Chapter 28
Audrey
“She said what?” Layla’s latte freezes halfway to her mouth. “To your face? At dinner?”
“To my face. At dinner.” I take an aggressive bite of avocado toast. “She implied I was after his money and suggested he’d eventually tire of ‘slumming it’ and find someone of ‘appropriate stock.’”
“Stock,” Serena repeats flatly. “Like you’re cattle.”
“Like I’m cattle.”
“I’m going to kill her.” Layla sets down her mug with a decisive clunk. “I’m going to find this woman and I’m going to kill her with my bare hands.”
“Get in line,” Jenna mutters, and we all turn to look at her.
She’s sitting at the end of the table, looking slightly less uncomfortable than the last time Layla strong-armed her into a group outing.
Her dark hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and she’s wearing what I’ve come to recognize as her work uniform—tailored trousers, a silk blouse in dove gray, minimal jewelry.
She looks like she wandered out of a catalogue for women who bill four hundred dollars an hour.
This is the first time we’ve had brunch since I got back from Sweden.
Between the project consuming every waking hour and my relationship with Logan consuming most of the others, our regular catch-ups have fallen by the wayside.
But today—the day after our breakthrough—Logan insisted I get out of the lab and take a real break while he babysits the simulations.
“Go,” he’d said, practically pushing me toward the door. “I’ll call if anything explodes.”
So here I am, one eye on my phone in case the lab needs me, trying to remember how to have a conversation that doesn’t involve encryption protocols or FDA benchmarks.
It’s harder than it should be. My brain keeps drifting back to the simulations, running variables I can’t control from our favorite table at The Velvet Spoon Cafe.
“You’ve met Logan’s mother?” I ask Jenna, surprised by her comment.
“Unfortunately.” She cuts a piece of chicken. “I met them at a charity gala two years ago. Caroline spent fifteen minutes telling me about the importance of ‘maintaining standards’ while looking at my dress like it had personally offended her ancestors.”
“What was wrong with your dress?” Serena asks.
“Nothing. It was Valentino.” Jenna puts down her cutlery and takes a sip of her sparkling water.
“But I made the mistake of correcting her when she thought my surname meant I belonged to the Pembertons of Main Line Philadelphia. But I grew up in Queens, so clearly she decided I was an infiltrator after that.”
“The audacity,” Layla deadpans.
“I know. I should have just let her keep on assuming and being accidentally kind to a commoner.” Jenna’s mouth twitches. “Anyway. The woman is a nightmare. I’m sorry you had to sit through an entire dinner with her.”
“The father’s worse,” I say. “He’s quieter about it. Death by a thousand paper cuts instead of a single stab wound.”
“Classic upper-class passive-aggression.” Serena nods. “Never anything overtly offensive—just endless little comments designed to make you feel like you don’t belong.”
“Exactly. That’s exactly what it was like.”
“What did Logan do when they went full attack mode?”
I smile despite myself, the memory of that night still raw but edged with something warmer now. “He told them that if they ever disrespected the woman he loves again, he’d cut them off completely. No son, no legacy, no money.”
Layla gasps. “He did not.”
“He did. I heard the whole thing. I was on the stairs.”
“Oh my god.” She clutches her chest. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“More romantic than when Bennett flew you to Paris for your birthday?” Serena asks dryly.
“Paris is just logistics. Standing up to your horrible parents for the woman you love? That’s character.” Layla sighs. “Under all those awkward silences and napkin schematics, there’s a knight in shining armor.”
“He’s not a knight,” I say, but I’m smiling. “He’s just... finally letting himself be Logan.”
“The version that tells his mother to fuck off?” Jenna raises an eyebrow. “I like that version.”
“He didn’t technically tell her to fuck off—”
“He told her he’d choose you over his entire family legacy.” Jenna’s expression is unreadable, but there’s something almost like respect in her voice. “That’s the equivalent of telling people like the Whitmans to fuck off.”
“Speaking of work,” Layla says, with the air of someone who’s been waiting for an opening, “how’s the Nakamura integration going?”
The shift in Jenna’s demeanor is immediate—a slight stiffening of her shoulders, a careful blankness settling over her features. “It’s going.”
“That bad?” Serena asks.
“The integration itself is fine. The project management is...” She pauses, selecting her words carefully, “Challenging.”
“By project management, you mean Dominic,” Layla says.
“I mean the entire situation.” Jenna sets down her water glass with precision.
“For months, nothing happened. Delays, rescheduled calls, documents that needed re-reviewing. I thought the hardest part would be the language barrier—which, by the way, is why Bennett put me on this in the first place, because I minored in Japanese in college. But no. The hardest part is working with a man who thinks every email requires a follow-up call, every call requires a follow-up coffee, and every coffee requires him to ask if I’ve ‘warmed up to him yet.’”
“That does sound like Dominic,” I offer.
“Now that integration has actually started, it’s hiccup after hiccup.
Regulatory issues, staffing concerns, cultural misalignments in the restructure approach.
Things that should take a week are taking three.
” She exhales through her nose. “There’s been talk of flying to Tokyo for a face-to-face if we can’t get things back on track. ”
“A trip to Tokyo with Dominic?” Layla’s eyes light up. “For how long?”
“However long it takes. Which is exactly why I’m highly motivated to solve these problems remotely.” Jenna’s jaw tightens. “A few weeks in close quarters with a man who has the attention span of an over-caffeinated squirrel is not my idea of a productive work environment.”
“A few weeks,” Serena repeats, exchanging a glance with Layla. “That’s a long time.”
“It’s a complex integration. If it comes to that.” Jenna picks up her water again, clearly signaling the topic is closed. “Which it won’t. Because I’m going to fix this from Chicago if it kills me.”
Serena’s phone buzzes on the table, and she glances at the screen, her face lighting up. “It’s Caleb. Apparently Michaela’s science fair is tonight and we’re all invited.”
“Science fair?” Layla asks.
“David’s daughter, Michaela. She’s—”
“Seven and three-quarters?” I say automatically, remembering Logan’s stories. “Apparently she’s very specific about that.”
Serena grins. “She’s eight now—at least until we hit the next quarter. Have you met her?”
“Not yet, but Logan talks about her. She seems…rambunctious.”
Serena laughs at that. “She’s basically a tiny lawyer who cross-examines everyone she meets.”
“That tracks,” Layla puts in. “She’s a Kingsley.”
Serena nods as she reads a new text. “Caleb says the group invite is in support of David—apparently he’s nervous about it. Single dad stuff. He wants Michaela to see she has people in her corner.”
Something in my chest warms at that. After everything with Logan’s parents—the coldness, the transactional nature of their so-called family—the idea of a group showing up for a little girl’s science project feels almost radical in its simplicity.
“I’m in,” I say.
“Same.” Layla is already texting, probably informing Bennett. “This is adorable. I love it.”
We all look at Jenna.
She sighs, but there’s no real resistance in it. “Fine. But I’m not wearing a ‘proud science fair aunt’ T-shirt or whatever Layla is already planning.”
“I wasn’t planning—” Layla starts, then reconsiders. “OK, I was absolutely thinking about it, but I’ll restrain myself.”
“You have no restraint. It’s one of your defining characteristics.”
“And yet you keep showing up to brunch.”
Jenna’s mouth twitches again—closer to a real smile this time. “Someone has to provide a voice of reason.”
My phone buzzes and I grab it faster than I should—relief flooding through me when I see Logan’s name instead of an error alert.
Logan:
Simulations looking promising. Miss you. How’s brunch?
I exhale. Everything’s fine. The lab is fine. I can be here.
I type back.
Me:
Good. Apparently we’re going to a science fair tonight for Michaela, and Jenna is worried she might have to fly to Tokyo with Dominic.
His response is immediate.
Logan:
It’s more of a showcase than a science fair. Her class is doing a project about the intelligence of dogs vs dolphins. And I’m sure Jenna would rather chew glass. Dominic’s been complaining she won’t even let him buy her coffee anymore.
I snort, and Serena glances over. “Logan?”
“Apparently it isn’t a science fair. It’s a showcase. And Dominic’s been complaining that Jenna no longer lets him buy her coffee.”
Jenna’s expression doesn’t flicker. “That’s because it’s never just coffee with that man.
It’s coffee and twenty minutes of him asking about my weekend and whether I’ve ‘reconsidered dinner.’ I don’t have time to reconsider anything.
I have an integration timeline that’s three weeks behind schedule. ”
“Maybe going to Tokyo would be good for you,” Layla suggests innocently. “Change of scenery. New perspective.”
“The only perspective I need is the one where this project gets finished on time and I never have to hear Dominic Cruz ask me what my ‘love language’ is ever again.”
“He asked about your love language?” Serena looks delighted.
“He said he was ‘just curious.’ I told him it was ‘silence and professional boundaries.’” Jenna checks her watch. “I need to get back to the office. What time is this showcase?”
“Six,” Serena says. “Caleb’s sending the address. We can all grab dinner after.”
Jenna nods, already gathering her things with characteristic efficiency. “I’ll meet you there.”
She’s gone before any of us can respond, leaving behind a faint trail of expensive perfume and the distinct impression of someone holding the entire world at arm’s length.
“She’s warming up to us,” Layla declares. “I can tell.”
“How can you tell?” I ask.
“She made a joke. Two, actually. And she agreed to come to a child’s showcase on a weeknight.” Layla beams. “By Jenna standards, that’s practically a declaration of eternal friendship.”
Serena laughs. “She’s going to love Michaela. They have the same energy—all business, no nonsense, slightly terrifying.”
“An eight-year-old is terrifying?”
“In a good way,” Serena and Layla say in unison, before they dissolve into giggles.
I check my phone again. No emergencies from Logan, just another text.
Logan:
Everything still stable. Stop checking your phone and enjoy your friends.
I’m smiling at my phone like an idiot when Layla nudges me. “Look at you. All heart-eyes over there.”
“I’m not—”
“You absolutely are. And I love it.” She raises her coffee cup. “To showcases, the friends who feel like family and men who stand up to their horrible mothers.”
“To Jenna surviving however long she has to work with Dominic without committing murder,” Serena adds.
“And to Audrey,” Layla says, her voice softer now. “For finding someone who fights for her.”
Something flickers in my chest—not quite discomfort, but close. The way she says it makes it sound like a fairy tale. Like I’m the princess who got rescued.
But that’s not what happened. Logan stood up to his parents because he needed to, not just for me. I was the catalyst, not the cause. The confrontation was his to have, his freedom to claim.
Still, I raise my water glass to the thought. “To all of it. Whatever comes next.”
We clink our drinks together, and for the first time since I got back from Sweden, I feel like I’m on the right track again. Not just with Logan, but here—with these women who show up for me even when I don’t know I need them.
This is what real family looks like. Not blood obligations and performative dinners. Just people who show up for each other, again and again, for no other reason than because they want to.
Logan’s parents will never understand that.
But Logan does. And so do the people at this table.