Chapter 9 #2
“Why does it sound like a problem?”
“Because it’s complicated.” I glance down at my hands, feeling useless again. “It’s not just about the job. It’s all the implications that come with it.”
“Wait.” Her eyes narrow slightly, her lips twisting into a thoughtful frown. “Does this mean you’re… transferring?”
“What?” I blink. “No.”
“I mean, it would make sense,” she says with a little shrug. “Big job offer, some drama with Zach, maybe needing a clean break—”
“I’m not transferring,” I say firmly, and maybe sharper than I mean to. “The job’s a good opportunity, I just haven’t figured out if it’s the right thing for me, you know?”
“I get that, but it kind of sounds like you’re dismissing it before even trying?”
“It’s just Zach—”
Jenni raises her hand. “Whoa, wait. Are you seriously going to tell me that Zach doesn’t want you to do it? That he’s not supporting you?” She pauses and stares me down. “The guy who has had one of the biggest opportunities dropped in his lap, and he can’t be happy for you.”
“It’s not—”
I stop myself from divulging any more details of my personal life. This is why I should’ve talked to Olivia. She knows Zach. She understands our dynamic.
“Okay, look, I’m sorry. I don’t know your boyfriend or your relationship.
I overstepped, but I’m just saying, if someone’s offering you a position that could help you build your own future?
That’s worth considering. Don’t overthink it.
Try it out, and if it sucks, quit.” She shrugs like it’s not a big deal.
“At least then you can say you’ve tried. ”
I nod, biting my bottom lip. She has a point, although she doesn’t know my father and how difficult he’d make it for me to get out of a five-year contract, but does that matter to me? Five of my years for Tiff and Ella to be free sounds like a pretty good deal.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, knowing I don’t have long to make my decision since my father has already called me three times this morning.
“Good.”
“I, uh, should probably get going.” I get my things together, somehow feeling worse than before. So much for talking things out.
“Same,” Jenni drawls out. “Chris is done with practice in an hour. We’re meeting at that cat café off campus. You should come if you’re around. Get a drink. Pet a sad rescue tabby. Escape your existential crisis.”
My phone buzzes.
I don’t look. I already know who it is. My father.
“I can't today,” I murmur. “I really need to speak to someone at the firm about the job.”
Jenni arches a brow, lips twitching like she’s trying not to smirk. “Look at you being all responsible and grown-up. You’re acting so adult it almost makes me nauseous,” she teases, but there's something in her tone I can't quite read. “Rain check then?”
“Definitely.”
“Alright, well, I’ve got to go, but good luck, friend. I hope you figure things out.”
Friend.
I haven’t heard that from someone other than Olivia in a long time.
Jenni tosses her bag over her shoulder and with a wave, I’m left alone at the lunch table with a phone that won’t stop buzzing.
I pull up my messages, bypassing my father's calls, and scroll to Olivia's name. Our last text was from three days ago. It was just a quick catch-up message. Nothing deeper, because we haven’t had time to actually talk for a few weeks.
I quickly send her a message.
Honey: I miss you. Things are crazy.
When it doesn’t show red immediately, I lock my phone, only for it to light up again.
Father Calling
My father’s picture stares up at me from my phone screen, watching me as though he already knows he owns me.
Fuck it.
I know what I’m going to do. There’s only one thing I can do with an opportunity like this. I have to take it, but it’s going to be on my terms.
I accept the call.
“Hunniford.” No greeting. No warmth. Just my name, stripped down as an emotional power play.
“Father,” I reply evenly, swallowing the bitterness coating the back of my throat.
“Are you finally answering to accept my offer, Hunniford? If not, I don’t know how much longer I can keep the deal on the table.”
I let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh.
“I’m not accepting your offer. I’m here to negotiate.”
Silence.
Then I hear him shifting; he’s probably surprised that his dear daughter is coming back with a request. It’s very un-Hunniford of me, but I’m trying to be a little more forthright with what I want these days.
“You're negotiating.” He sounds almost… impressed?
“I learned from the best.”
“Okay. Well, what is it you want?”
“I’ll give you three years not five,” I say. “I’ll intern throughout my time in college, including summers. Once I graduate, then I’ll decide if I want to continue.”
Another pause. Not long, but just long enough to let me know he’s processing my offer. This isn’t a conversation. It’s a chess match.
He chuckles, the sound so unexpected it momentarily throws me off guard. “Three years is hardly enough time to properly train—”
“It's enough time to see if I have any interest in being trained,” I counter.
“I'm not committing my entire future to something I haven't even tried yet. Three years is enough time for you to do… whatever you plan on doing with Jamie, and it gets you your precious Sanderson legacy without me having to sell my soul on the spot.”
Still quiet.
I push the advantage. “In return, you still drop the lawsuit against Tiff immediately. Full custody for her, no strings attached.”
I can hear the pen tapping on the desk through the phone.
“A summer internship this year, and then one final summer after next year?” he clarifies.
“Exactly,” I confirm. “Two summers total, but three college years of commitment and then we reevaluate.”
“And if you decide not to stay?” His tone is almost curious.
“Then I walk away with valuable experience, you get three years of my time, and we both move on.”
More tapping. I hold my breath.
“I suppose I could present this to the partners as a… trial phase,” he says finally. “A chance to groom the next generation without rushing into permanent arrangements.”
I exhale slowly. “Is that your way of saying we have a deal?”
“We have a deal,” he confirms. “Tiffany's case will be dropped the minute you sign the contract, and you'll join us for a three-year internship program, after which we'll… reassess your future with the firm.”
A wave of relief crashes over me so hard it nearly knocks the air from my lungs. For a moment, I just sit there, blinking at the wall, letting the realization sink in.
Did I just do this? Have I just taken away years of stress for Zach and his family?
Tiff and Ella will be free.
Not maybe. Not hopefully. Not someday.
Now.
Free to pack their bags, kiss Connecticut goodbye, and start over in Indiana without the shadow of the Nicks name breathing down their necks. Free from the courtroom threats and whispered judgments.
Zach will finally be able to rest and just focus on school and football. The way it should’ve always been for him.
“You'll be working with some of our best associates,” my father continues, smoothly changing the subject. “Learning the business from the ground up.”
“What about Jamie?” I ask, unable to stop myself. “Will he be there?”
I haven’t seen Jamie since we graduated high school. He’s at Southern Collegiate now, and for all I know, he’s getting the entire college pregnant.
There's a slight pause. “You won't need to concern yourself with Jamie,” he says dismissively. “Your paths won’t cross.”
Which is bullshit, obviously. Jamie was always the future crown prince of the Nicks half of the empire. Always front and center. Always too charming for his own good.
“So… he's okay with this arrangement?” I press, wanting to know more of what my father has planned. “With me joining the firm?”
“The arrangements have been made, Hunniford,” my father says, his tone indicating he's done discussing Jamie. “Focus on your internship. Leave the rest to me.”
He wants Jamie out, that much is for sure, but I’m still unclear about how I’m going to help him with that.
“What exactly will I be doing during this internship?” I ask, deciding to shift focus for now.
“You’ll rotate through departments. Legal research, case prep, client intake, the usual.” His tone is clipped and clinical. “But if you’re as capable as I believe, there’s room for more. This could be your legacy—if you choose it.”
The word “legacy” hangs in the air between us.
My father has been talking about the Sanderson legacy since I was old enough to understand what it meant.
It was always presented as my birthright, my duty.
It was never as a choice. It's what pushed me toward Jamie in the first place, what nearly trapped me in a life I never wanted but thought I did.
“Three years,” I remind him. “That was our deal. After that, I decide what I want.”
“Of course,” he says, but there's a note in his voice that makes me slightly uneasy. “Three years, starting this semester.”
“And in return, Tiff gets custody, and all legal actions are dropped immediately.”
“Correct. As I said, it's already being handled.”
Already being handled.
The words echo in my mind, making me wonder what exactly he had to handle to make that happen.
He clears his throat. “I'll have the paperwork sent to you by the end of the week. Standard confidentiality agreements, internship terms, that sort of thing.”
“I want to review it all before I sign anything,” I say firmly.
“As you should.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “You're a Sanderson, after all.”
I resist the urge to throw my phone across the room because he’s right, and that scares me more than anything.
We discuss a few more details about the summer arrangements—where I'll stay, when I'll start—and then there's a pause.
“Your mother will be pleased,” he says finally, and for a moment, he almost sounds like a normal father. “She's missed you.”
The comment catches me off guard. “Tell her I miss her too,” I say, and I'm surprised to find that I mean it. My parents aren’t horrible people. More like unemotionally efficient. They know what needs to be done and do it. No questions asked.
I’m not like them, though.
“I will. We'll speak again soon, Hunniford.”
Click.
Just like that, it’s over. The deal is struck. The gavel is down.
I lower the phone and stare at it in disbelief.
Tiff and Ella will be safe, but I've just tied myself to my father and his firm for three years.
I stare around the nearly empty lunch hall. Everyone else is talking and laughing while I’m in the corner questioning all my life decisions.
What did I just sign up to? And why do I feel like my father’s smiling right now, somewhere behind a high-rise desk with a glass of bourbon and a chessboard full of pawns?
Something’s not right with Jamie. That much is clear. My father dodged every question about him. I don’t know what’s behind this sudden shift, but I’m determined to find out.
Just three years, I tell myself. A trial run. I can survive three years. I can survive anything for Tiff, Zach, and Ella.
My phone buzzes with a text, pulling me from my thoughts. I expect it to be Zach, asking if I can come over, but instead it's an unknown number.
Unknown: Not even a “thanks” for the heads up?
I sit straighter, my heart pounding.
What?
Before I can process it, another text comes through from the same number.
Unknown: Guess you have to see it for yourself.
Unknown: *Attachment*
Since I’m a glutton for punishment, I open the attachment instead of deleting it.
A blurry, zoomed-in photo pops up, and it takes me a second to make sense of it.
The blond hair and broad shoulders give him away instantly.
It’s Zach, standing on the front porch with one hand jammed into his pocket and the other braced on the porch post. A blonde girl is in front of him.
The picture is grainy enough to hide her face, but not the way she’s arching her chest toward him. Zach’s head is angled down.
If I didn’t know him, I might think he’s staring at her boobs. I know better. His shoulders are locked, and he’s subtly leaning away, every inch of him tells me he’s uncomfortable. She either doesn’t see it or doesn’t care. She’s probably just thrilled to be in his space.
Whoever sent it wants me to believe Zach’s cheating.
What’s new?
It’s not proof. Not even close. It’s just another girl with a Sharpie and a delusion.
“Nice try, whoever you are,” I mutter before blocking the number.
Then I open Zach’s messages, ready to send him one. Too bad I’m distracted by his last message.
Zach: I’m sorry about last night, Honeycomb. I love you, whatever you decide to do, but don’t take this internship on if it’s to protect Tiff and Ella. Only do it if it’s something you want to do.
I bite my bottom lip, wondering when he’s going to figure out that protecting them is something I want to do. It’s not like I have any other plans, so I might as well make myself useful.
Honey: I spoke to my dad and it's done. I’m working for him and the lawsuit’s being dropped.
Zach: I’m proud of you for making the decision, Honeycomb. You are truly the most amazing and selfless person I’ve ever met. With every fiber of my being, I hope you didn’t accept it just for Tiff and Ella, but thank you for helping them.
I smile at his response, because of course he’d be supportive. That’s just who he is. He’ll always make space for me, even when I can’t figure out where I belong.
Honey: It’s nothing. Can I come over tonight? Need to talk to you about something.
Zach: You don’t have to ask anymore. You have a key, and this is your home too. You can walk in whenever you want.
I finally take my things and head back to my dorm so I can get some clothes. Maybe I can't stop people from watching, or from trying to tear us apart, but I can choose not to let them win, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
For better or worse, I've made my choice today. I'm taking control of my own story—with my father, with my future, and with whoever is trying to come between Zach and me.