Chapter Nine
“This way.” Avery led Jo, both loaded down with boxes of desserts, through the large open foyer of his family home, the sound of their boots on tile echoing off a twenty-foot ceiling. The sound made her feel smaller than the boxes in her arms.
She stared up and gasped at a crystal chandelier almost as big as her car. Light fractured off it in hard, blinding angles—beautiful and dangerous. She wouldn’t be standing under that thing for too long if she could help it.
To the right, a massive staircase wound to a second level. To the left, a living room with a huge rock fireplace could have been her apartment times three.
Panic rode through her nervous system like a runaway roller coaster on fire. Her pulse spiked—fight-or-flight without an exit ramp. Forget league. Forget ballpark. She wasn’t even in the same fucking universe anymore.
“I know it’s a lot,” he said as if sensing her fight-or-flight reaction kicking in.
You can do this. Just pretend you’re working a gig at a fancy hotel.
“I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.”
As they neared the far side of the foyer, Melody stepped out of a door under the stairs with a bottle of wine, wearing a cream-colored sweater that complimented her dark hair and russet jeans. Her dark brown eyes widened before a smile of genuine welcome curved full red lips.
“Hi, Mel,” Avery bent awkwardly to kiss her cheek. “Everybody here?”
She nodded. “Except for Kate and Bryce. She called. They’re running behind.”
He chuckled. “I can guess why.”
“Behave.” Melody smacked his arm but winked her agreement. Bangly bracelets jangled at her wrists as she gave Jo’s forearm a light squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
The welcome was genuine, which made the pressure worse. “Me, too.”
But at the same time, she’d rather be anywhere else.
“Come on. Everyone’s back here.” She went ahead of them through a wide passage that opened into a smaller version of the living room.
Several brown leather couches and chairs flanked another stone fireplace that blazed, warm and welcoming.
A wet bar lined the adjacent wall, and a buffet of chips, dip, crackers, and cheese was laid out behind the sofa facing a near-cinema-sized flat screen over the cedar mantle.
The room radiated comfort the way money always did—quietly, without apology.
Dressed similarly to Avery, the Preston men dominated the room. Nick and Laine sat on one couch, watching basketball highlights. Spencer stretched out on another. Marcus sprawled in one of the oversized recliners.
“Look who’s here,” Melody announced. “And they come bearing gifts.”
They. It landed heavy and sounded weird, a tummy tingling weird, different than it had last weekend when she had barely known Avery and hadn’t known his family at all, not on a personal level. Which was pretty much still the case, even after their late-night taco run.
They made them sound more like a couple than before, when she and Avery hadn’t done more than text a few times during the week to work out scheduling details for today.
Oh, what a tangled, guilty as fuck web we weave.
Avery headed toward a long mahogany dining table that filled the other half of the room. He set his load of boxes beside a stack of dinner plates. “There’s a lot more out in my truck.”
Dumping her boxes next to his, Jo shot him a dirty look. What was she supposed to do now? She couldn’t contradict him. It would only bring more attention to an overzealous attempt to impress them.
Asshole just shrugged as Spencer, Nick, and Marcus stomped socked feet into boots and headed outside.
As soon as she turned around, Melody was right there with a hug. She pulled back. “Can I get you a drink? We’re having mimosas.”
“No, thank you.” She could use a drink, but her stomach rebelled at the idea of orange juice. Besides, she needed to keep a clear head.
Laine met Avery with a fatherly embrace. “How was the drive?
“Hardly any traffic.”
Laine smiled at Jo but didn’t come in for a hug, to her relief. “Connie hates the drive into Houston. Says it takes too long.”
“I don’t get up this way much, but it went by fast.” Too fast. Probably because she was nervous and dreading a less business-like setting. Or was it the company and conversation that made the trip go by so quickly? Avery was nothing if not entertaining. When he wasn’t being an asshole.
“You weren’t speeding, were you?” Laine said.
Avery laughed. “I drove like an old man.”
His dad grimaced around a chuckle. “Like me, then, huh?”
“Don’t let him fool you,” Avery said to Jo. “He runs circles around all of us.”
The guys returned with nine more boxes just as Charlotte breezed in—a vision in pale blue silk and indigo jeans—carrying a tray of flatware from what Jo thought might be the kitchen. “Oh, look at all the goodies.”
Jo cringed inwardly, wanting to disappear. Instead, she returned Charlotte’s brief hug.
“Should we take them through and plate them?” Melody said, beckoning Avery’s brothers.
Everyone filed into a fantasy kitchen—big and roomy, crisp and clean, shiny new top-of-the-line appliances, including three ovens and a commercial-size refrigerator. Best of all was the massive island topped with marble, a pastry chef’s dream.
Another woman sat with Avery’s mother at a long, rustic table tucked into a bay of windows.
“Thank you, Mary.” Connie rose, her willowy frame every bit the lady of the manor in a taupe mohair sweater set and jeans. Her dark hair was pulled back in an intricately woven ponytail at the base of her neck. She didn’t look old enough to have four grown sons.
Jo braced for Connie’s hug. It was soft and warm and hit Jo with a force she wasn’t prepared for. The kind of embrace that didn’t ask what you’d done to earn it. The kind of hug from a mom—or a grandma—full of unconditional acceptance and, if not love, then care. God, it had been a long time.
I miss you, grandma.
Jo pulled away, feeling both guilty and brittle.
But Connie held onto her hand. “Welcome to our home. I’ve been looking forward to having you here all week.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” Jo said around the lump in her throat. “You have a beautiful home.”
“This one can give you a tour later.” Connie turned to Avery, who gave her a side hug. “Hi, baby.”
“Hey, Mom.” He kissed the top of her head. They were close.
“Mmm, these are delicious,” someone said behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder. A half-eaten macaron in one gloved hand, Charlotte plated petit fours with the other.
Melody, along with Mary, were transferring mille-feuille to a tray.
All the men had wandered back to the den, except for Marcus, who licked powdered sugar from his thumb, grabbed another choux bun, and stuck the whole thing in his mouth.
“Marcus, you’ll spoil your dinner,” Connie admonished with a laugh that said it wouldn’t do any good. “And where are your manners?”
“Imm-uh-mo,” he said around a macaron.
Guess that means he likes them.
“Excuse me,” Jo said to Connie, then set her bag on the table, dug out her own nitrile gloves, and crossed to the island to check the mille-feuille. In their sealed container, they had survived the trip, but the cream was beginning to sweat. “Is there room in the fridge for these?”
“Sure.” Mary led her to the refrigerator and moved a few things aside to make room.
When Jo turned around the women were huddled together, whispering, Marcus behind them. Was this the moment they told her she didn’t belong?
She swung a glance at Avery. Arms folded over his chest, one boot crossed over the other, he leaned against the table, watching her, his expression blank.
He jutted his chin toward the group of conspirators who’d grown eerily quiet.
“What?” she asked as she began building a pyramid of choux buns, anything to keep her hands from shaking. They were making her nervous. Something was going on. Had they lured her here only to tell her she was reaching beyond her grasp, as Grandma used to say?
With a glance at Marcus, Charlotte stepped forward, obviously the spokesperson for the bunch. She flipped a strand of blonde hair behind her back. “We’ve discussed it, and we’d like you to make the cake for our wedding and to provide the desserts.”
All their heads bobbed in unison.
Pausing mid-stack, Jo stared at them, confused and giddy all at once. Was Charlotte saying what she thought she was? “But you already signed a contract with Giselle.”
“We’d prefer to give you our business.”
“But the cancellation fees—”
“Are nothing.” Charlotte waved off what Jo knew would be an exorbitant amount of money.
Excitement pulsed through Jo, but she tamped it down. Poaching was frowned upon. “I don’t feel right about taking Giselle’s business. She’s really very good.”
“Jo, we signed with the understanding that you’d be the one working on our wedding.”
“Oh.” Jo knew Charlotte liked her work, but only because Viv had overheard the meeting. Giselle had never said. “But…”
Realizing she still held the bun, she laid it back in the box and peeled off her gloves. She looked at Avery. A wink confirmed her suspicions. He’d known they were going to spring this on her. That’s why he’d pushed her to bring in all the boxes and why he’d been so indifferent about her freak out.
He inclined his head toward his sneaky family as if to say, “No more buts. Just listen.”
“That you’d sacrifice business for your former employer,” Connie said, “when you’re struggling to build a clientele, speaks highly to your character.”
Jo swallowed past the lump in her throat. Praise hit harder than criticism ever had.
“The thing is,” Charlotte added, “I’ve already informed Giselle I’m going with someone else.”
Poor Viv. She and Theo and the rest of the crew would have to deal with that bad mood for weeks to come. Giselle didn’t like losing to the competition.
But arguing seemed pointless now, and Jo couldn’t contain her excitement any longer. This was happening. “Well, then, I guess we’ve got work to do.”