Chapter 39 Talbot
TALBOT
“So does this mean you’re going to be at Christmas after all?” Elsa asks me. “Because I’m only making sweet potato casserole if you’re going to be there.”
“Why,” I sit up, “are we having Thanksgiving food at Christmas? What is wrong with you people?”
“Fine, you go out and shoot a goose if you want to eat something other than turkey.” Jake tosses his whetstone on the table.
“People in England eat turkey on Christmas,” Lawrence tells me.
“No, they don’t. They eat beef Wellington.” My brothers turn on each other.
“Can’t you just give her the refund?” I ask Hudson for the thousandth time.
“Can you please issue the refund so I don’t have to fucking hear about it anymore?” Anderson stomps the snow off his boots and lets the office door slam behind him.
“He wants his little girlfriend back.” Elsa bats her eyelashes at me.
“She isn’t a repeat client.” Hudson’s jaw is set.
“Give her seventy-five percent back, and she can roll it into another job if she wants. I’ll cover the rest of it,” I offer.
“I hope that’s not your grand gesture to get her back.” Anderson snorts.
“I have the Colorado trip planned. Fancy lodge. I’ll have to hurry up on Fitz’s job to cover the cost, but it’s worth it to get Misty back. And she will take me back as soon as I get her that refund. She’s just angry—she doesn’t hate me.”
“Probably should have just issued her the refund earlier.” Anderson cracks his neck. “Then he could have done Fitz’s job.”
“We didn’t know if she was some sort of plant.” Lawrence comes to Hudson’s defense.
“Well, get her off the books,” Hudson says in disgust. “Elsa, you can start processing the refund—not a full refund. Talbot, you need to explain to her she doesn’t get all the money back.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Do you have your apology written out?” Jake asks.
“It’s in here.” I tap my head.
“Let me hear it,” Elsa demands. “I bet it’s something barely coherent.”
“I’m quoting The Holiday, that Christmas movie.”
Jake grabs Lawrence’s arm and shakes his head before he can say anything. “Sometimes, you just need to let people fail.”
“She’s going to take me back. She loves me.” I’m stubborn.
“To be fair, it’s not like she has any other options.” Jake shrugs. “Right?”
“She said Fitz wanted to take her to Paris.” Elsa makes a face.
“Yeah, then you really need to up your apology game. Movie quotes aren’t going to compete with a private jet.” Lawrence snorts.
“Bring her your homemade burrata.” Hudson shrugs.
“Is this you wanting me to make you some?” I ask my brother.
“Gracie might have mentioned it.”
“Probably too late for that…” Elsa says.
“No, it actually doesn’t take that long to make. I just need the ingredients.”
“Not that.” Elsa holds up her tablet. It’s one of the sports gossip accounts for men, so they call it a podcast, but it’s just gossip. “‘AUSTEN LANGLEY DUMPS FIANCéE, WILL MARRY FORMER FIANCéE, MISTY EVANS.’”
“That’s a li—”
Elsa yelps, and Anderson grabs me as I lunge, grabbing the tablet.
I ignore the suspicious looks my brothers give me as I swipe through the post.
“He’s not marrying her,” I growl.
“There’s another article.” Jake holds up his phone.
Then Lawrence does the same.
“Why is she marrying him?” I slam the tablet down. Fortunately, it’s in one of those military-grade cases.
“I don’t know, dude. Probably because you fucked her over.” Hudson shakes his head.
“That wasn’t me.” I turn on my oldest brother. “You didn’t give her that money back.”
Hudson’s hand is twitching like he’s about to go for his gun.
I’m seething. “This is your fault.”
“Talbot.” The warning is a low growl.
“Go ahead,” I jerk my chin up at him. “Do it. I fucking dare you.”
His hand rests on his gun.
I don’t go for mine. I don’t need it.
Hudson’s slow on the draw. He uses an IronVane pistol holster, concealed—his gun is an HX-9. It’s going to get caught on his shirt, wasting a precious three-quarters of a second, enough for me to cross the twelve feet, get my hand on his wrist, and break his arm before he can aim the shot…
His hand drops.
“Wise choice. Don’t process the refund, Elsa.” I open my locker, don’t let it slam, and grab my bag and my motorcycle helmet.
“Where are you going?” My brothers ask.
“I’m going to fucking kill him.”
Jake’s skin goes pale when he looks up at me. “Oh shit. He’s serious.”
The room goes a muted gray when I put the helmet on. “Elsa, looks like I will be home for Christmas after all. Make the sweet potatoes for me, won’t you?”