3. All The Leverage （Hattie） #2
Especially my favorites, the special editions, the ones I’ll adore forever. If I still have a beating pulse, I’ll never regret ‘clutter’ from my one true love.
“I like books,” I say feebly.
“Yes, we know. But that doesn’t mean you need to have them everywhere . I only have a handful myself.” She says it like it’s something to be proud of.
Honestly, I don’t think I’ve seen her read anything longer than a magazine in her life.
I almost roll my eyes, picturing the heavy art books she might’ve paged through twice before making them purely decorative.
Holding in a sigh, I perch on the kitchen counter as she pulls several noxious green smoothies from her bag in giant glass jars.
Homemade, of course.
Nothing but the best for her little girl and her ‘weight struggles.’
“Kale juice,” she says like Christmas just came early.
If it has, I’ve just found coal at the bottom of my stocking.
“Goodie,” I mutter.
“You could be grateful, Hattie. I just made it this morning so you could have a healthy lunch instead of those sandwiches you eat.”
I happen to like my sandwiches, and I usually pair them with an apple or banana. Sometimes, when I’m feeling extra chubby, I’ll save half and skip the fruit.
This mockery of a juice will just make me feel hangry and gross.
“This should last you a couple days,” she says, putting it in my fridge like it lives there. Then she narrows her eyes. “That’s not great for your posture, sitting up there like that.”
I straighten my back until I hear something crack.
“Mom—”
“Would it kill you to make an effort? Look at Margot.”
Margot, curled up on the sofa like a regal cat, grimaces.
Sorry , she mouths.
“What’s wrong with my outfit? It’s my day off.”
Mom heaves a sigh. “Nothing, dear. It’s just, maybe you should pick clothes that suit you a little better.”
Clothes that don’t make me look fat, she means.
My jaw drops, but before I can lay into her and tell her she has no right to attack my wardrobe or my body, the intercom buzzes again.
Seriously, what now?
“Can I come in? It’s Ethan,” a gruff male voice snarls over the speaker.
Holy shit!
Mom’s face immediately brightens. I’m praying she won’t remember him, but Margot’s presence alone is a reminder.
Also, Mom worships power, beauty, and wealth, and Ethan has the evil trifecta.
Lucky me.
I lunge for the intercom, but Mom beats me to the wall, buzzing him up.
Margot sends me a wide-eyed stare I know how to interpret: oh fuck .
Yep.
Oh, fuck.
And he’s about to walk right through my front door.
Mom sprints back to the kitchen and I think she grabs one of those kale monstrosities from the fridge.
I’m not sure because I’m running for the laundry, which has a couple pairs of my panties in full view. I barely manage to chuck it into the bedroom before Lucifer marches through the front door.
Tall. Coppery dark hair. Midnight blue eyes.
You never forget those eyes.
Cheekbones that are probably visible from outer space and a jaw so sharp it could engrave curse words on titanium.
Everything about him is hard, from the wall of granite posing as a chest to the mile-wide shoulders holding up a face set like an angry god.
His gaze settles on me, dark and so intense, my breath stalls.
Breathe, Hattie.
Can we not make this worse?
In my defense, he’s wearing a full suit that looks painted on, open at the throat, just enough to show off a hint of tanned skin. It’s the kind of healthy glow that’s rare here in Maine, the type you only get from jetting off regularly to warm, sunny places.
This man is atrociously handsome. And so far out of my league it feels like a cosmic prank.
Oh, and he’s scowling. Like always.
“I assume you didn’t know anything about this insane arrangement,” he says before I can utter a single word. “It’s damn ridiculous, and if you had anything to do with setting it up—”
My hands clench into fists.
My eyes are lasers.
I have a biting urge to throw the heaviest book I own at his stupidly attractive arrogant face. No matter how well dressed he is, he’s still a fire-breathing asshole.
“Of course I didn’t know! Are you serious?” I say tightly. “I didn’t know anything about it, and if I had, I would’ve begged Leonidas not to do this.”
Because it’s crazy .
“I had to make sure.” His brows draw together, but he gives a curt nod.
“Also, I don’t appreciate the implication that I somehow collaborated with your grandfather to spring this on you. Like who do you think I am?”
“She literally fainted, idiot,” Margot hisses from her place on the sofa. “That’s not what happens when someone’s plotting against you.”
“You’re still here?” He scowls at her and snorts.
“Yes. I’m supporting my friend like a functional human being.
” Margot waves a hand at me. “What else do you expect me to do? Drown myself in cocktails? If that’s how you want to grieve, Ethan, fine, but count me out.
We both know that’s a great way to get PopPop’s ghost to come back and kick your ass. ”
“How about supporting your brother?” he rumbles like a thunderhead. “You know I don’t drink like that anymore.”
Anger simmers in his eyes, mingled with the tiniest hint of hurt that’s almost relatable.
Margot rolls her eyes.
“Sounds like you’re handling it just fine. Aren’t you hiring an army of estate lawyers to fight the will?”
“Not the will,” he says, folding his arms. “Just the marriage clause.”
“Makes sense,” I say, losing my mind a little. “Wouldn’t want to lose out on the big inheritance, right?”
He turns the full force of his glare on me.
I’m almost positive the ends of my hair curl up and shrivel under the heat. My skin tingles.
“Damn right.” Every syllable could cut glass. “In the event I’m unsuccessful, I’m prepared to pay you generously for a mind-numbingly simple job. Walk down the aisle, sign a few papers, keep your distance, and wait half a year for the divorce.”
He nods like this is a perfectly reasonable proposal.
Wow.
My jaw drops. I feel faint.
He said it so bluntly.
Like I don’t have a choice.
Like I’m the kind of timid mouse-girl who’ll accept a little cash in exchange for a sham marriage and go on my merry way like it never happened.
Typical Ethan.
He hasn’t changed a bit.
I blink at him and he stares back, blinking much slower. God, even his blinking feels arrogant with him, and it makes me want to throw a smaller book at his head.
“Well?” he says when I don’t respond. “Did you hear me say generous?”
“Oh my God, Ethan.” Margot puts a throw pillow over her face. “You asshole. Please tell me that’s not your final offer.”
“Listen,” I say, holding up a hand. “I didn’t agree to this any more than you did.”
He makes an impatient gesture. “Doesn’t matter. I’m finding a solution.”
“Feels more like bribery.” My anger grows with every second. “You’re trying to pay me off, and not very nicely. Have you heard of flattery? A couple hours ago, this was thrown at me the same way it was thrown at you, and now you barge in here demanding—”
“You let me in.” He shrugs.
Technically, my mom did, but that’s not the point.
“You were rude .”
“Tell him, Hattie!” Margot says from the sofa, lowering the pillow from her face.
“Not helping,” Ethan growls.
“If you want me to play along with your grand plan, you’re going to have to do a better job than—”
A deafening squeal behind us cuts me off mid-sentence.
Mom has finally left the kitchen and she’s speeding toward him with her hands outstretched. All my thoughts about taking Ethan down a peg or two evaporate.
“Ethan Blackthorn! Is it really you?” Mom practically throws herself into his arms, peppering his cheeks with kisses. She certainly wasn’t this happy to see me or Margot put together. “It’s been forever!”
He blinks at her, finally shocked into silence.
I don’t even think he knew she was here.
Fine.
Today, she can be my secret weapon. He’s clearly not thinking about how to bribe me into a fake marriage scheme anymore—not when he’s occupied with escaping Mom’s claws.
“Mrs. Sage,” he says after a pained second where I want to fall through the floor. I’ve heard the center of the earth is nice and balmy this time of year.
“Oh, no. Call me Julia.” She playfully slaps his arm. So cringe. I’m positive she’s not actually trying to flirt with him, considering the age gap, but it’s a little too close for comfort. “It’s been forever since we’ve seen you around these parts, Ethan.”
“I move around a lot. Spent some time in California,” he tells her, right before she starts up again.
“My, have you been working out? You look so handsome. You’ve certainly picked up your father’s good looks!”
Sigh.
Is spontaneous combustion real?
Or maybe I should just pray for the inevitable death of the sun to hurry up and scorch everything on the planet to cinders.
“Thanks, Julia,” he clips.
“So what brings you back to Maine? Are you staying in Portland again?”
“Mom!” I hiss.
“Oh, right!” Her catlike green eyes widen as she finally catches up with the feeling in the room. “Your granddad. I was so sorry to hear it. How could I have forgotten? I guess you’re here for his funeral? Closure?”
“Close enough,” Ethan mutters, his gaze cutting back to me.
I’m pretty sure my head is almost a tomato.
At some point, he’ll realize what a ginormous mistake he’s made by offering me a way out of this.
Mom lays a hand on Ethan’s arm, probably meant to be comforting, but she squeezes him like a slab of beef.
“You’re so warm,” she says, which is one of the most contrived excuses I’ve ever heard. “Come with me. I’ve got just the thing to cool you down.”
“No, that’s all right, I—” His protests are futile.
He might be the heir to a real estate empire worth bajillions, but he’s no match for Julia Sage when she wants to nurture.
I suppose it’s reassuring, knowing it’s not just me she tramples on.
Margot watches her big brother drag his feet into the kitchen. We follow him to the doorway, just in time to watch Mom pour him a tall glass of lovely green sludge.