Chapter Nine
Outmaneuvered
Ebony
The second the manor’s door shuts behind Hailey and Cornelia, it’s like a confetti cannon goes off in my chest.
“ Cele-bra-tion time, come on. ” I moonwalk through the foyer, singing Kool & the Gang’s “Celebration” at the top of my lungs. Digging deep, I then drop my voice for the low notes.
My skin buzzes with excitement as I make my way to the library, prepared to lock up, say a quick goodbye to Lincoln, and sprint to my car.
I feel like I’m in a parkour video as I quickly, but carefully, run down the hall toward the grand ballroom, switching off lights and vaulting over debris and cords, still bustling with energy.
A scream leaps from my gut into my throat as I turn and spot Lincoln’s interior designer, Vincent.
Even on a Thursday, he’s dressed to kill—kelly-green button-down, perfectly tailored khaki slacks, and a dark brown leather belt that matches his loafers—and he’s grinning and doing some ridiculous conga line dance behind me.
“ Ooh , shit. You scared me.” I close my eyes, smiling, and clutch my chest.
“My bad.”
I raise my free hand, thumb and forefinger nearly pinched together. “Just a small heart attack. No big deal.”
He lifts a shoulder and lets it drop with a small laugh.
“Hey, I was just taking my cue from you, ma’am.
” Vincent does a full-body shimmy, then spins around while continuing the lyrics, eighties heartthrob-style.
“I mean, with the sheer creativity behind those enthusiastic lyrics, I’m guessing you and Linc crushed it with Cornelia and Hailey. ”
My smile stretches across my face. “Your guess would be correct, sir.”
“Oh, do tell.” He chuckles.
A few minutes pass as I lock up the terrace and patio doors while bringing Vincent up to speed on the tour—and the magical vision of Madison Manor I painted in their minds.
When I’m done, he gazes around the grand ballroom the same way I did opening those doors this morning.
He’s in awe. Not of the room, of course.
The room looks like crap. But of my ability to win my clients over without their seeing it first.
“I can’t believe it either.” I shrug, looking around. “I basically had to hypnotize them to see my vision, but we made it through.”
Vincent dips his chin, a challenge flickering in his soft brown eyes.
I shrug, laughing. “Obviously, this was Cornelia, so it goes without saying she threw in a few savage one-liners.” I roll my eyes, then mimic her snooty tone. “‘Ebony, the restrooms are outdated. Mr. Bridges, the outlets are poorly placed.’ Both of which, mind you, I already warned him about.”
“Oh, trust me. I said the same thing.” Vincent nods, and his eyebrows climb up to his tapered hairline.
“But let me guess—did Cornelia take one look at this place and frown? I can just imagine her tone, cold and resigned as ever. Her stony facade in place as she cleared her throat. ‘There’s nothing grand about the state of this ballroom.’”
I gasp for air, pointing at him. “Verbatim!”
We both dissolve into giggles.
“That woman is ruthless.” Vincent cackles, clutching his middle. “Subtlety is not her thing. But being unnecessarily mean, brutal, and just straight-up abrasive? Oh yeah, that’s her default setting.”
“Mm-hmm. I took it in stride, but she was definitely on brand.”
“A bad and bougie brand,” Vincent adds, fueling our laughter all over again.
By the time I catch my breath, my happiness meter is off the charts.
“Listen, any day that Lincoln Bridges and I can actually manage to pull off our first wedding client meeting is a good day. Trust me. And if a few nitpicky comments are all that woman’s got…
” Maybe I’ve blown the whole sabotage thing out of proportion.
Maybe, with my resources, my network of contacts, and Lincoln’s drive to keep Ellswood’s history alive, we’ve really got this .
I exhale, sinking into the eerily quiet worksite, breathing a little easier.
Maybe a little distraction won’t hurt.
“So, all in all, it’s been a good day, then?” Vincent asks, cutting into my thoughts. He walks away, his attention zeroed in on the peeling wall panels.
“Can’t complain.”
He nods as he glides his manicured fingers over the threadbare gold-leaf texture. “Good, good…” But then his hand halts, like he’s still turning something over in his head. Finally, he tosses me a pensive look and asks, “And you’ve been here all morning?”
I don’t know whether to focus on the way his voice rises at the end or the question itself—why is he asking? It’s barely a quarter after eleven. The day is just getting started. Where else would I be for the tour?
What isn’t he saying?
“Yeah.” I give a noncommittal nod, slightly weirded out.
Again, he nods himself, like my story tracks with whatever’s going on in his head. “Did you know Cornelia gave the entire crew the day off while y’all were touring the manor?”
That, I didn’t know.
“Uh, no.” Curiosity twists my stomach, leaving me slightly uneasy.
“That makes no sense. Why would she do that when we’re going to need every day to get this place in shape before Hailey’s wedding?
But also, you’re telling me that she had all these questions for the crew, asking about their whereabouts, when she gave them the day off? ”
“Yes.”
I frown. “See, she’s definitely up to something.”
Vincent inhales, sharply, like he’s about to drop a bomb, then plants himself back in front of me. “All right, I’m just going to say this real quick. While you were over here painting visions for her and Hailey, and Linc was busy following you—”
“Wait, what?”
I freeze.
“Oh, you didn’t see the news?” Vincent says, vague as hell.
The world just stops cold. Clearly, there’s more coming, but this right here? I can’t just let it slide. I tilt my head toward him when I ask, “Linc followed me where, exactly?” I glance over my shoulder, still trying to figure out where that man vanished to.
“Ooh, okay, I see you’re one of those post-and-ghost folks.
” Vincent continues with his cryptic commentary.
He shakes his head and exhales like he’s been holding in a secret way too long.
“See, me? I’m messy and petty, honey. I stay on PopShot.
So, as soon as you said ‘divorcétante,’ I followed you.
Then I practically broke an ankle running to your comments, and whose name do you think popped up? ”
“ Nooooo .” My jaw practically hits the floor.
“Yes, honey.”
I’m stunned. Like, genuinely shocked, already unlocking my phone. I glance at the screen, and it’s lighting up with… “Over a thousand notifications? Shit . ” I scroll through a deluge of comments, utterly dumbfounded.
In all the fuss trying to impress Cornelia, I forgot I posted the first video for The Divorcétante Chronicles .
But why the hell is Lincoln Bridges following me now?
Is he actually interested in my posts? I did not take him for the messy-blog, piping-hot-tea type.
Does he think I’ll follow him back? Is this going to make things even more awkward than they already are?
And how the hell did he even know I posted?
Does he think I’m desperate now that I’m divorced, like we can just pick up where we left off?
Does he want that? Do I ?
Again, I glance toward the ballroom doors, just in case Linc materializes.
“ Pause, peace, power, diva!” Vincent snaps twice, pulling my attention back.
“I ran into Linc headed out on my way in. He went to pick up more hardwood for the billiard room. He said he’d be back soon.
” He says it like he’s trying to calm me down, but the softness in his voice only makes me feel like I’m about to combust over a new follower.
Ugh, what does that mean ?
With the phone burning a hole in my hand, I blink repeatedly. “Okay, so Lincoln Bridges followed me? Why? I’m genuinely so confused.”
“Don’t be.” Vincent holds up a hand. “That man doesn’t even know how to use PopShot. And now that I’m thinking about it, it was actually Bridges Heritage Conservation that followed you. So he probably won’t even comment. The business account is used mostly for portfolio pics. That’s it.”
I nod and let out a shaky laugh.
“Yeah, you’re probably right…” But just as the calm loosens the knots in my stomach, my thoughts screech to a halt. “Wait, so Linc’s business following me is newsworthy, somehow?”
“To the invested interwebs, absolutely. But also, let’s reel it way back, because things are clearly getting jumbled.
” Vincent slices his soft-looking hands through the air, starting over.
“We’ve got to keep our timeline in order, so I’ll go slow.
Now, again, you were schmoozing and cruising these halls—”
A laugh bubbles up in my throat, and he pauses, clearly annoyed with my interruptions.
“No, I’m with you. Please continue.” I wave him off, my lips still twitching because this man has never met a catchphrase pairing he didn’t like.
Vincent purses his glossy lips and swallows.
“It’s fine. I’ve got a quick question, anyway.
Now, I know you took some time off from event planning, which, absolutely, understandable.
” He gives me a wide-eyed stare, like he knows exactly how hard I fell, both personally and professionally, post-divorce.
“But I’m just curious—are you still renting that office at the old Ellswood Mill? ”
Immediately, I cringe. “Uh, long story short, yes…” I trail off, weighing how to actually trim the details and get to the point.
“I haven’t really been using it for business, per se.
Up until recently, it’s mostly been a storage spot for all my oversized event props—floral arrangements, chairs, cake stands, various linens, photobooth stuff, you name it. ”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you owned all that.”