Chapter Twelve #3
Ebony falls back on the step, cackling. Then quickly shoots back up again.
“Who knows, though? Maybe. Fire…” She giggles and taps her finger to her temple.
“At the very least, out of the equation. Linc, when was the last time Cornelia Livingston did anything to help anyone out of the goodness of her heart? Down to her bones, she’s a self-serving woman.
Ask yourself, what’s in this situation for her? ”
It’s a fair point. I tip my head to either side, considering this.
Even Hillary warned me to watch my back, saying she wasn’t the only one who’d likely get burned.
She said a lot of things I can’t ignore.
“Okay, let’s say you’re not completely off base.” I screw my mouth to the side, still chewing on this theory. “Aside from the shady business with the insurance, why else would she do anything to sabotage you when you’re planning her son’s wedding?”
Ebony shoots me an exasperated look. “Come on, it’s ninety-one days away.
I’ve got an event countdown going—don’t laugh.
” Then she laughs at herself. “The wedding will be over before we know it. She’s all about long-game revenge.
Do you know how pissed she was when Julian relinquished his rights to Ebony Grace Events?
Were you listening about the insurance? Three days.
She canceled my coverage three days after my divorce. Be so for real with me right now.”
I try, and fail, to stifle a grin. “Fine, okay, yes.”
“And what about the Ellswood Times article with her talking about The Divorcétante Chronicles ? ‘Rebranding desperation’?” Ebony narrows her eyes. “That woman is calculating to the nth degree.”
“Uh, yeah. It would seem that way.” I wince.
“She’s absolutely coming for my business, but for her to really relish in my demise, she’s got to ensure it’s of my own doing.
She can’t reason with her son, so she’s going to take down the business she believes is rightfully theirs.
Or at least half his. She’s got me right where she wants me, close enough to track my every move and worm her way back into my day-to-day.
She hates that Julian gave up his stake in my business. Hates it.”
I’m nodding, piecing it all together in my head. “And you really think she’d go to these lengths to take you down?”
“Yes,” she answers with not a hint of hesitation.
“That uppity heifer is running her mouth, shading The Divorcétante Chronicles . She can’t stand the idea of me building, thriving without them.
She’s bragging about the Livingston Luxe Ladies baby to any and everyone in the Ellswood elite at charity galas, Zion & Zara meetings—you name it.
She talks to anyone who’ll listen because she thought she’d already taken me down.
But the audacity of me, out here living my life…
” She taps her fingers to her temple, then explodes them outward, smiling ear to ear.
And for a fleeting moment, I think, Finally , this is us. The way we used to be.
But slowly, her smile fades. “This is why I can’t let her win,” she says, and all I hear is the unspoken part. The reasons why nothing’s changed. Why we need to professional.
I clear my throat. “Of course.”
She exhales a deep breath. “Like I said, I hate this.”
Me too.
“This should be good now.” I remove the ice pack, ready to get us both out of here now that we know the plan.
“It’s been so hard, being here and not being close to you. I’m glad we finally got a chance to talk, Linc.” Ebony quietly helps me repack the first-aid kit. “Then when I saw your name on my live… Your comment was so sweet.”
I swallow, shielding myself against the weight of her words. “I was just telling the truth.”
“I didn’t even know you watched my videos,” she says a little self-consciously, and I hate the tiny glimmer of hope that sends my pulse racing. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I haven’t dated in…forever.”
Every inch of me wants to ask if she regrets choosing Julian, but there’s an undertone of hurt and longing in her voice.
I can’t help but notice it. That’s the thing with us—I’m attuned to all her little nuances, the way even the slightest subtext rises to the surface without her seeming to realize it.
But if anything, listening to her theory about Cornelia’s diabolical plan, all the reasons why she can’t let her win, why business comes first—that only underscores everything I felt earlier at the gym chatting with my guys.
I’ve got to move on. It’s as simple as that.
“Well, let me know if you need any advice for your next date. Believe it or not, I’ve got one lined up myself.”
“Wow.” But then she swallows, nodding repeatedly like she’s processing what I’ve just said. “Yeah? I’m sure she’s probably amazing.”
Is she jealous?
No, I tell myself. Definitely not. It’s got to be all in my head, right?
Except Ebony’s eyebrows lift, and she releases that same impressed smile she gives Cornelia when really, she’d rather throat-punch her.
It tickles me, watching her hide in plain sight.
“How about we test this out?” I stand, offering her my hands.
But as she rises, caught in the middle of everything we’ve said, we both forget about her broken heel.
She stumbles toward me, and I catch her, the soft curves of her body flush against mine.
Our faces are inches apart, our breaths mingling, eyes locked, and for a heartbeat, we just stare at each other.
And then she kisses me.