Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
MORGAN
Ipull open the heavy glass door of Evolve, the new restaurant right near the Public Garden that my mom chose for dinner tonight. There are heavy mustard yellow curtains hanging on either side of the opening, and a big dark host stand set back in the center.
Going out to dinner tonight is the last thing I need.
I’m struggling to keep up with all my clients’ needs given how much I’ve taken on with the Rebels.
One of my highest-priority clients has a big social media announcement coming tomorrow about the launch of a new brand partnership.
Given that dinner will take hours, I’ll probably be up until two in the morning double-checking everything and getting all the media scheduled to post tomorrow.
Then I have to be back at the Rebels practice facility in the morning for the first skate of training camp.
The only bright spot in all of this is that Natalie has turned out to be much more competent and capable than Tatum when it comes to social media management, so I’m already working on a plan to delegate more to her and pull back slightly.
I also need to have a conversation with Patrick because he needs to know that his intern is more qualified than the person she’ll be reporting to when Tatum returns.
“Can I help you?” The hostess asks when I approach the large piece of carved black walnut that serves as the host stand.
“I’m meeting someone with a reservation. Anne . . .” I pause for a moment, barely catching myself before I almost used my mom’s previous married name. “. . . Heinberg.”
“Ah yes, I just seated Mrs. Heinberg. Follow me.”
I walk behind her through the glowing restaurant.
The walls are painted black with evenly spaced pieces of polished dark wood running vertically from the floor to the loft-style ceiling, with everything painted black.
The lights that hang from the ceiling give everything a golden tint.
The restaurant is crowded and loud, with every table full and waiters bustling around.
My mom sits at a four-person table near the back wall, made up of vertical slats of wood, evenly spaced to divide the kitchen from the dining area without actually blocking the view. I take the seat opposite her.
“Hi, honey,” Mom says, a smile plastered on her face. Her skin is so tight from her facelift that her smile looks forced. She must have gotten some sun on her honeymoon because I notice the tightness even more than I did three weeks ago. “Don’t you look lovely today.”
“Thanks, I came straight from work.”
“You wore that dress to work?”
I lift my eyebrows and give her a small smile. “Yes?”
I’m not sure how she can find fault with this outfit. It’s a dark green poplin dress that hits right at my knee, paired with a wide woven belt that matches the tan wedges I’m wearing. It’s classic and professional.
My mom gives a slight laugh and says, “Honey, I forgot you worked from home. I thought you were going into an office or something.”
“Actually,” I say, realizing that I never got a chance to tell her I was working for the Rebels part-time. “I just started—”
“There are our girls,” a man’s voice booms from my right, and Mom and I both look over. But whereas she jumps out of her seat, exclaiming what a great surprise this is, my blood runs cold because Aidan is standing next to Max. I don’t understand what the hell is happening right now.
He knew I was going to dinner with my mom, so showing up here can’t be an accident. Was he roped into this by Max? Or did he suggest it?
Max takes the open seat next to my mom, and Aidan pulls out the chair next to me. Shit, Danny. I need to remember to call him Danny. Am I supposed to pretend I haven’t seen him since Bermuda? That we don’t work together? Or are we going to tell them?
My mind is reeling with questions and trying to figure out how we’ve found ourselves here together, when my mom says, “To what do we owe this surprise?”
I lift my water glass and take a sip, hoping it’ll help my suddenly dry mouth and throat.
“It was Danny’s idea,” Max says. “He wanted to get to know his stepmom and stepsister better.”
My throat contracts as I swallow, pushing some of the water into my lungs. I cough into my napkin, then barely manage to excuse myself before getting up from the table.
I slip into the women’s room, and with one hand on the side of the sink and the other holding my hair back, I cough so hard I nearly throw up.
I manage to clear my lungs, but when I’m done and glance up into the mirror, I look like some sort of Halloween doll meant to scare children.
My nose and cheeks are bright pink, and there’s mascara smudged under my eyes.
Grabbing a couple squares of toilet paper from one of the stalls, I set about cleaning my face, and then my phone buzzes in my pocket.
The first text came in about two minutes ago, and I probably didn’t notice because I was too busy hacking up a lung and wondering if I was going to pass out in the process.
Unknown Number
Are you okay?
Morgan, do I need to come in there and make sure you’re alive?
I glance at the heavy wooden door. What the hell?
Morgan
How did you get my number?
Unknown Number
It’s your contact number on your company website.
Morgan
Why were you on my website?
Unknown Number
I was curious.
I save his contact, take one last look in the mirror to ensure I look presentable-ish, and pull open the door.
He’s standing there in dress pants and a button-down shirt, and the way the top two buttons are open and his sleeves are rolled up, showcasing his bronze skin and muscular forearms, has my mouth watering.
I run through the laundry list of reasons I need to stay away from him, the same as I do each time I think of him.
“Are you okay? That was quite the choking incident back there.”
My bark of laughter is sharp. “You said you wanted to get to know your stepsister better?”
“Maybe I do.” His smirk just about does me in. Half the time I can’t decide if I want to kill him or kiss him.
We’re close in this narrow hallway, and I’m surrounded by his scent. I swear this man wears pheromones as cologne. “You’ve known me in the biblical sense.”
“There’s still plenty of ways I’d like to know you.” His voice is husky and rough as his breath meets my face and he brings his hands to my shoulders like he’s trying to keep me close to him.
“Aidan, why are you here? I thought we were keeping our distance.”
“When did we decide that?” His tone is cajoling, a clear indication that he doesn’t think he agreed to that.
“That night we walked back from the restaurant.” I’ve been going out of my way to avoid him in the two weeks since, which only means he’s constantly on my mind.
“No, that night we decided to be friends. So I’m being a good friend and not letting you have dinner with your mother alone.”
He’s seen how truly shitty my mom can be to me, and he’s shown up so I don’t have to weather that alone. I’m not sure what to make of it. It is something a friend would do—maybe it really is as simple as he’s saying?
I glance away, and that’s when I notice my mom and Max watching us closely through those wooden slats. “Fuck. We have an audience.”
Aidan turns and follows my gaze, dropping his hands from my shoulders as he does. “We probably need to tell them we work together.”
“Probably.” I look back at him, chuckling before I say, “Funny how you assured me in Bermuda that there’d be no awkward family dinners in the future, and then you went and orchestrated one.”
I turn and walk away, expecting that he’ll follow.
“You guys okay?” Max asks when we get back to the table.
“Yeah, Danny was just making sure I was still breathing. I told him I was fine, but apparently he had to see for himself.”
Aidan’s posture is rigid when he takes his seat next to me. “Seems she’s okay after all.”
“Oh, good,” my mom says. “I was afraid we might have to skip dinner and rush you to the hospital or something.”
I don’t know what to focus on first—the fact that missing dinner was the first priority in that sentence, or that she thought I might need to be rushed to the hospital and didn’t even bother to come check on me?
I try to give her the benefit of the doubt because, knowing Aidan, he probably jumped up first saying he’d make sure I was okay.
“I’m fine,” I say, picking up my menu. “Also, you married a doctor, so he probably could have stepped in before the hospital was necessary.”
Max lets out an amused chuckle and says, “Seems like Danny had it under control. Speaking of,” he turns toward Aidan, “how’s training camp going?”
“Training camp?” Mom asks, tilting her chin as she looks at her stepson.
“I’m a professional hockey player. I play for the Rebels.”
“No way,” my mom says. My god, how does she not know this about her husband’s son? It makes me wonder if she and Max talk about anything meaningful at all.
Aidan sends Max a questioning look, and I assume he’s wondering the same.
“I’m sure I told you that, honey,” Max says to my mom.
“You probably did,” she says, rubbing his arm. “Sorry, I’m just so forgetful lately.” She throws in a giggle that makes her sound like a teenage girl still trying to figure out if playing dumb is the right way to flirt with boys.
“It’s funny,” I say, “because after we got back from Bermuda, Danny and I actually realized we work together.”
“Imagine my surprise, sitting in a meeting in my GM’s office, only to have Morgan walk in.”
“You work for the Rebels, too?” Max asks, saving my mom the trouble.
“Just part-time,” I say.
“That’s what you’re using your MBA for?” Mom asks. “A part-time job for a hockey team?”
I know Mom’s views on hockey and how much she hates the sport.
I think she hates it just because my dad loves it so much, and maybe also because it took him away from her more than she wanted.
Retrospectively, I’m guessing their unhappy marriage was half the reason Dad traveled so much for work.
Once she left and it was just him and me, the travel virtually stopped.
“Actually,” Aidan’s voice rings out protectively, while his hand moves beneath the table to rest on my thigh like he’s worried I’m going to jump across the table and strangle her.
I’m not. Sadly, I’m used to my mom knowing virtually nothing about my life, whether I’ve kept her updated or not.
“Morgan owns her own boutique PR firm and is just helping out on a special project with the Rebels.”
I glance over at him. I know Colt, McCabe, and I essentially had that conversation in front of him in AJ’s office, and he just admitted to searching up my company’s website, but somehow I’m still shocked.
“Tell me more,” Max says.
“In the early summer, I was brought on to create a new social media vision for the team, and train their social media manager on how to execute it,” I tell him.
“Then she went out on medical leave, so I agreed to help out until she’s back.
” I glance at Aidan and then back at Max.
“So it’s kind of funny that I didn’t realize Danny is Aidan Renaud. ”
Max chuckles. “Yeah, I guess, why would you have? You probably assumed he was Danny Heinberg?”
“Exactly.”
“Your teammates must have been surprised that you two are related,” Max says to Aidan.
Before he can respond, I say, “We haven’t said anything to them, and we don’t plan to.”
Next to me, Aidan stiffens but I’m not sure why.
This is exactly what he said in the elevator that first day in the Rebels’ office: that there was no reason my friends needed to know he’s my stepbrother.
And if he told his teammates, my friends would all know too, and they’d quickly put two and two together.
The only way for no one to find out we’ve slept together, is to keep our stepsibling status a secret.
Aidan’s grip on my thigh tightens. Just like on the walk back from the restaurant the other night, he can’t seem to keep his hands off me.
But we’re only friends, so I glance at him, hoping he understands my meaning loud and clear when I say, “I don’t like to blur personal and professional lines.”