Chapter Twenty-Five
ZANE
A text exchange between Warren Porter and Zane, Friday, September 27, 8:47 a.m.
Dad: Are you sure about this?
Zane: Yes. If I’m going to run this company, then I need to. Thanks Dad, for being a great example to me. I love and appreciate you.
Dad: thumbs-up emoji
“SO, I WANTED TO STAND before you all today and let you know that the deal with Summit was my idea and my contract,” I say to the executive team at our weekly meeting. We’re in a bland conference room, everyone gathered around a large, oval-shaped table.
“And we have my dad to thank for getting me—and the company—out of the mess,” I add, gesturing toward him with my hand. Warren Porter saved the day. I’m still not sure how he did it. As far as I know, I’m still his firstborn, so I don’t think he offered me up as payment—which is a relief.
“I have a lot to learn from him,” I continue. “But if I’m going to run Foothills someday, then I need to admit where I’ve fallen short, listen to those of you with more experience, and ... work harder to earn your trust.”
It’s not exactly the speech I envisioned yesterday when I told my dad my plan. In my head, there was more passion—maybe a bit of fist pumping—a rally-the-troops kind of thing. But this version—humble, honest, and a little repentant—feels right. It’s probably better this way.
It feels good to stand here and take responsibility for my actions. I’ve realized that if I’m going to run this company someday, I can’t have my dad bailing me out every time I mess up. And I do want to run it. It didn’t take me long to come to that conclusion. When I walked into the office the day after getting home from England, I just knew—this is where I want to be.
I think not owning up to my impulsive decisions is what was holding me back, and I have Macey to thank for pointing that out. Maybe that’s why I struggled with knowing what I wanted—because I was afraid of making another mistake, of jumping into something without thinking it through. But what she didn’t say, and what I’ve started to realize, is that being impulsive isn’t always a bad thing. It means I take risks. I dive in. What I need to do now is channel that into something meaningful—something this company, and the people in this room, can count on.
I hope this risk I’m taking with Macey pays off. It doesn’t feel impulsive—if anything, it’s the exact opposite. I’m giving her space, letting things settle, and taking the time to figure out the best way to tell her how I feel. The risk is in the waiting. What if I hold back, finally lay it all out there, and it’s too late?
Because for me, these four days since we got back have been brutal. We’ve barely spoken, and yet my feelings for her have only gotten stronger. I miss her. I want her. I think I might even need her. But what if this time apart is all she needs to decide she doesn’t want me?
I have to take that chance. She’s not a whim to me, and I need her to know that. My feelings aren’t going to change. If anything, these four days apart have only made me more certain how I feel about her.
Sure, it all came on fast, but who decides how these things are supposed to go? There aren’t any hard-and-fast rules for falling for someone. As they say, the heart wants what it wants.
Wow. I sound like Lady Catherine.
“Good job, Son,” my dad says after the meeting, giving me a look of pride and a pat on the back before he walks out of the room.
Smiles and nods from the rest of the team let me know I did the right thing, and it feels like a weight has lifted off my shoulders. I’ve done the right thing, made the right decision. I can feel it in my bones.
The worry of how things might turn out with Macey is still there, weighing on me, but I have to hope that will all work out too.
WHEN I WALK INTO THE condo late that night after a long but satisfying day at work, the familiar music from the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack hits me. In the living room, Macey and Amelia are sprawled out on the sofas, eyes glued to the movie, with boxes of takeout scattered on the coffee table.
“Are you serious?” I ask, laughing but also shaking my head as I set my computer bag on the floor.
“Shhh,” Amelia says. “You’re ruining the best part.”
I look at the scene playing out on the television—Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth talking to each other at the Meryton assembly, I think. I’m instantly taken back to my time at the Park’s version of that dance, with a very beautiful Macey wearing her dark- blue gown, her red hair pulled up to show off her neck. She was stunning that night, and she’s stunning right now, in a white T-shirt and pajama pants, her hair down around her shoulders.
“I think all parts of this movie are the best parts to you,” I say to my sister, who’s now scowling at me.
“You’re not wrong. Now please be quiet,” she says.
“You still want to watch this after living it for a week?” I ask Macey.
“Yes,” she says. “Even after that.”
“At least this version doesn’t have Lady Catherine in the corner directing everything.”
“Indeed,” she says. “Or Edith to pinch your butt.”
We both laugh, and I love the sound of it. It’s the first time in days we’ve had a conversation, and even though it’s short, and mostly just fun, it gives me hope. Hope that I can someday convince her there’s something beyond Pride and Prejudice Park for us. Or, at the very least, that we can be friends. I’ll settle for that, if it’s all she’ll give me. But I hope it’s not all we’re meant to be.
Amelia makes a scoffing noise. “I don’t like that you two have inside jokes. It’s gross.”
I smile at Macey, and she smiles back.
“Well, then you should have come,” Macey says.
I walk over to the table to check out what they’ve ordered today, to find a few containers of pasta dishes and some breadsticks.
“Olive Garden?” I ask.
“Yep,” Amelia says. “Macey’s treat.” She lifts her head from the couch and shoots Macey a knowing smile—the kind that tells me there’s more going on here than I understand.
“Have some,” Macey says.
I grab a plate and load it up with food and then give a head bob toward Macey, who pulls her legs toward her to give me space on the couch, and I sit down.
Like the last time I watched this movie with them, I somehow find myself getting sucked into it. It could be that I appreciate the story more, now that I’ve reenacted it. Or it could be that this is the closest I’ve been to Macey in days, and I like the feel of her next to me. I’ve had to stop myself more than once from touching her.
“Hey, are they doing a country dance?” I ask, pointing to the TV as Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth begin dancing at the Netherfield ball.
“It looks like it,” Macey says. Her smile, while reserved, has a bit of a spark to it.
I get up from the couch and hold out a hand toward her.
“What are you doing?” Amelia asks.
“Miss Elizabeth, might I request the honor of this dance?” I ask Macey, reciting the same line I said to her at the ball.
She gives me a confused look, her cheeks turning pink. “What?”
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s show my sister our skills.”
With some reluctance, Macey stands up, placing her hand in mine. We begin moving through the steps, though it’s not easy without other people to do it with. The gaps feel awkward—there’s no one to weave around or exchange partners with—but Macey catches on quickly, her laughter bubbling up as we do our best to make it work.
“You two look ridiculous,” Amelia says.
“Miss Bennet,” I say as we complete the final step, and I add a bow that makes Amelia roll her eyes.
“Mr. Darcy,” she replies, curtsying dramatically before breaking into laughter.
Something like hope fills my chest as I catch a glimpse of the Macey from last week—the one laughing and dancing with me at Pride and Prejudice Park. And I’m going to keep trying until I see her again.