Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Grady
The Wednesday meeting runs until two in the afternoon.
By the time my father dismisses the room, my leg has gone numb from the knee down, and the headache behind my eyes has settled in to stay. I need fresh air, not the recycled stuff pumping through the estate’s heating system.
I push through the French doors onto the terrace, and the cold hits me like a wall.
March in Connecticut means frost still clinging to the north-facing stone, the manicured lawn gone damp and spongy underfoot, and gravel paths edged with mud where the frost has softened.
The sky hangs low, white-gray, the kind of sky that promises nothing except more of the same.
My cane taps over a wet gravel path, taking it slow to give my knee time to warm up to walking after so many hours seated. It reminds me of the main path that runs up from the docks to the Homestead on Misty Pines, but the gravel here is smaller and crushed finer.
I round the corner of the east wing and find Caroline walking the perimeter path, a leather portfolio tucked under one arm, her coat buttoned to the collar to stave off the cold. She doesn’t pretend to be surprised to see me, and I’m not surprised to see her.
“Your father mentioned you might need a walk after that presentation,” she says, not even bothering with a pretense that she just happened to be here.
I appreciate the honesty, even if I don’t appreciate the setup. “He’s not subtle.”
“No.” One corner of her mouth lifts. “He never has been.”
She falls into step beside me without waiting for an invitation and matches her pace to mine, hers a half-step shorter to accommodate my limp. The gravel crunches under our feet, and the sound carries in the cold, still air.
“How’s the leg holding up?” she asks.
“It’s been better.”
She accepts this without pushing for more. Another thing I appreciate about Caroline Bennett. She asks the questions that matter and leaves the ones that don’t alone.
We pass a row of bare oaks, their branches black beneath the gray sky, arranged in a perfect line along the path. Damp earth rises from the thawing ground, rich and cold, undercut by a distant hint of wood smoke from the estate’s chimneys.
Halfway down the path, Caroline stops and opens the portfolio.
The site map for the proposed expansion of the Bennett Group’s media holdings is rendered in crisp detail, new offices sketched in pale blue, the publishing acquisition arm labeled in my father’s spidery handwriting, a digital media division outlined in red.
It’s thorough. It’s smart. It folds into existing infrastructure with the efficiency of a plan years in the making, not days.
Caroline taps a section near the center with one finger. An office suite, larger than the others, positioned where the editorial and acquisition teams would intersect.
“There’s an opening,” she says. “Not hypothetical. Real. A role you could step into right away, with authority and room to grow.”
I study the map. The office has windows on two sides with good light. Someone thought about sightlines, workflow, and the kind of space a person might want to occupy for ten or twelve hours a day.
“You’d have signing authority on acquisitions under two million,” she continues. “Full editorial input on the lifestyle vertical. We’re now treating the Portland-Bar Harbor gap as a priority. You’d own that strategy from conception through execution.”
She says all this the way she says everything, logical and already stress-tested against every variable she can think of. There’s no sales pitch or attempt to dress this up as something it isn’t. Just the facts laid out.
“It makes sense,” she says.
And she’s right. That’s the part that lodges in my chest and refuses to let go, no matter how hard I try to shake it.
Our skills align. My background in publishing, my work with Chloe, the transition to freelance work, and my constant vigilance on the market.
Her family’s resources, their distribution network, their existing subscriber base.
Our goals overlap. Their expansion into coastal markets, my understanding of those markets.
Our families would benefit. The Finch name on the masthead, the Bennett Group’s reach extended. All of it logical. All of it right.
When she looks at me, there’s no expectation of romance. “You’d be good at it. We’d be good together as a team.”
I believe her, because Caroline Bennett doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean, and because the evidence is right there on the page in front of me, in the alignment of skills and resources and timing that turns this from merely possible into almost inevitable.
My brow furrows as I look from the plans to her. “Why not you?”
She doesn’t pretend to misunderstand my question. “It’s still a man’s world, and my father is old-fashioned. He won’t leave me the company, but he’ll leave it to a husband who can bring assets to the table.”
“That’s not fair.”
She closes the portfolio and tucks it beneath her arm again. “But it’s the world we live in for now.”
We keep walking, and the path curves toward the property’s far edge, where the manicured lawn gives way to a stand of pine trees, their needles lending a brightness to the day that the sun lacks.
“My father believes marriages should be strategic.” A faint smile curves her lips. “He calls this one efficient.”
“And your opinion?”
“I think efficiency has its place.”
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “You don’t sound especially romantic.”
“I’ve never had much reason to be.” She shrugs beneath her wool coat. “I’ve watched marriages built on infatuation burn out in spectacular fashion. Compatibility lasts longer.”
I stop at the iron railing where the path ends and flatten my palm on the cold metal. “My parents have always talked about the Bennett arrangement as if it was the obvious answer.”
The estate stretches out ahead of me, my breath coming out in clouds that vanish almost as soon as they form. “Our families already trust each other. Our careers complement each other. We’d never have to wonder whether the other person understood the demands of the work.”
“Yes,” she agrees.
“We’d already know the same people. Attend the same conferences. We’d never fight over relocating or whose career takes priority.”
“An ideal arrangement.”
My hand curls around the cold iron railing. “And any children would inherit two stable businesses instead of one.”
Her head cocks to the side. “You’ve thought about this.”
“How could I not?” I let out a quiet breath. “I’ve been hearing about it since I set out for university.”
Neither of us speaks for a while, and the wind rattles through the bare branches overhead.
I could do it. I know I could. I can trace the shape of that life from here, year by year, decision by decision. The first year would be integration. Learning the Bennett systems, building the editorial team, establishing the coastal strategy.
The second year, expansion. New markets, new verticals, the kind of growth the boardrooms will praise.
The third year, consolidation. Authority solidified, reputation established. This kind of position doesn’t come twice in a career.
And none of it would be wrong. But it fills me with a painful dread, as if I swallowed an apple whole.
Because the belief that I’d be good at it, that Caroline is right, that this fits, doesn’t come with relief. Instead, it leaves behind a hollow, leaden certainty that if I go through with this, I’m closing a door I can’t reopen.
“It does make sense,” I say, as much for myself as for her.
Doing this means accepting a life that I can map from beginning to end without ever needing to ask what I want, and I can’t deny that there’s comfort in the knowledge.
“Yes,” she agrees. “It’s the perfect alignment.”
“We’d probably even be happy.” At the very least, it would keep my mind engaged nonstop.
“I think so.”
That’s what catches me.
Not will.
Could.
I turn to her. “There’s someone else.”
She doesn’t appear surprised. Instead, she studies me for a long moment before asking, “In Pinecrest?”
“I wasn’t looking for it.” The admission loosens the knot in my stomach. “Honestly, I spent most of the last year trying very hard not to let it happen.”
“But it did.”
“But it did,” I agree.
The words hang between us.
“Did you explain to her why you came back here?”
“Most of it.”
“And?”
“She kissed me before I got on the plane.”
A corner of Caroline’s mouth lifts. “I take it that’s a good sign.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks despite the cold. “I think so.”
“You think so?”
“I’ve never done this before.”
Her soft laugh disappears into the wind. “What is she like?”
I don’t have to think. “She builds houses.”
Caroline blinks. “Houses?”
“She owns a construction company.” A smile finds me without effort. “She fixes things. Builds things. Grows things.”
“She sounds practical.”
“She is.” My gaze drifts toward the frozen gardens. “She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met, and somehow still the gentlest. She takes care of everyone around her before she remembers to take care of herself.”
“She makes me feel...” My chest tightens as I search for the right word.
“Wanted?”
I turn to Caroline in surprise. “Yes.”
She hugs her elbows. “Does she know about us?”
“There isn’t an us.”
“Don’t be obtuse.”
I sigh.
“I told her about my parents’ expectations that I move back here.” My fingers tighten around the handle of my cane. “That there’s. family business and an inheritance.”
“But not about me.”
“No.”
Caroline is quiet for several steps. “Is she an Omega?”
The question almost draws a laugh. “No.”
“So, not your author friend.” Caroline’s head tilts to the side. “Another Beta?”
“An Alpha.”
Caroline’s lips part, the first time I’ve taken her by surprise, and I brace myself.
But all she says is, “Well.”
One brow lifts. “Well?”
She steps forward to grip the iron rail beside me. “I was wondering why you’ve appeared so conflicted this entire trip.”
“You’re taking this better than expected.”
She gives me a puzzled frown. “Shouldn’t I?”
“My parents won’t.”
“No.” She gives me a sad smile. “Probably not.”
She shivers, and I tilt my head back toward the house. We start walking again.
“I’ve read enough about packs to understand that they’re... different.”
“They are.”
“And where do you fit?”
The question lands harder than I expect, and I stare down at the gravel beneath my loafers. “I’m not sure.”
She waits.
“I keep wondering whether I’d just... be in the way.”
“In the way?”
“She already has an Alpha bondmate.”
Understanding dawns. “Oh.”
“And an Omega she was courting.” I purse my lips. “They had a falling out, but they seem to be mending the break. I suppose that’s unavoidable between bondmates.”
“You’d be the Beta.”
“I’d be the Beta.”
Which is the problem.
“I’ve spent my whole life being told Betas in packs are the servants that handle everything around the instincts of Omegas and Alphas.” I huff a quiet laugh. “What if that’s all I ever am?”
She studies me for a long moment. “Grady.”
I look over.
“Everything you’ve told me about this woman…” She gestures vaguely toward me. “None of it was about what she could give you.”
I frown.
“It was about how you feel when you’re with her,” Caroline expands with infinite patience.
I blink.
“You didn’t tell me she’s beautiful.”
I didn’t.
“You didn’t tell me she’s successful.”
I hadn’t, though Emily is.
“You didn’t tell me she’s an Alpha until I asked.” Her expression softens. “You told me she’s a caregiver, and that with her, you feel wanted.”
The wind catches a loose strand of Caroline’s hair. “I don’t think someone who leaves you feeling that way is looking for a servant to handle things when their instincts take control.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “No.”
“But,” Caroline says, adjusting the portfolio beneath her arm, “if you’re hesitant because you think this is a fleeting emotion on either of your sides, you’d be a fool to give up the position being offered to you here.”
“We don’t love each other.”
“As I said, I value respect and partnership over love. I am fond of you, and I believe you are fond of me.” She reaches out to touch my arm. “It could grow to be more, given the time. And you would never question where you stand with me.”
No, but Emily would never leave me questioning where I stand with her, either. The uncertainty is all on my side, which is why it’s so hard to move past.
She squeezes my arm and stops at the junction where the path splits, one fork leading back toward the house, the other continuing back along the property’s edge.
“You don’t have to decide today,” she says.
“You say that, but everyone else is pushing for a commitment this second.”
“Take the materials. Read them over. The offer will remain open until the end of May.”
She extends her hand, and I shake it. Her grip is firm, dry, exactly what it should be. Then she turns and walks back toward the house, her posture straight, her pace unhurried, while I remain standing at the fork.