Chapter 18 Foreclosure and Seven Years Ago #2
"You haven't looked?" His eyebrows rise. “From what I’ve heard about ya in the press, the famous Luke Sterling probably knows the serial numbers on his coffee makers. And you’re telling me you haven’t your, uh, date’s financials?"
"It's not like that."
"It's exactly like that. You're afraid of what you'll find." He leans forward. "Let me guess the story. Family business, probably inherited. Drowning in debt but too proud to quit. Desperate enough to take any partnership, any lifeline. Even one that requires... creative interpretation of ethics?"
My jaw tightens. "You don't know her."
"I don't need to. I know the type. For fuck’s sake, I married the type." He signals for another round. "They're intoxicating. All that passion, that drive, that desperate need to succeed. Makes you feel like a hero. Until you realize you're just another asset to leverage."
"Okay," Connor interrupts. "This got dark. We're supposed to be celebrating Callum's engagement, not conducting therapy."
"Apologies." Killian raises his fresh drink. "To love, marriage, and statistical improbabilities."
The conversation shifts to safer topics.
Callum's wedding plans. The bachelor party logistics that definitely don't involve Vegas despite Connor’s protests.
But I can't stop thinking about Killian's words.
Creative interpretation of ethics.
Desperate enough to take any partnership.
Another asset to leverage.
My phone buzzes. Sage: Buttercup learned to open doors. Send help. Or a goat exorcist.
Reading the message, I smile.
"The innkeeper?" Killian asks, noticing.
"Goat emergency."
"Ah yes. The glamorous life of hospitality." But he's smiling too. "She makes you happy?"
"She makes me... everything. Happy, confused, terrified, alive."
"Dangerous combination."
"The best things usually are."
He considers me. "You're going to ignore everything I said, aren't you? Jump in with both feet, consequences be damned?"
"Probably."
"Good." At my surprise, he shrugs. "Someone should. God knows I've become too careful. Too calculated. Protect yourself long enough, you forget what you're protecting."
"That's unexpectedly philosophical."
"Divorce brings clarity. That and excellent lawyers." He stands. "I should go. Early flight to check on the Singapore property. Callum, congratulations again. Gentlemen, a pleasure. Luke... good luck. You'll need it."
He leaves with the same don’t-give-a-fuck swagger he arrived with, and the table sits in silence for a moment.
"Well," Grayson finally says. "He seems fun."
"He's been through hell," Callum defends. "The divorce was... brutal. His ex took everything she could, including most of their friend group."
"And left him bitter enough to poison a pre-engagement drink or two,” Connor adds.
"Was he wrong though?" Alex asks quietly. "About mixing business with personal? About desperation making people do things?"
Everyone looks at me.
"I need to call Sage," I say instead of answering. "Ask her about the party."
"Smooth subject change," Connor observes.
"Shut up."
I step away from the table, finding a quiet corner of the bar.
She answers on the second ring.
"Did you find an exorcist?" Her voice is breathless, probably from chasing Buttercup.
"Fresh out. But I have a question."
"If it's about whether goats can be trained, the answer is theoretically yes but practically no."
"It's about Connor's engagement party. Saturday. Would you..." I pause, suddenly nervous. "Would you come with me?"
"As your date?"
"As my... yes. Date. Actual date. Not business non-date."
"Oh." She's quiet for a moment. "Are you sure? After the gala, I mean. Your world is very... shiny."
"I like you unshiny."
"That's not a word."
"I'm making it one. Sage Winters, queen of the unshiny, keeper of chaos goats, destroyer of coffee tables. Will you be my date?"
She laughs, bright and surprising. "When you put it like that, how can I refuse?"
"Is that a yes?"
"That's a yes. But fair warning—I might have to borrow shoes again. Buttercup's developed a taste for leather."
"I'll buy you shoes."
"You can't keep buying me things."
"Watch me."
"Luke..."
"Just shoes. Not a helicopter pad."
"A what now?"
"Long story. Involving Alex and too much money." I pause. "Sage? We're okay, right? You've been distant this week."
"I've been... dealing with inn things."
"Still inn things?"
"Persistent inn things."
Something in her voice makes me want to push, to ask what's really wrong.
But Killian's words echo…
“Desperate enough to take any partnership.”
"Okay," I say instead. "But if you need anything..."
"I know. And Luke? I'm looking forward to Saturday."
"Me too."
I hang up and return to find my friends deep in debate about bachelor party strippers.
"No strippers," Callum is saying firmly.
"What about tasteful strippers?" someone suggests.
"How are strippers tasteful?"
"They could quote Shakespeare while stripping."
"That's not tasteful, that's pretentious."
"Everything okay?" Connor asks me as I sit.
"Yeah. Sage is coming Saturday."
"Good. Mac likes her. Says she has 'good energy.'"
"She has chaotic energy," I correct.
"Same thing in Mac's world." Alex grins. "So you're ignoring Killian's doom and gloom?"
I think about Sage's voice, the way she said "inn things" like they were weights dragging her down. Think about Killian's warning about savior complexes and desperate partnerships.
"I'm being cautiously optimistic," I say finally.
"That's new for you," Connor observes. "Usually you're just cautious."
"Well." I raise my glass. "Maybe it's time for something new."
We toast to that. Toast to new things, to Callum's wedding, to the statistical improbability of love after forty.
But as I drive home later, Killian's words won't leave me alone.
And I trust Sage. I realize how much I really do.
I just wish I knew what "inn things" were making her sound so lost.
And why I'm afraid to find out.