Chapter Three #3
“And that’s beside the point right now,” I insist. “Cornelia didn’t even mention Lincoln’s company would be restoring Madison Manor until after I agreed to plan Hailey’s wedding.” Which I know was by her shady design. “I’m telling you, she’s manipulative.”
She knows exactly how vulnerable I am.
It’s been a year since my last job. My clients have dried up, not just due to my depression, but also public opinion. #TeamNora didn’t help, but Cornelia has slandered me, blaming me for the divorce and insisting women should “stay in their lanes.”
Like, really? What year is this?
Maybe she should tell her son to stay out of the past lane, and stop texting me.
“Classic ex-monster-in-law behavior. Wouldn’t expect anything less from her,” Whit sums up, correctly. “However, in the words of the great Savannah Sampson, life coach to the stars …” She drags out the word dramatically.
“Um, crisis mode…”
My words go in one ear and out the other.
“If you’re unwilling to tell the truth, to be vulnerable to those deep, heavy emotions,” she continues, reciting her Savannah-ism à la the PopShot app, “then you’re not ready to receive your blessings.”
“Mm, mm, mm , mm, mm,” Priscilla says, snapping her fingers like this woman has said a whole anointed word instead of a whole lot of nonsense that absolutely does not apply to anything concerning me and Lincoln Bridges.
This is what I get for activating the Divatante Bat-Signal, especially after I vented to them the entire Memorial Day weekend.
“First, there are no deep, heavy emotions. As far as I’m concerned, his involvement is a non-factor. Second, this is business.”
“Try again. You said that already,” Whit baits me, clearly ready for a debate I don’t have time for.
I hesitate, though.
I’m not about to tell them that ever since I learned we’d be partnered, my mind keeps conjuring up glimpses of what might’ve been if I’d listened to Lincoln.
I’ve been mentally replaying different versions of The Morning Tea —without the ambush—wondering if I would’ve been better off quietly divorcing Julian or staying unhappily married.
I’m damn sure not admitting to imagining what would’ve happened if I’d listened when he warned me not to let tradition dictate my life, right before I moved back to Ellswood after college.
Nope, I need to be alert. Cover my bases.
“So that’s your story? Business?” Priscilla laughs.
Breath traps in my throat, and all I want to do is end the call.
Except as I barge into the restroom, ready for relief, Whit loudly declares, “I would’ve paid good, hard-earned cash to hear the advice that woman gave when you told her y’all fell out because you were repressing your feelings for that fine-ass man,” right as the universe pulls a swift Uno Reverse on me.
I don’t have time to explain that I didn’t discuss Lincoln with Savannah, or remind myself that he isn’t supposed to matter, because standing at the sink, washing a pair of obscenely huge hands, is Lincoln Bridges.
Everything inside me stalls, my bathroom emergency all but forgotten because…
Respectfully, Lord have mercy.
It’s the picture. The dusty work boots, Henley sleeves pulled up, soulful gray eyes on me. It’s the blurred lines, threatening in the distance.
“Call you back,” I mutter, humiliated but grateful Whit didn’t say his name.
He shuts off the faucet. And… Is he biting back a smirk?
“ Ahh , if it isn’t Ebony Grace Livingston,” Lincoln drawls, his voice so low, the texture so gritty, it sends a jolt straight through me.
I quirk a small, tentative smile. “Lincoln Bridges…in the ladies’ room.”
His eyebrows lift with amusement, and… Oh, no.
Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
The moment our eyes connect— really connect—I feel it. The warmth, that quiet pull I’ve tried so hard to ignore. His soft, familiar gray gaze, a striking contrast against all six foot, four inches of his sculpted frame drenched in rich, dark skin.
Shit.
We’re standing a handful of feet apart now, and I’m acutely, biochemically aware of the fact that we’re alone.
The attraction is still there.
Dammit. I feel it everywhere. Behind my ribs and in the weightless sensation of my left hand, my bare finger. And now I don’t have the protective fence that shut out temptation in college, nor a marital shield. The undeniable connection between Lincoln and me hasn’t faded.
And the timing couldn’t be worse.
This isn’t just another elite wedding to plan.
This is the event that’ll mark my reemergence back on the scene of premier event planning.
Everyone who’s anyone will be watching, and Cornelia—who is as genius as she is cunning—will be right there in her floral jacquard coatdress, ready to settle her vendetta.
Every step of the way, judging, micromanaging, sabotaging me with outlandish wedding demands to get her licks back for my daring to leave her son and besmirching the Livingston name.
I absolutely cannot afford distractions, no matter how much my self-imposed celibate body craves this man.
Professional ruin is at stake.
Lincoln opens his mouth to speak, but I can’t take the chance he’ll say something cute. Or worse, sweet.
“So, do you always make a habit of loitering in here, or is it just my lucky day?” I interrupt him, my attention shamelessly locked on him drying those massive hands. Jesus, were they always this big?
Lincoln leans back, catching my stare. His gaze is steady, taking me in. “I guess I could ask you the same thing.”
Straightening, I try to compose myself. My chin tilted up, I’m inching toward an open stall and clinging to self-restraint.
Then, like no one told him he woke up and chose violence, Lincoln gives me that signature smirk, dragging his tongue across his full lips as he tips his head to the side. “Just curious, you know, since this is, uh, the men’s room.”
Heat rushes my skin as my eyes lock on the unmistakable urinals—which I might’ve noticed sooner had I not been distracted by my divas and nature’s call—and Lincoln Bridges’s hands.
Oh my goodness.
He chuckles, and… Why am I always so wrong around this man?
Right then, two things hit me. I can’t let Cornelia win, and sitting face to face with Lincoln for this planning meeting? It’s about to take everything I’ve got.