a town council member? Hardly."
"Liar." She nudges me with her elbow. "You've got your boardroom face on."
I consciously relax my expression. "Better?"
"Getting there." She stops us just outside Skyline's entrance. "Look, Levi's a good guy. Protective of Hope Peak, but fair. And Mindy's wonderful, she teaches kindergarten and makes the best apple pie in three counties."
"And their twins?"
"Adorable terrors. Four years old and convinced they're superheroes." Her eyes soften. "They'll probably ask you a million questions and tell you their entire life stories in the first five minutes."
"I'm not good with children," I admit, an unexpected vulnerability surfacing.
"You'll be fine." She squeezes my arm reassuringly. "Just be yourself. The real you, not the CEO version."
"The real me?"
"The one who made me coffee this morning." Her voice drops. "The one who held me like I was something precious last night."
Her words loosen something in my chest. "I can try."
She reaches up, adjusting my new tie with a smile of approval. "Nice choice, by the way."
"Had an excellent advisor," I murmur, catching her hand before she can withdraw it. "Thank you."
She understands I'm thanking her for more than the tie, for her guidance, her belief in me, for seeing the man beneath the corporate armor.
"You're welcome." She steps back, professional boundaries reasserting themselves as we prepare to enter. "Ready?"
I nod, and she leads the way into Skyline's warm interior. The restaurant is busy with the lunch crowd, dark wood floors and deer-antler chandeliers creating a rustic ambiance that somehow manages to be both casual and slightly upscale.
Levi Voss waves from a corner booth, his broad-shouldered frame easy to spot. Beside him sits a woman I assume is Mindy, her warm smile visible even from across the room. Two small children with matching dark curls bounce excitedly in booster seats.
"There they are!" Sloane calls, navigating between tables with familiar ease.
Levi stands as we approach, extending his hand. "Morgan. Glad you could make it."
His handshake is firm, his gaze direct, assessing but not hostile. I note the calluses on his palm, the strength in his grip. This is a man who works with his hands as well as his mind.
"Levi. Thank you for the invitation." I match his directness, sensing it's the approach he respects.
"This is my wife, Mindy," he continues, gesturing to the woman beside him.
Mindy's smile is genuine as she offers her hand. "Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Morgan. We've heard so much about you."
"Atticus, please." I return her smile, finding it easier than expected. "All good things, I hope?"
"Mostly," she teases, eyes twinkling. "These are our twins, Emma and Ethan."
The children regard me with identical expressions of intense curiosity.
"Are you really a boss?" the boy, Ethan, asks without preamble.
"I am," I confirm, sliding into the booth beside Sloane.
"Do you have a money swimming pool like Duck McScrooge?" Emma demands, eyes wide.
A surprised laugh escapes me. "Afraid not. Though that would be something."
"It's McDuck," Sloane corrects gently. "Scrooge McDuck."
"That's what I said," Emma insists with the confidence only a four-year-old can muster.