Chapter 48
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Jameson
I slide my phone from my pocket and type out a text.
Jameson: What are you doing right now?
I press send and wait for her reply. It’s been less than five hours since I left Sinclair standing in the penthouse, and I miss her already.
I glance at the bed next to me.
It dates back to when I was a kid. The narrow mattress was welcome back then after a long day on the beach and in the water.
I’d finally fall into bed after hours spent outside.
I was so exhausted that I didn’t care that the bed was lumpy and the blanket too thin to shield me from the cool air that drifted in through the cracks in the windowpanes.
The windows have been replaced now, but the bed hasn’t.
I laugh as I imagine how far off the end of the small bed my feet will hang.
I drop my gaze when I hear the chime from my phone, signalling an incoming message.
Sinclair: I’m having a drink with someone.
I trust her enough to know that it’s not someone she’s interested in taking to bed.
Another message follows the first, and I smile when I read it.
Sinclair: Before you go all caveman on me, it’s a woman, and it’s for a project.
My reply is instant.
Jameson: The same project that the true gentleman was helping you with?
I take a seat on the corner of the lumpy bed as I wait for her to respond. My gaze wanders to the dozen of seashells sitting on a bookshelf. The entire thing should be shrouded in dust, but it’s not.
I suddenly wonder if the same caretaker who used to oversee the property for Denia still does. I make a mental note to ask my brother about that because that woman was a saint and a joy to be around. Mrs. Frye would bring us a plate of chocolate chip cookies whenever we arrived at the house.
I glance at my phone when Sin’s message comes through.
Sinclair: Yes.
I know she’s being coy for a good reason, but I press for more because it’s what I’ve always done.
Jameson: Give me a hint about who the book is about. I promise I won’t tell anyone.
I wait for the three dots to bounce around as she types a response, but there’s nothing, so I stand and head toward the attached washroom.
Ten minutes later, when I step out of a hot shower, she still hasn’t replied.
Anxiety knots my stomach, but this is her work. She’s sworn to secrecy in a legal sense by an NDA. I know that. She would never break any rule attached to that, but beyond that, morally, she wouldn’t divulge anything about her ghostwriting clients. She’s too good of a person for that.
I walk back into the bedroom for a clean pair of boxer briefs.
Once I slide those on, I pick up my phone to not only give her an out but to put an end to this day.
Jameson: I’m hitting the hay, Sin, or in this case, my tiny bed. Sleep well, sweetheart.
She wastes no time responding this time.
Sinclair: Goodnight. Dream good dreams.
I stare into the vast horizon at the pink-hued sky beyond. The day is dawning over the Atlantic. In a simple ceremony, my brother and I said our final farewells to our grandmother.
I went first as I held onto her urn and scattered some of her ashes in the water. I wept as I remembered the fierceness of her loyalty to her family and the comfort of her hugs.
Holden followed by retelling a few stories from when we were growing up. He was more stoic, but I could see the tears streaming down his face as emotion tainted each of his words.
He’s clutching the urn next to his chest as he walks from the water. The evidence of the soft waves is apparent in the soaked denim of his jeans from the knees down.
Mine are the same.
In some weird twist of fate or our grandmother’s hand from the great beyond, we’re both wearing black T-shirts emblazoned with the Carden Confectioneries’ logo on the front.
We laughed as we made our way from the house to the beach.
Thankfully, no one was in sight because we both know the rules about scattering ashes in the water, but Denia never let a rule stop her, so we were determined to follow through on her final wish.
“She’d be so fucking happy right now.” Holden rakes a hand through his hair. “This is exactly what she wanted, James. We couldn’t have chosen a more perfect day for this.”
I nod. “I agree.”
His eyes latch onto mine. “Let’s leave our past here.”
I point at the sand and the waves lapping at our bare feet. “Right here?”
“Right here,” he concurs with a brisk nod. “When you left, there was a point where I forgot why I hated you.”
I bark out a laugh. “What?”
“I know you blew out of New York because Sinclair said no, but you didn’t say a word to me.
” He glances at the sky. “If you would have come to me, I’d have told you to stay.
I wanted us to work together. I always thought if I were CEO, I’d offer you the role of COO, but before I could bring that up, you were gone. ”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not.” He shifts the empty urn from one hand to the other. “You would have done the same for me if Finella had said no and Sinclair had said yes.”
I can’t say that I would have. At that point in time, the competition between us was fierce.
We both wanted control of the company when Denia died.
I never once entertained the idea of making him Chief Operations Officer in the event that Sinclair agreed to marry me before he put a ring on Finella’s finger.
“Business aside, I may have beat you to the finish line when it came to marriage, but dammit, James, you won that race.” He pushes a finger into the center of my chest. “You’re going to marry the woman of your dreams.”
“Is Sinclair going to propose to me?” I joke.
He chuckles. “I have no fucking idea, but I do know you’ll drop to a knee and ask her again. You’re going to do it right this time.”
He’s right. I want that, and it’s my intention at some point.
“She’s going to say yes.” He scrubs a hand over the stubble on his chin.
He shaved at some point recently, but not today or last night. This more laid-back version of my brother is the one I’ve missed for years. This is the Holden I grew up with and idolized.
“From your mouth to Sinclair’s ears.” I grin.
“You two were made for each other.” He gestures toward the house. “Let’s grab a coffee. I’ll make it unless you’ve gotten better at that.”
I pat the center of his back. “It’s coffee duty for you.”
“Boys!”
The female voice calling out from the right lures our gazes in that direction.
I immediately spot Mrs. Frye on the approach with something in her hands.
“Is she still taking care of the beach house?” I question my brother in a low tone.
He glances at me. “She is. I called her a few days ago to tell her about Grandmother and let her know we’d be headed up this weekend.”
As she gets closer, I reach out a hand to her. “It’s so good to see you, Mrs. Frye.”
“Jameson.” Her blue eyes sparkle in the early morning sunlight. “And Holden. Look at the two of you.”
We look at each other and laugh.
Mrs. Frye joins in, too, as she shoves something covered in a blue kitchen towel at me. “I made the cookies that you used to love. I hope you still do.”
As soon as the plate is in my hands, I look under the cloth. “Damn right, I do.”
“I’m so sorry about Denia.” She sighs. “She was so good to me. I considered her a friend.”
Holden rests a hand on her shoulder. “She felt the same way about you.”
A single tear streams down her cheek. “I’ll grab my keys to her house and get those to you before you leave. I’m sure you don’t need my help anymore.”
“I do need your help,” Holden insists. “I plan on making frequent trips here, but if you could look after the house in my absence, I’d be eternally grateful. We can continue the same payment arrangement you had with Denia if that works for you?”
She smiles softly. “It does work.”
“Good.” He glances at the house. “We’re headed up for a coffee now if you want to join us.”
She nods. “I’d like that. I’m wondering about something.”
“What’s that?” Holden asks as he gestures toward the house.
Mrs. Frye falls in step between us, her sandals digging a shallow path in the soft sand. “The last time Denia was here, her friend took a picture of the two of us. It was on her phone. If there’s any possible way I could get a copy of that, I’d be eternally grateful.”
Holden’s pace slows as his gaze shifts from Mrs. Frye to me. He shrugs in silence, indicating that he knows nothing about a friend who stayed here with our grandmother.
She didn’t bring a lot of people to this home. It was a sanctuary of sorts to her. She viewed it as a place to escape the world.
“Do you happen to remember Grandmother’s friend’s name?” Holden asks.
“I do.” Mrs. Frye smiles at me before she glances at my brother. “Sinclair. The lovely young woman who took our picture was Sinclair Morgan.”