Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Holly
The great room pulses with anticipation, holiday music drifting through speakers while fires roar with a soothing snap and pop. Flames dance in twin fireplaces. Through the windows, ski trails zigzag down the mountain like ribbons of light against the darkness.
Congregated at the bar, our family monopolizes one whole end in hushed conversation. My father keeps stealing glances at me, his face completely unreadable.
I have to wonder if it has anything to do with Blake leaving less than an hour after the presentations.
Chance smiles at me from behind his drink—the kind of smile holding secrets meant only for me.
It’s the smile that says, That’s my woman right there, I love her, and she’s mine. A smile I’ve never seen on him before. I’m willing to bet it’s new, created for me, and only for me. The same one he gave me at the Shred Shack when he leaned close and whispered hi like the word itself carried the weight of something more.
Everything about those two letters—what they say, what they leave unsaid—pulls me under where he delivers my Holly like a one-two punch, short-circuiting everything: lungs forgotten, knees buckling, heart on the verge of full rebellion.
Maybe today he’ll say it again, only this time it won’t be a whispered endearment tucked away from prying eyes.
It’ll be out loud, unapologetic, and in front of everyone.
A TKO for the ages, and I’ll be the one flat on the mat.
I smile back, keeping it subtle and not dialed to grab the hammer and let’s ride, when I catch a glimpse of Ethan making his way through the room, with his family in tow—a wife and three kids.
My heart knocks hard, a lump climbing right into my throat.
Nope. No freaking out.
Chance spots him too, and shoots me a wink.
Catching me when my confidence wobbles on a broken heel.
And suddenly, I wish I’d already told him that I love him too. Because when I finally say it, I don’t want it to be tangled up in timing, circumstance, or anything else. I want it to be about him.
About us.
Ethan’s son squeals, and all eyes turn to them just as Ethan saves his toddler from an epic faceplant.
Gone is the man from the presentation. Here he’s an affable dad, still buzzing with the same energy but channeled in a much different direction.
He’s the picture of casual in blue jeans and flannel rolled up to the elbows over a black t-shirt. Not in the forced sense common with tourists, but more a natural return to his roots.
Called it.
He’s layer built on unexpected layer—the grandmother’s influence no doubt—adding another level of appeal to working with him. One that speaks right to my spirit—that until this week—I had yet to fully embrace.
His oldest, a girl who looks to be around six, clutches his hand while his wife balances their infant daughter against her hip. Their toddler son trails behind, more interested in the massive tree than our gathering.
"Sorry for the delay," Ethan says, taking his sons hand before he can race off to the wish tree he’s just spotted judging by the wonder on his face. "Someone needed an emergency diaper change, and I lost rock-paper-scissors."
"Daddy always loses," his daughter announces with the brutal honesty only kids can deliver.
"That's because Mommy's the mastermind and I'm just the guy who makes epic PB&Js." He grins, completely at ease with this admission.
I bite back a smile, something warm unfurling in my chest at their easy dynamic. At how neither of them seems concerned about who does what, just that it gets done.
At how when he’s in dad mode, he’s a dad and in the moment. No signs of the CEO to be found.
His little girl will be so much better for it.
My father makes his way over as the rest of our family takes a few steps back. It's just far enough to give us a bit of privacy and still hear the highlights.
A part of me wants to pause. Just—whatever happens here, this is it. This whole chase is over. I’ll have all the answers whether or not they hurt.
Ethan turns to me, his expression shifting to business mode though his son is now using him as a jungle gym. "About your presentation..."
I’ll never be able to go back to a time when I didn’t feel this—this pull, this ache—the safety of uncertainty, because at least it wasn’t guaranteed disappointment.
My stomach pitches—not quite dropping, not exactly soaring, but twisting sideways, like I’m stuck on a tilt-a-whirl I didn’t ask to ride.
Ethan catches his son mid-break for the tree, barely missing a beat as he continues. “I’ve seen a lot of strategies,” he says, setting the kid back on solid ground without losing his train of thought. “But what you showed us today? That wasn’t just innovation—it was revolution. The way you mapped those transition paths...” He shakes his head, almost incredulous.
“Transition paths?” My dad cuts in, his voice sharp, with an air of authority he lacks the awareness to recognize is out of place.
Ethan’s eyes snap to my father’s, all intense focus. “The full plans she turned over to accompany her presentation, giving us a chance for deeper review,” he says, his tone firm but measured. “You know, the ones that left my CFO speechless. And when the shock wore off,” Ethan glances briefly at his daughter with a wry smile, “I think he might’ve believed in you-know-who again.”
A light laugh bubbles up from my chest before I can stop it, easing the knot that’s been lodged there all day.
There’s no way I’m losing. Not today.
“I would have been happy to provide a more detailed breakdown for you to review if that’s what you wanted,” my father begins.
Ethan scans the room, his tone shifting, leaning into the authority he carried earlier today. “It’s what I needed. Only I didn’t know it until she handed it to me.”
I glance at my dad. For once, he’s not the one steering the conversation. And the weight of that realization only fuels me further.
“The world is moving too fast to keep doing it the old-school way,” I say quietly, in the same way I tried to be part of my father’s conversation the other day, only to be dismissed at every turn.
“Exactly, and those who don’t adapt will loose relevance. You’re the first analyst we’ve found who’s not only thinking ahead, but also looking at people and not just the company as a whole.”
“And I don’t do anything halfway.”
"Traditional methods would have me locked into one approach and weeks if not months off headaches planning how to pivot. But your daughter just offered up a chess master's playbook of moves and countermoves.” He smiles then, and offers his hand. “So, Ms. McAdams, that’s checkmate. Bold wins.”
Victory is a rush of blood charging through me until I’m dizzy with the force of it.
I took control. Delivered. Forced my father to see me.
“I’ll make sure you don’t regret it,” I say as I shake his hand, fighting to stay in the moment when a dull roar flares to life in my head, growing louder with each passing second and new revelation.
In forcing my father to see me, I see myself clearly now too.
And victory doesn’t taste the way I expected.
Ethan’s little boy lets out a wail that has even the cool, calm, and collected CEO wincing. “So on that shrill note, I’ll be in touch next week. My team wants to meet you in person. My assistant will hammer out the details with you for whatever fits best in your schedule. Sound good?”
“Yes, sure. Absolutely. Great.” The words should be enthusiastic, but instead, I’m breathless and fighting for balance as everything I thought I knew about what I thought I wanted pitches on record-setting stormy seas.
Ethan shakes my father’s hand then, and they exchange words I can’t hear over the new reality thundering through my head.
A reality that changes everything.
Ethan and his wife steer their kids to the tree, leaving my father standing before me. Finally taking a good hard look at me.
And from his expression, seeing what’s been in front of him all along.
His face is calm, almost self-effacing, with a slight dip of the chin speaking volumes without a single word. “Sounds like your old man has had this wrong the whole time—sounds like the company could use a leader like you.”
It’s everything I thought I wanted. I should take it. Old me would have taken it. Pre-Chance me would have called it an epic victory.
Chance’s gaze travels over me, patiently waiting with a secret smile as if he already knows what I’m about to say. And he probably does. Because he sees me in ways no one ever has.
“I don’t want it.” In my head the words are scary, but out loud, they’re… freedom.
The chatter dies on my words.
Charlie chokes on her champagne. Eve smacks her back while simultaneously giving me a thumbs up.
“What?” Nick’s voice cuts through the silence, his jaw slack. He looks at me like I’m some unsolvable equation, a missing piece to a puzzle he’s just now realizing isn’t whole.
And he’s right—from the outside looking in I’m not whole—even when, for the first time, I actually am.
But not for any of the reasons he can possibly come up with.
It’s the piece he doesn’t know exists for me.
Chance.
Chance, who believes in me every second of every day and reinforces what I’ve known all along.
Chance, who saw my hyper-focus on the goal and knew I might miss the bigger picture, kind of like he did.
Chance, who believes my talent is bigger than any inherited legacy.
Chance, who knows fathers should clean up their own messes and children are meant to shatter expectations, not be weighed down by them.
"You've always wanted it," my father says, like maybe I've forgotten my lifelong mission.
"I thought I did." The words come easier than expected. "But I don't want to spend my life constantly having to convince employees I'm competent. I don't want to clean up after you, Dad. I'm sorry—I… I don’t say this to be cruel. I really don’t. But you've made a mess. It's not my job to clean it up. I deserve better.”
He studies me as though I’m speaking a language he’s never been taught.
Like I’m a puzzle he’s suddenly desperate to solve.
But that’s not my problem.
I’m good with being a puzzle. Let him stew over the pieces.
Nick studies me with that protective, overbearing intensity I’ve come to love—and also wish he’d tone the hell down. I’m not a kid anymore, no matter how much he wants to wrap me in bubble wrap and guard me from the world.
“You’re sure about this, Hols?” Nick says, his voice careful and measured. “Because you’ve never thought anything could be better than…” His words slow, his eyes narrowing as it finally dawns on him that I’m not looking at him.
I hear him. I really do. His voice is there, saying something protective and brotherly, probably full of good intentions.
But it’s nothing more than background noise now, fading into the hum of the bar.
“I found something better…”
Leaning against the mahogany like it’s his throne, is my future. All sixteen pockets of unapologetic cargo glory and cocky confidence with a lopsided grin that screams, Take a good look guys, that’s my Holly.
It’s not all cockiness, though. There’s relief written on his shoulders, a looseness that wasn’t there before like he finally exhaled after holding his breath for years. The man who’s made a career of doing the right thing—even when it meant doing the hardest, most self-sacrificing thing imaginable—is no longer locked behind a promise eating him alive.
Something I hate that I guilted him into, even if it did lead us here.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” I smile at him, my heart steady. “Well, maybe one thing.”
Don’t get me wrong, there’s still plenty of cocky on display. Enough to have me rolling my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my head. He’s putting on a masterclass in I told you so and he knows it.
And damn him, it’s working.
“Well, Squirt,” he drawls, amusement dripping from every word, “care to share with the class?”
Nick’s brow furrows. “What? Because you’ve always…” Nick’s gaze swings to Chance before coming back to me “Whoa—wait. Now wait a damn minute!”
Nick goes from frantic to awe hell no in under five seconds. That might be a record for my brother.
"And here," Eve narrates, her phone tracking the unfolding chaos, "we witness the rare sight of a bro code violation in its natural habitat. Note the protective male's increasing distress as he realizes his own tactical error."
“You're turning down the company for the guy who rage-kissed me under the mistletoe?" Nick’s voice rises with the incredulity of a man who just caught the last train to Wrong Conclusion Junction.
“Seriously, Nick? That’s what you’re taking from this?” I pinch the bridge of my nose, praying for divine intervention—or at least a lightning bolt to take him out of his misery. “I’ve never given up anything for a man, and you suddenly think I’m going to start now?”
Charlie snorts into her freshly refilled champagne glass, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Don’t worry, Hols. I’ll reboot him later. Maybe clear his browser history while I’m at it.”
"The male appears conflicted," Eve continues, "torn between protective instincts and the awareness of his own hypocrisy. Note the subtle tick in his jaw—a sure sign of impending surrender."
Chance pushes off the bar with a laugh and heads straight for me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this moment has been written in the stars for years.
He effortlessly tucks me against his side, into him—the place I fit.
The place I belong.
And instead of his usual habit of playing with my hair, he threads his fingers through with purpose, curling around the back of my neck. It’s a move that leaves not one goddamn question in the room about the super-secret network we’ve built this week.
Deep and possessive, his kiss tastes like promise and possibility—and nothing like cleaning up someone else's mess.
"I need therapy," Nick announces to no one in particular. "Man on the ground, my ass. And how much dirty work are we talking, Chance? You know what, don’t answer that. You lied to me. A lot.”
Chance stiffens next to me, but it’s not anger, it’s that stoic, responsible soldier showing up to take responsibility. “I did. And you know just what that’s like, don’t you?”
"Subject attempts a direct confrontation,” Eve narrates, "only to be thwarted by his enemy’s superior knowledge of his own infractions."
“Not quite the same though, is it? I crossed the line, but I didn’t lie to you about it. So what’s your point?” Nick demands.
“I had a choice. My loyalty to you, or her—I chose her. And I’d do it again—I’ll do it every time.”
The tone of his voice is a heady combination of resolute and authoritative. His loyalty—almost all promise, with a dash of threat—heals the ache of a lifetime of being second, third, and sometimes fourth choice, still lodged in my heart.
“I’m sorry that I had to do it to you, of all people. But I’m not sorry I did it. It’s what you would expect from the man who loves her, Nick. Don’t hold it against me that I had to betray you to do it.”
He can’t argue the logic, and he knows it. The truth of that is right there in Nick’s eyes. “Fuck.”
“They did,” Eve says at the speed of mischief.
“Easy, Eve,” Charlie says with a snort. “Bruising the dick for fun is one thing, breaking it…well, it’s my dick, so let’s not over season the steak again.”
Nick scrubs a hand through his hair and blows out a breath. “I need a drink. Or two. Probably ten. You’re buying, Chance. Until I’m dead.”
"Worth it," Chance says as he drops a lingering kiss on my lips.
“Don’t sweat it. Keep this up and you won’t even have to tap into the savings,” Eve says.
Our families’ laughter blends into the background until I barely hear it.
Because I've found my place. It's not in my father's shadow or his legacy.
It's right here, in my own Hallmark movie directed by satan in the form of possessed mistletoe. My once upon a time Holly style—a storm, a confession, and a brothers’ best friend walk into a bar…
If the bar is in Narnia, keep an eye out for the sock and the Tupperware lid.
Fuck the pride that ran off with my lapse in judgment. Narnia can keep it.
Because my past mistakes have nothing on the triumphs ahead.
All with a man who doesn't just want me to plan the dinner parties—he wants to throw them with me—and maybe execute a few of his own. He likes a good power trip every now and then.
But we're both doing the dishes.
Unless I smash them.
Gotta keep it interesting.
Either way, we’re doing it together.