Chapter 7
Liam
So she’s still pissed, obviously. It’s the only explanation for the death glare she shot me before walking away. I thought, for a moment, everything was okay. It was all just water under the bridge even, but I guess she hasn’t forgiven me. What I did back then was shitty, and I wish I could take it back. But if I did, I wouldn’t be where I am today.
When I came out of the office and saw her for the first time in nearly two decades, my body instantly reacted to the sight of her. Her golden blonde hair was sitting just above her breasts and her face was flushed pink. The heart of pale skin and cleavage that was visible from her low-cut sweater had me salivating. I never wanted anything as bad as I did then, to grip her waist between my hands and pull her close enough to bend over and press a gentle kiss right on the top of her ivory breast. And the way her face lit up after I said her name, fuck.
I still wasn’t prepared for what it would feel like when I touched her. She felt soft, and warm, yet her touch burned me, almost in a warning, let go. A spark flew through me when I noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring on any finger. I think she felt it, too, because she didn’t break eye contact once. Not until I backed away, inserting the necessary space between us. I don’t hold hands with anyone, ever, but it was a battle to pull away from her, to let her hand go.
It’s going to be a long six weeks with her as my next door neighbor. Shit. Just as I’m debating finding a hotel in town for an extended stay, Tori bursts back into the office. Ginger ale and saltines in hand.
“Is she still in the bathroom?” Tori asks in a whisper.
“No, I gave her the keys. She left,” I tell her, then watch her face fall.
“Are you kidding me, William?!? I just spent two hours selling her on Broken Ridge, and you’ve just screwed me.” She’s pissed now.
“Tori, she was never going to buy here. You don’t know her. You don’t know what she’s like, okay? It was never even a remote possibility, and if you would have just followed my order, you wouldn’t have wasted two hours of her precious time.”
“So you know her?” Tori perks at this tidbit of information, like a dog with a bone. That was a mistake.
“I just know her type, that’s all,” I say, trying to cover my tracks. God, I can’t wait to get this woman out of my life. “Can you lock the front door and come back to my office, please? We need to talk.” I’m trying to keep my tone firm, and even a little somber, hoping she doesn’t get the wrong idea.
“Yes, sir,” Tori says with a cheeky smile on her face. Of course, she thinks I’m taking her to my office for a little afternoon delight. I rub my temples and close my eyes. This fucking day.
“Okay, you know what, no. I’ll just do this here,” I say, and Tori’s eyes go wide with excitement and anticipation.
“Ooh, I like the idea of getting caught, baby,” Tori says in her seductive voice that I find anything but. She moves towards me to grab my tie and I lurch away from her. I put my hand up, trying my best to make my intent clear.
“You’re not understanding, Tori. I’m letting you go. The MS Group is terminating your contract, effective today. We’ll offer you a severance package, which Gina will reach out to you about to get some signatures.” There, it’s done, I hope.
“Babe, are you firing me so we can be together?!” Tori asks excitedly. She looks like she might start clapping her hands together any minute now.
Not a fucking chance, is what I’m thinking, but instead I say, “No. Definitely not. We appreciate the last two years and the amount of work you’ve done here, and for which we fairly compensated you. However, Broken Ridge is closing up its sales office. We no longer have a need for your services. That’s all this is, Tori. I think you’ll find the severance package very generous.”
Something like realization is starting to make its way on to her face.
“So, what about you and me then?”
“Tori, there is no ‘you and me.’” I’m nervous after I make this statement. I never know what the hell to expect from her. She might slash my tires, or just walk away…then come back to burn this whole place down. You just never know.
She lifts her chin up indignantly, “Matt won’t let you fire me.” She’s already over the part where I told her there is no ‘us,’ which doesn’t surprise me. I don’t think she ever really liked or cared for me. Just my money.
“Matt has already approved your termination.” Continue standing your ground, Liam. My last statement has well and truly shocked her. I think she thinks that everyone’s buying what she’s putting out there, but we see through it. I’ve been in this business since I was 17, so I know a thing or two about snakes. I do hate to admit that I was blind to her intentions for as long as I was, though.
“Well then…FUCK YOU!” she screams at me. Yep, here we go. “FUCK YOU!” She pauses briefly, “AND YOUR BUSINESS PARTNER TOO!”
She’s in full tantrum mode now, stomping her feet, flailing her hands. I wonder if people in the cafe can hear her. Who am I kidding? People five miles away probably heard that. I just stand there, not responding. She wants a fight and I won’t give it to her. I just don’t care about her in the slightest, definitely not enough to do this with her.
She’s fuming, face red as a pepper, and for a moment I swear I see steam coming out her ears. In a deathly low and deep voice, she tells me, “You’ll regret this, William.” Then she turns to make her way to the cabinets where she grabs her bag and keys. Once she gets to the door, I call out after her.
“Make sure to read over the severance paperwork real well, Tori. There’s quite a few stipulations that would void the contract.”
She turns back towards me, and her only response is a wild scream, “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Her wrath is directed entirely at me. But then she turns and walks out the door. Finally.
I immediately pull out my phone and call Niko. He picks up on the second ring,“How’d she take it?”
“How do you think she took it?” I respond in a scalding voice.
“Right, so you want me to get the locksmith out there tonight?” Niko responds casually, like this wasn’t all his fault in the first place. Tori was his girlfriend originally and he recommended her for the job two years ago.
“That’s right, tonight. And since you started this mess, you can help clean it up. I need you to come to the office here and wait for the locksmith to finish.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Be here in 15, got it? I need to get home.”
“No problemo.”
Britain
The drive from Broken Ridge to Spearhead Lake only took 40 minutes, thank god. Living in the D.C. exurbs, you get accustomed to spending a ton of time driving. It’s 30 minutes to an hour just to get some decent tacos, so 40 minutes to get to the top of a mountain range is no problem.
I decide to drive through the main strip of town before heading to the rental. I need to understand whether takeout is even an option or if I need to do a big grocery trip. There’s only six businesses in total that make up the town of Spearhead. The buildings are all exactly how I remember them from my childhood, the town frozen in time. The names of some of the places have changed, but that’s the extent of the transformation.
On one side of the road there’s a small grocery, a gas station, and a diner (that only keeps morning hours, noted). On the opposite side sits a small gift shop/coffee shop, a bar and restaurant, and last but certainly not least, Maggio's Pizza. Thank god it’s still here and it’s open. With the exception of the gas station, each business looks like it could have been a residence at one point. Each building is similarly built in a log cabin style and surrounded by tall evergreens, the only difference is the business signs and small parking lots out front. Only the bar and restaurant has more than four places to park. There’s pine needle-covered paths between each business and a crosswalk connecting both sides of the street, though it’s barely visible from the years of traffic.
It may be off season, but luckily, it looks like there’s at least some life in the town and the restaurant and Maggio’s are open for business. There’s a handful of cars at the restaurant and a couple more at Maggio’s. If I were being adventurous and outgoing, I would head into the bar for a drink, to get the lay of the land. But I’m not, and worse, I’m exhausted, mentally, emotionally, and physically. Today has felt like the never-ending song — it just goes on and on, my friend.
The clock in the car reads 6:11. I’m still running on east coast time, which means my body thinks dinner should have happened two hours ago. Even though dinner sounds amazing, sweats sound better, so I use the gas station to turn around and head to my new home first.
Two hours ago, though, I was in a living hell involving a too-fast golf cart and a lot of memories I was trying desperately to keep repressed. Then top all that off with seeing Liam. My mind is still trying to make sense of what happened back there. “I’ll see you around,” plays over and over in my mind. Why would he say that to me? Jerk. Then I get mad at myself. How dare you let him make you feel warm and twitterpated inside?! What the hell, body?
I’m still mentally berating myself as I pull up to my home away from home and stare at the house, in shock. I’d remember this place anywhere, even though the house itself has been completely renovated. What was once a large log cabin with a separate double carport, is now a modern lake house and detached garage with an apartment over it, which is where I’ll be. Even with all the changes, the lot is still the same. And I bet if I went to the side of the house, I’d still be able to find the tree where my mom and I attempted to carve our initials.
I park in front of the garage and as soon as the car comes to a stop, I reach for my phone and open up Zillow. I need to know. I enter the address and scroll down to the sales history where it shows it was sold, two years ago. Thank fuck. I don’t think I could spend the next six weeks with the threat of seeing someone, anyone, from the Scala family hanging over my head. I release my breath and turn off the car.
So far, this trip has felt like a nightmare and it’s only day one. What was I thinking doing this? Coming here? It’s all a bit too much too soon, and I think I already know what I want to do. I want to get one good night's sleep, or at least try to, and then I want to leave this place, again.
After unloading the car (well, just my luggage; no use bringing in everything if I’m leaving tomorrow), I throw on the biggest, comfiest pair of sweats I brought with me. I slip on my Ugg slippers and head back down the apartment stairs to where my car is parked. I’m really hoping the gas station has some ice cream, but I’ll gladly settle for a Reese's or Snickers if not.
Just as my feet hit the bottom step, a Range Rover pulls into the driveway and parks directly next to the Porsche. Crap. I have no desire to see, talk, or anything with other people right now. If I was at home, I’d have DoorDashed the ice cream, but that’s not really a thing here in Spearhead. I was hopeful there wouldn’t be anyone staying in the main house next door since it’s still a bit too cold to be lake season. But, as luck would have it (and clearly I have none), there is someone staying there.
I’m sure the driver has already seen me, and since it’s probably bad form to turn around and run back up the stairs, I brace myself for what I hope will be a brief, polite encounter. So I can go get my emotional support ice cream.
The driver’s door opens and the first thing I see is silver hair connected to a hot as hell body, of course. They should just change Murphy’s Law to Britain’s Law, same principles still apply. This couldn’t be Linda and Tom Schmidt’s retirement cabin, oh no. This is William Millar’s house, of course.
“What? Are you following me now?” I ask rudely.
“No, this is my home, Britain,” he replies.
“Yeah, no shit. I was able to make that connection, but thanks for the confirmation.”
“Listen,” he starts as I turn my head away in frustration, like a 5-year-old that didn’t get their way. “I’m really sorry Britain. Can we start again, please?”
He’s sincerely pleading with me. His voice sounds so nice, so comforting. Maybe that comment back at Broken Ridge was just an accident. He didn’t realize the connection that was so very clear to me. Maybe he was just being literal in that he would see me around his house, the one I’m staying next to. And I’m tired, I’m so damn tired from carrying this weight…in my bones. I turn my head to face him and when our eyes meet, I can’t hold back the tears that form, and begin falling without permission.
He reaches for me, pulling my body into his. His large hand cups the back of my head tucking me beneath his chin. He reaches both arms around my body to hold me in place. I realize I didn’t fight him on it, at all. I let myself be pulled into him and it feels so fucking good to be held by his strong arms, I start crying even more.
“I’m sorry Britain, I’m so so sorry,” he whispers over my head softly. His voice is like molasses, heavy and sweet. He presses the gentlest of kisses to the top of my hair, and continues murmuring his apology. My tears start to slow and I whisper back to him, “Don’t oversell it,” and he laughs. I feel the vibration in his chest all the way down to my toes.
I move to break the embrace, but he doesn’t fully let me go. He looks down at me with emotion-filled eyes and says, “I thought I’d never see you again, but I’m so glad I did.” There’s a heat starting to form in my belly, slowly making its way to my cheeks. We stare at each other for several moments before I realize I should probably say something.
“I’m sorry about all…this,” I use my hand to gesture to my tear-stained face. Then I gesture to his tear-stained shirt.
“Don’t worry about it, really.” He pauses, never breaking eye contact, “Can I take you to get some dinner? Please?”
“Like, right now?!” I ask in shock, looking down at my oversized sweats and Uggs.
“Yeah, right now. Why not? You gotta date or something?” His tone is teasing.
“Well, for one,” I motion to my face. “And two,” I use the same hand to motion down the length of my body.
“You look great, and trust me, you’ll fit right in around here, especially dressed like that.” He sounds so sincere, I’m really considering it. Maybe a bit of human interaction is the healthier approach to my crappy day.
“Okay,” I say, “on one condition.”
“Hit me with it.”
“You have to change out of your suit and put on sweats, too.” The words have barely left my lips when he says, “Done.”
“Meet me back here in five minutes, okay?” he asks.
“Will do,” I reply with a sheepish smile. The embarrassment of crying into his shirt is settling in, which reminds me, I’ve got five minutes. I should probably attempt to fix my face. God knows what it looks like.
Five minutes later I’m closing the apartment door behind me. I’ve traded my slippers for a pair of Veja sneakers. I applied some perfume, fixed my makeup (well, what was left of it), and put on some lip balm.
He’s already waiting at the bottom of the steps for me. If seeing him in a suit was hot, seeing him in sweats sets my core on fire. His plain white t-shirt is molded to his upper body displaying muscles I certainly don’t know the names of. His gray sweats sit low on his hips and I lick my lips in response to the sight. He’s holding a sweatshirt to his side and smiling at me like he’s so fucking glad that I’m here with him, and I return the gesture. When I get to the base of the stairs, he takes my hand, leading me to the passenger side of his car. He opens my door and closes it behind me once I’m seated. It's the strangest feeling, but I think I’m glad to be here with him, too.