17. Adair
Adair
The scent of freshly brewed coffee wraps around me as I step into Sip Café. It’s the kind of comforting aroma that promises a moment of calm in the chaos of my life.
I order a cappuccino and settle into a small table near the window, the view of the beach and early morning joggers a soothing sight.
I take my first sip, the warm, frothy liquid pouring down my throat like a tiny, over-caffeinated middle finger to reality.
For now, I can pretend my business isn’t teetering on the edge and that Parker’s father didn’t dissect my life yesterday like a surgeon with a scalpel. I guess no sense in sugar-coating my business stress for my fake husband anymore.
One moment of peace. That’s all I’m asking for.
The bell over the door jingles, and my peace evaporates as Bets strides in. John follows close behind her. She looks every inch the polished businesswoman, from her tailored blazer to the sleek ponytail swinging behind her.
“Adair,” she says when her sharp gaze lands on me. Her voice is warm enough, but there’s a tightness to her smile.
“Bets, hi.” I stand, giving her an awkward hug as John nods a polite greeting. “How are you?”
“Busy. Our new venture in Savannah is doing great. The tip-off ended up being legit, so John and I have been working around the clock to get it up and running for the summer,” she says, her tone light, but I can tell she’s not loitering in front of me for casual small talk.
John has gone to the counter to pick up a few to-go bags for them, it looks like. Bets surveys me for a moment, as if giving me time to do or say something. But I have no idea what she wants. She has always been the type to cut straight to the point when she’s got something on her mind.
She sits across from me without asking.
“So,” Bets says, leaning back in her chair. “What’s new with you?”
That’s a weird question. She knows about Parker, so that’s not new. She and I had two meetings about Citrine, so there’s nothing there.
Is this about Thatcher? Did word get out that I met with her? I hesitate, my cappuccino suddenly less appetizing.
“Oh, you know, the usual. Busy with Citrine, working on the product line. Nothing too exciting.”
Her smile tightens. “Busy, huh?”
I nod, a little too vigorously. “You could say that. Lots going on.”
Bets tilts her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “That’s interesting, because I ran into Caitlyn yesterday.”
Caitlyn is my ex-wellness café manager. The name drops into my gut like a stone.
She’s nice, I suppose, and not much of a gossip. I didn’t ask her to keep me letting her go a secret, so I can see where this conversation is heading.
“Oh?” I say, keeping my voice as neutral as possible.
“She’s been telling people she was let go as your manager because of cash flow issues. Adair?”
“Wow. Caitlyn’s got a real future in fiction, then. Should I get her a BookTok handle?”
My heart races, my mind scrambling for a real answer, not some sarcastic knee-jerk defense mechanism.
“That’s all you’ve got?”
“Well, Caitlyn’s never been privy to Citrine’s finances. That's the first thing I'll say. Secondly, I'm not sure why she would be out there peddling that.”
Bets doesn’t blink. “So, you’re saying she’s lying?”
“I’m saying she’s exaggerating without ever seeing any of the numbers,” I hedge. “It’s a slow season. Things will pick up.”
Her sharp gaze feels like it’s cutting straight through me, peeling back every excuse and half-truth. Bets’s a shark in the real estate business world, and she can smell blood in the water.
“Adair,” she says, her tone calm but firm, “I’ve invested a significant amount of money into Citrine. If there’s a problem, I need to know about it.”
“There’s no problem,” I insist, my voice higher than I’d like. “Just a few bumps in the road. It’s normal, nothing I can’t handle.”
She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Let me make this clear. If your business fails, it reflects on me. My name, my reputation. I can’t afford to let that happen.”
She pauses, and I know whatever comes next isn’t going to be pretty.
“So here’s the deal. You’ve got one month to figure this out. If things don’t improve by then, I’ll step in and take over, and I'll make the decisions on the direction. I won’t let this fail.”
My stomach bottoms out like I got shoved off a ledge. One month? That’s not a grace period, that’s a countdown to detonation.
Heat rises as a mix of anger and humiliation bubbles up inside me. “You don’t think I can handle it?”
“I think you’re passionate and talented,” she says, her tone maddeningly even. “But passion doesn’t pay the bills, and talent doesn’t keep the lights on. Sometimes you need someone with experience to run the business. At least for a while until you have more experience under your belt.”
I grit my teeth, forcing a smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Adair,” she says, her voice softening slightly, “this isn’t personal. It’s business. You know that.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
When Bets and John leave a few minutes later, I stay behind, staring into my half-empty cappuccino like it holds the answers to my problems.
Her words replay in my mind, each one landing like a blow. One month. That’s all she’s giving me to prove I can keep my business afloat.
I’ve poured everything into this—my time, my energy, my heart. The thought of losing it, of watching Bets come in and take over, triggers my absolute fear of failure. It's not that I don't trust her, it's not that I don't have what it takes to do it myself.
It's that I have to be the one to save this.
I finish my drink and leave the café. The sun glares down hard on me as I step outside. The warm breeze does little to ease the knot of anxiety in my chest.
I need a plan. And I need it fast .
I get into my car and start the engine. I know I can do this. I don't know if I can in one month.
Bets’ words echo in my head, and I can’t shake the feeling of disappointment gnawing at me. I’ve always been the type to tackle problems head-on, to push through the hard times with a smile.
Today, I'm not strong. The pressure is getting to me, and I don’t know how much longer I can pretend like everything’s fine.
The last time I felt this overwhelmed, I was twenty-two and living on protein bars and ego, pretending I had a plan when all I had was a half-paid lease and a yoga certification. I could fake it until I made then. The stakes weren't as high.
I clutch the steering wheel a little tighter, the tires of my car humming against the pavement as I drive toward Citrine. At least there, I can lose myself in work for a while. Maybe that’ll help quiet the chaos in my mind.
As I pull into the parking lot, I spot Sue, my one remaining, part-time employee. Seeing her only reinforces how far I’ve fallen.
She’s rearranging stuff in the back of her SUV. I’m grateful I can still offer Sue a few shifts a week. At least for now. Being able to have at least small breaks is the only thing keeping me sane while I frantically try to come up with a solution.
The morning sun reflects off the big front windows. The planters are still blooming, the citrus-scented diffuser is doing its thing, and from the outside, everything looks okay. I let out a breath and pretend that’s enough.
Okay isn't enough.
Sue heads toward the storage room in the back, waving. “Morning!”
I asked her to come in early to do some inventory accounting. I want to know for sure what we have and what we need to move.
“Morning,” I call back, crossing toward the smoothie bar to check on restocks.
“You’ve got a few juice orders already waiting,” she adds, glancing at the tablet screen behind the register. “And someone called in asking about walk-in chair massages.”
I nod. “Thanks. I may have some time today if you’re done and can be at the cash register. Otherwise, I’ll put them on for later this week when you come in next.”
I do a quick inventory—matcha is low, the almond butter’s gone, and the protein bars I ordered haven’t shown up. Again.
I catch my reflection in the front window. My tight ponytail, tired eyes, and an apron stained with beet juice. Fuck. I look like something the cat dragged in. This wasn’t exactly the dream, but it’s mine. And it’s still standing.
Just as I’m reaching for the backup ginger shots, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the screen.
It’s Parker.
I don’t even hesitate to answer. “Hey, you.”
“I need you to come to the hospital,” he says, his voice light, but with a hint of mischief.
“Why?” I ask, confused. “Can’t you tell me what you need over the phone?”
He chuckles, and the sound of it sends a little shiver down my spine. “Trust me, you’ll want to hear this in person. It’s a favor, and those are always better when they’re asked face to face.”
I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me. “A favor? What, do you want me to bring you lunch or something?”
“No, nothing that boring,” he teases. “It’s a fun favor, I promise. Trust me. ”
I can’t help but smile at the sound of his voice. He’s so easy to talk to. And despite all the stress around me right now, I can’t deny that Parker has a way of making things a little lighter.
“Okay, fine. I’ll head over,” I say, my tone already softening. “Give me a minute to make sure Sue is good.”
“Perfect,” he responds, his voice warm and amused.
He sounds like a kid in a candy store. At least this doesn't seem like a crisis. I could use a happy favor.
“I’ll let you know,” I say into the phone, then hang up and glance around the store.
Two tables are occupied, which isn't a full house, but it brings energy.
A woman wearing noise-canceling headphones and writing furiously in a journal sits at one table, and the other is a couple splitting an acai bowl and whispering like it’s classified.
The juicer’s clean, the product shelves are dusted, and the POS drawer's balanced. Everything’s… fine.
Sue’s wiping down the cold-press station with practiced efficiency, humming something vaguely country under her breath. I cross to her, trying to gauge her mood.
“Hey, would you be okay holding down the fort solo for a little while?”
She straightens, flicking a glance at the clock, then at me. “Sure.” She offers a small, knowing smile, making me think that maybe she expected this.
“If you're sure, I've got to meet Parker at the hospital. He was being cryptic, but I don't think I'll be long.”
“Take all the time you need,” she says, nodding toward the mostly empty seating area. “I think I can handle the impulse adaptogen emergencies.”
“Appreciate it.” I offer a grateful smile, already pulling out my phone .
She tosses the towel over her shoulder. “You’ve got that look.”
I pause. “What look?”
Sue arches a brow. “The ‘I’m about to walk into something I’ll regret but do it anyway’ look.”
I laugh under my breath. “Well. At least I’m consistent.”
She grins. “Go. I’ll man the store and prep for any essential oil-related crises. I should still be able to finish my inventory if it gets slow, too.”
She acts like I'll be gone for a week. Hopefully, this is a quick stop to see what Parker has up his sleeve, and I'll be back in less than an hour.
As I step outside, the coastal breeze hits me. I text Parker.
On my way. This better be good. I had to pull Sue off inventory.
He replies a second later.
Oh, it’ll be good.
Another follows immediately after.
I'll meet you in the parking lot. East wing.
I don’t know if he’s planning to pull me into a supply closet and ruin my underwear again. Or if he’s about to drop some clause-bomb from our not-so-real marriage that’ll make my stomach bottom out.
Either way, I’m walking into it completely unarmed and unprepared.