34. Cal
CAL
I ’m pacing.
Back and forth in my room like that’ll somehow generate answers.
Like walking holes into this floorboard will tell me how to fix things with Margot.
Since she walked out on our conversation earlier, it feels like I’ve been slowly dying.
I don’t know what to do, how to reach her, all I know is that this is a problem I don’t know how to solve.
The silence is driving me out of my mind.
I’m in the middle of drafting an apology in my head—for the sixth time—when there’s a loud, frantic knock at the door.
I frown. Then rush to open it.
The second I see Margot, I smile—relieved, desperate, ready to beg if I have to.
But she doesn’t say a word. She shoves her phone hard into my chest.
I barely catch it before it slips from my hands.
And when I look down, I understand.
Photos. Everywhere. Me and Margot. At dinner. Smiling. Kissing. Headlines screaming secret billionaire romance, mystery innkeeper, Calvin Hale spotted with small-town sweetheart .
I already knew this was coming.
But this? This is worse than I imagined.
My blood runs hot.
Not because we were seen.
But because she’s in the crosshairs now. Her life. Her privacy. Her peace.
I grab her hand and pull her inside, shutting the door behind us.
“I’m sorry,” I say, voice low, firm. “This wasn’t my intention. None of it.”
She’s breathing hard, her eyes full of fire and betrayal. “I’ll fix this,” I promise. “I swear, Margot—I’ll fix it.”
“How?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Just bitterness. “You want to throw money at it?”
“Margot, that’s not fair.”
Her eyes flash. “Do you know what’s not fair? You coming down here to deceive me into falling for you. What was it? You got tired of your big-city girls and decided to try small-town ones for sport? See how easily we get swept off our feet by city charms?”
“Margot, no! Stop!”
“I won’t stop until you’re gone!” Her voice cracks, but she doesn’t let it slow her down. “I don’t want you here anymore.”
My chest tightens. She means it.
I take a shaky breath. “I thought…” My voice lowers. “I thought you liked me. I thought you’d be willing to work through this with me.”
“I’m not,” she says, quietly now, almost too calmly. “I’m unwilling, Cal. I don’t want to work through anything. I’ll feel better if you leave.”
It hits like a punch to the gut.
But I nod, jaw clenched.
If leaving is what will bring her peace, I’ll give it to her. Even if it shatters me.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
“Thank you.” She snatches the phone from my hand and walks out, slamming the door behind her.
I just stand there, staring at the wood grain. My eyes burn, but I don’t let the tears fall.
Thirty minutes later, I head downstairs and cross over to the orchard house. Aunt Edie, Jo, and Sam are sitting on the porch, talking in hushed tones. They go quiet when they see me.
No one asks anything. They already know.
“I just wanted to say goodbye,” I say.
Edie stands first. She wraps her arms around me and holds on for a few seconds longer than expected. Jo takes my hands, her eyes kind but unreadable. Sam gives me a firm nod and a pat on the shoulder.
That’s it.
No questions. No blame. Just quiet goodbyes.
It’s almost seven, but I can’t stay. Not when Margot told me to leave. So I pack the rest of my things in the truck, start the engine, and drive into town to find a hotel. Anywhere but here.
B y noon the next day, I’m in L.A.
No smiles. No peace. Just cold, quiet calculations. I don’t even unpack. I don’t bother showering. The city feels loud, fast, detached—like me.
The first thing I do when I wake up is call Marley. As soon as she picks up, I’m saying into the phone, “I need a meeting with PR. Legal. Today,” I say, my voice flat.
There’s no trace of who I was in Everfield. That version of me—the one who laughed, who softened, who loved—didn’t make it on the flight back. He stayed behind with her.
Three hours later, I’m sitting at the far end of the long glass table, sleeves rolled to my elbows, a coffee I haven’t touched cooling by my side.
The boardroom is all chrome and edge—L.A.
sunlight bouncing off every surface like it’s trying to blind me.
I miss Everfield so much, and it’s barely been twenty-four hours.
Across from me are three lawyers, two assistants, and Marley at the far end, her expression unreadable.
They know I didn’t fly across the country for small talk.
I didn’t come here to be consoled or advised.
I came for action. They’ve already seen the pictures circling the internet, and I’ve given them a brief of how it happened.
“I want to sue the media company— Scoop —as a whole,” I say, voice even. “And I want to sue Raymond as an individual.”
One of the junior lawyers shifts, already reaching for a notepad. The lead counsel, Monica, meets my eyes. “It’s a bit tricky.”
“I don’t care. Make it work.” I rest both elbows on the table, fingers laced. “Defamation. Invasion of privacy. Unauthorized use of my image. Emotional distress. Whatever sticks. I don’t care if you have to dig through a hundred laws to find it—I want them held accountable.”
A pause. The only sound is the faint hum of the air conditioning and the rustle of paper as they start jotting things down.
“If the pictures were taken in a public place, that complicates things a bit,” Monica says carefully.
I nod once. “Complicated doesn’t mean impossible. You’re the best for a reason. Figure it out.”
She exhales slowly, then looks at the others. “We’ll draft everything by end of day. That okay with you?”
“Not just drafted. I want those papers in their hands before sunset,” I say. “Make sure they know who they messed with.”
They nod. The room starts moving. Laptops open. Documents fly across screens.
I lean back in my seat, still not touching the coffee. My reflection stares back at me from the table—hard eyes, clenched jaw.
They wanted pictures. I’ll give them a war.