Chapter 9
nine
. . .
Bridger
I’d just finished my workout in my home gym and taken a quick shower.
It was late, and I was exhausted, but I had a bit more work to do before I went to bed.
When I reached for my phone, I groaned when I saw all the missed calls and texts from Brenner. He’d sent a dozen messages in the last fifteen minutes.
Brenner
The shit has hit the fan.
Brenner
Literally and figuratively.
Brenner
Your gift went over like a fart in church.
Brenner
I told you this was a bad idea.
Brenner
She’s refusing the gift.
Brenner
In her defense, you sent her a toilet.
Brenner
She wanted an apology.
Brenner
You gave her my cell phone number, and she texted me.
Brenner
She’s asking for your phone number.
Brenner
She’s refusing the gift.
Brenner
Should I give her your number?
Brenner
Boss, you there?
For fuck’s sake. When did people get so picky? It’s a gift.
Brenner
It’s a toilet.
A very fancy toilet with all the bells and whistles.
Brenner
Still. It’s a toilet.
Give me her cell number.
He sent me her phone number, and I saved the contact in my phone, deciding what I wanted to say.
I developed software apps for a living. I’d sold the first app I ever developed to an investor out of Japan for $500 million before negotiating the next large deal the following year.
I was on the cover of Forbes magazine by the age of thirty.
I could handle Emilia fucking Taylor.
This is Bridger Chadwick. I understand we have a problem with the gift?
Three little dots moved around the screen, and I found myself staring at the phone like I was waiting for the biggest deal of my life to close.
Emilia
A problem with the gift?
That’s a bit dramatic. It’s a gift.
Emilia
Listen, Daddy Warbucks, you can take your deep pockets and your fancy shitter and shove them both where the sun don’t shine.
I stared down at the phone, equal parts annoyed and amused.
Who knew Emilia Taylor had such an impressive backbone?
Most people were intimidated by me. She’d always appeared to be one of those people. But here she was, delivering up a big shit sandwich and serving it to me.
That shitter has a lot of bells and whistles.
Emilia
I do not want your toilet. It will remain on my front porch until you arrange to have it picked up. I will be waiting for the apology that you owe me. It’s just two words. Just say: “I’m sorry.” It’s not that hard.
So let me get this straight… I attempt to have your building power washed from the egg attack, and you send him away and refuse service. Now I send you a very generous peace offering, a toilet most asses would dream about sitting on… and you’re refusing that as well?
Emilia
Ahhhh… Daddy Warbucks is following along now.
Who the fuck is Daddy Warbucks?
Emilia
Of course I find a name that will intentionally offend you, and you claim you don’t know who it is.
Not claiming it. I don’t know who it is.
Emilia
Google it. He’s the rich asshole in Annie, you jackass.
Wow. So many names today. Daddy Warbucks, Deep Pockets, and now Jackass.
Emilia
I googled it. Not offended.
Three little dots moved across the screen, and then they disappeared.
Why was I disappointed?
I sent a quick text to Brenner telling him to have the toilet picked up in the morning. I told him to deliver it to Archer’s house, as he’d stopped by this week and raved about my toilet.
I scratched the back of my neck and groaned because this meant another week of pickleball with my father.
I pushed to my feet, turned off all the lights, and headed down the hall.
I stopped in the bathroom and glanced at my nose, which was still slightly bruised, but the cut had scabbed up, and it would heal in no time. Thank God he didn’t break the thing.
As long as I didn’t take another shot to the face.
When I climbed in bed and closed my eyes, Emilia Taylor flooded my thoughts.
Her long dark hair falling around her shoulders, and those bright-blue eyes, both angry and warm every time I looked at her.
And that goddamn pink pickleball skirt.
I shook my head, desperate to push thoughts of her away.
I would not fantasize about a woman I despised.
Even if she didn’t write “The Taylor Tea,” she’d always had it out for me.
It didn’t matter that she was fucking gorgeous, and I hadn’t been laid in a while.
My hand slipped inside my briefs, and I stroked it a few times.
And I was not proud to say that I got off to thoughts of Emilia.
It wasn’t even the first time… and I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.
“Unc-ee, why aren’t Hen, Lu, and Lolo here?
” Melody asked after she’d asked her father first, and he’d told her to ask me.
Dickhead. I sent the dude a fancy shitter, and still he passes this one off to me.
We were sitting at my parents’ big farmhouse table for Sunday dinner, even though they were out of town for the latest Jelly Roll concert, along with my aunt and uncle.
We still came here to eat, because it was our thing. Sundays were always about dinner at the home where we’d grown up.
So I’d ordered takeout for everyone, but the girls had once again banded together in defense of Emilia fucking Taylor and refused to come.
They refused to come to our family Sunday dinner because I’d sent her a Japanese toilet. A toilet that most dudes would give their left nut for, and I’d somehow offended her.
The woman who’d offended me more times than I could count was now calling the shots.
“They’re being stubborn,” I answered honestly, and laughter erupted around the table.
“Dude. Let’s be real.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ve gone above and beyond, and I’m not sure what else they want from me.”
Rafe blew out a breath. “All Emilia wants is an apology. They support her on that, and to be honest with you, I do, too.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course you do.”
“We all do,” Axel said. “You were a dick to her, Bridge. She went out of her way to prove to you that it wasn’t her writing that column, and all she’s asking for is a simple apology.”
“Agreed,” Archer piped in. “But I’m grateful that I ended up with the toilet.”
More laughter.
I was the only one not laughing, along with Melody, who was looking up at me with those big brown eyes. “Who’s you gots to say sorry to?”
“Emilia Taylor,” Easton said.
“My flower girl. I love Millie. Why’s you gots to say sorry to her?”
“Unc-ee thought Emilia did something that she didn’t do, and he refused to drop it, so she brought him proof that she didn’t do it,” Archer explained, making me sound like a complete asshole in the process.
She gasped, chubby little hands covering her mouth now, and eyes wide.
“Unc-ee,” she whispered. “Mrs. Dowden would say that’s being a meanie.”
“Glad to know Mrs. Dowden brings something to the table.” Axel smirked. “But yes, Unc-ee was a meanie for sure.”
“And you didn’t say you’re sorry?” she asked, disappointment flooding that innocent gaze.
“I did apologize with a gift. Two gifts actually. And she returned them both.” Why did I sound so defensive? Because I’d been more than generous.
“What kind of gifts?” Melody pressed, completely invested now.
“I tried to get her windows cleaned, and I sent her a fancy toilet.”
Her brows cinched together, and her lips actually formed a frown. I didn’t even know that Melody Chadwick was capable of frowning.
“You got her a potty?” She shook her head before reaching for her glass of chocolate milk. “Daddy got me a potty when I was little, but that wasn’t a present. Everybody already gots a potty.”
“Listen,” I said, fighting my irritation because I was sick and tired of talking about this beef with Emilia.
“I offered to clean the windows because I felt responsible for her getting egged. You guys told me that it was a cheap gift, so I figured the toilet would be more reasonable. She’s the one who’s being difficult, not me. ”
“She’s actually been pretty clear,” Clark said, leaning back in his chair and burping.
He was lucky Mom wasn’t here, or she would have smacked him upside the head.
“She just wants the words, brother. Just say those two little words, and it’s done.
Because guess what? I’m back in the city tomorrow with Eloise, and we can’t come back for pickleball because of the game schedule this week.
So you’re already down a player, and with Henley refusing to play, you have no one to cover Archer or me.
So you best suck it up and figure it out. ”
“I told Brenner he has to cover for one of you this week.”
“Brenner Layton? Does he even play pickleball?” Easton groaned.
“I don’t know. He works out a couple days a week,” I said.
“The dude is always in a suit. I don’t get pickleball vibes from him,” Easton said.
“Because he’s a professional. I wear suits when I go to the office, and I’m damn good at pickleball,” I said.
“Unc-ee, you can’t say ‘damn.’”
“I’m talking about the body of water, little monster.” I rumpled the top of her hair, and Archer shook his head and chuckled.
“Dude. The toilet didn’t work. You need to fix this. This is not fun having the girls skip Sunday dinners and pickleball. What’s next?” He paused and motioned for Archer to cover Melody’s ears before continuing. “No sex until Bridger apologizes? No. I’m done. Make this right.”
“They all stopped by the ranch this morning and took the horses out,” Axel said. He had a large ranch with eight or nine horses. He made custom horse trailers for a living, so his ranch was his happy place.
I thought it over. “Does she ride?”
“Yeah. She looked real comfortable up there.” Axel shrugged.
“Should I get her a horse? Will that fix this?” I asked. Because at this point, I was sick of this shit. Hell, I’d probably buy her a private island to get this to go away. I could buy her the island and then banish her to go live there. That wasn’t a bad idea.
“You are not buying her a horse. You can’t buy this girl off, B. Do you get me? Just drive to her house, knock on the door, and when she opens the door, you simply say two words: ‘I’m sorry.’” Easton sighed. “It’s not that difficult, brother.”
“I’d rather send her the horse,” I said under my breath, earning me a chuckle from Rafe, who was seated beside me.
I wasn’t big on feelings, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I felt—something about the girls not coming to Sunday dinner.
I knew my brothers weren’t happy.
Hell, no one was happy.
I wanted to blame Emilia for all of it, but I knew deep down, this was on me.
I needed to make it right.