Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Annie
What now?
“Annie,” she says, in that carefully pleasant tone people use when they’re delivering something they’d rather not. “Miss Vivian Harlan would like you to have dinner with her tonight.”
I look up from my laptop, my blood running cold. I know the name Vivian Harlan. I know she’s the guys’ aunt. Jesse warned me she might be a little terrifying, so I really don’t want to meet her.
But it seems like that decision has been made for me.
“She does?”
Sherry’s smile strains. “Yes.”
“Why? I’m just a temp.”
Sherry shrugs. “I guess she’s been away and hasn’t had a chance to meet you yet. She likes to meet us all.”
“Over dinner?”
Sherry doesn’t meet my eyes. “Yeah… sometimes.”
I tap my thumb once against the side of my camera, then make myself stop. “And if I say no?”
Sherry hesitates just long enough to be honest. “I don’t think that would go over well.”
A laugh almost escapes me.
Of course it wouldn’t.
Because I’m apparently working for the kind of family where dinner can have political consequences.
“Good to know I’ve been drafted,” I mutter.
Sherry softens a little. “For what it’s worth… I’d wear something you feel good in. And… smile. Your smile is very disarming.”
Hmm. I don’t know about that, but I guess we’re about to find out.
An hour later, I’m standing in front of my open closet feeling irrationally furious at fabric, because there’s a specific kind of humiliation in being summoned to a family dinner where you know you’re going to be assessed before you even sit down, and suddenly every article of clothing you own starts looking like evidence in someone else’s case against you.
Too casual, too intense, too much, too little, too Annie, not enough armor…
I finally settle on black jeans that fit like I mean business, a fitted dark green top, my heavier cardigan, and silver jewelry I don’t have to think about.
I leave my septum ring flipped out of sight, which irritates me on principle, but I don’t have the energy to stage a symbolic war on every front tonight.
But there’s nothing I can do to hide my blue hair. I twist it into a bun, let a few strands fall loose around my face, and stare at myself in the mirror for one beat too long.
Storm-gray eyes, defined brows, lips in a thin line because I have no idea how tonight is going to go.
“Cool,” I tell my reflection. “You look like a woman making excellent life choices.”
I don’t, but I look like someone who can survive dinner. That’ll have to be enough.
The formal dining room at Ironwood makes me want to commit arson.
It’s just so aggressively polished.
Long dark table, high-backed chairs, linen napkins folded like they have personal standards. Candles already lit even though there’s still the last line of daylight at the windows.
Silver that probably has history. Crystal glasses that look expensive enough to come with a blood oath.
The whole room hums with the kind of inherited wealth that says we have never once considered whether any of this is absurd.
And at the head of the table sits Vivian Harlan.
I know who she is before anyone introduces her. She has the kind of presence that doesn’t enter rooms so much as arranges them around herself.
Her hair is perfectly styled, silver threaded through dark in a way that looks intentional and expensive instead of human. Her posture’s immaculate.
Her silk blouse probably costs more than my monthly grocery bill. Every inch of her says control, breeding, and the absolute certainty that she’s the standard by which everything else will be judged.
Her eyes land on me before I’ve fully crossed the threshold.
And just like that, I understand what prey feels like in nature documentaries right before something big and elegant eats it alive.
“Well,” she says.
Just a neat little syllable that manages to contain observation, judgment, and disapproval all at once.
I stop at the end of the table and make myself smile.
“Vivian,” I say, because if she’s going to open like that, I’m not giving her Miss Harlan like she’s royalty and I’m kissing a ring.
One of her brows lifts almost imperceptibly.
Good. Let her be annoyed.
Silas is already seated halfway down the table, shoulders rigid, expression taut in the way that usually means he’s feeling too much and trying to make it everyone else’s problem through silence.
Cody is across from him, a glass of water untouched at his place setting, posture precise enough to look uncomfortable on purpose. Duke, at least, has the decency to look openly irritated by the entire setup.
He catches my eye and gives me the tiniest shake of his head, like I know.
Which would be more comforting if Duke didn’t seem so practiced at surviving people like Vivian.
“Annie,” Silas says as something of a greeting at least.
“Sit beside Duke,” Vivian says before Silas can do anything else. “It’s the most practical arrangement.”
I almost laugh.
Of course the woman who probably weaponized christenings and funeral seating charts her entire adult life thinks human placement is practical.
I take the seat beside Duke because making a scene at the literal start of dinner feels premature, and because if I have to sit next to one Harlan while their aunt dissects me, I’m choosing the one least likely to make me homicidal.
Duke leans in as I sit. “You look nice.”
“Thank you,” I murmur back. “I’m trying not to throw a bread plate.”
“Ambitious. I’m proud.”
A tiny spark of laughter threatens.
Vivian notices that, too.
Dinner begins with soup. The first few minutes are almost normal.
Almost.
There’s a murmur about the weather. Something about a land use discussion in town.
Duke makes a dry comment that makes Cody’s mouth twitch despite himself. Silas asks one of the staff members serving the meal to bring more water without ever fully taking his eyes off Vivian, which tells me this isn’t his favorite tradition either.
Then Vivian turns to me with a glance over the rim of her wineglass and a smile so polite it feels taxidermied. “And how are you finding Colter Creek, Annie?”
Her opening move.
I set my spoon down carefully. “Busy.”
“How diplomatic.”
Duke shifts beside me. “Aunt Viv, you know Annie has a lot of work here, and…”
She doesn’t look at him. “I’m making conversation.”
“No,” Cody says from across the table, “it seems more like you’re auditing.”
I shouldn’t enjoy that as much as I do.
Vivian’s gaze flicks to Cody, cool and dismissive. “If I were auditing, dear, you would know.”
Cody’s expression goes flat in that way that says he’s one controlled breath away from saying something genuinely impolite.
I file that away for personal enjoyment later.
Vivian’s attention returns to me. “So, temporary contract work.”
“Yes.”
“How modern.”
I blink at her. Is that an insult? “I like flexibility.”
“I’m sure you do.”
And there it is again, that little hook under the compliment. That neat, careful implication that flexibility is another word for rootless, unstable, unserious.
I smile. “It’s worked well for me.”
“I imagine it would have to.”
Vivian turns to the roast chicken being served like she didn’t just casually slice a layer off my patience.
“So many young women mistake restlessness for independence,” she says, speaking generally while very obviously meaning me. “They think refusing permanence is the same as building something.”
Duke exhales through his nose. “Jeez, Aunt Viv.”
Silas says, very evenly, “Enough.”
The whole table stills.
Vivian turns her head slowly toward him. “I’m trying to understand the woman you hired. I don’t think you need to turn this into something dramatic, dear. You know I care about you all and this ranch. I need to make sure everything is run properly.”
Silas rolls his eyes. “You know I run this ranch right.”
“Well, we wouldn’t have Miss Annie here if you were, would we?”
Bile collects at the base of my throat. I don’t like being targeted, but I also don’t like being a pawn in a bigger argument. One I don’t understand at all.
I thought the brothers were hard to read, but Vivian is something else.
“I’m here to do a job,” I jump in because I need to try to shatter the tension a little. “And I’ve been working hard…”
“Hmm, I see.” Vivian smiles. “So, you do have fire.”
I want to throw the soup. Instead I sit straighter and let my anger intensify, becoming useful.
“If you have a question,” I say, “you can ask it directly.”
“Oh, I’m sure I could.” She folds her napkin with perfect precision. “But direct questions are so rarely where the truth lives.”
That’s such rich, manipulative nonsense I almost admire it.
“What truth are you looking for?” I ask.
Vivian takes a sip of wine. “I only mean that Ironwood has always required a certain kind of loyalty in the past, so you are… an anomaly.”
What does she mean?
I hate being on the back foot.
“Annie is doing great work,” Cody jumps in defensively. “She’s spotted errors in the system we needed to see.”
“Hmm, and you couldn’t do that alone, Cody?” She cocks her head to one side. “Because I thought the numbers were your work.”
A light redness stains his cheeks. “I’m too close.”
She lifts one shoulder. “Legacy matters. Family matters.”
Duke’s easy warmth vanishes so fast it’s almost startling. Cody’s expression sharpens, becoming clinical and dangerous. Silas looks like he’s been carved out of the darkest part of the room.
What is happening? My goodness, I’m way too deep in this family. It’s terrifying.
It takes me a second too long to realize something fundamental.
This isn’t dinner. It’s positioning, control, and I’m sitting right in the middle of it.
Vivian lets the silence stretch just long enough to make it uncomfortable, then smooths it over with another small, elegant smile like she didn’t just drop a match into dry grass.
“Well,” she says lightly, “I’m sure we’ll all adjust.”
“I think…” I scrape my chair back. “Yeah, I think I’m going to go. I think, for a temp job, we’ve all gotten to know one another well enough…”
Duke’s hand brushes my arm under the table, quick and grounding, like he’s checking I’m calm before I bolt. Cody’s gaze flicks up, assessing, already anticipating fallout. Silas doesn’t move at all.
“Of course,” Vivian says, folding her napkin with that same precise care, like nothing about this moment matters. “We wouldn’t want to overextend hospitality. I expect everything else we need to discuss is a family matter anyway.”
It lands exactly how she intends it to. Like I’m the one who doesn’t know how to behave.
I force a smile that feels like it might crack if I hold it too long. “Thank you for dinner.”
I don’t wait for anything else. If I stay another second, I might say something I can’t take back. Or worse, that she can use.
So I turn and walk.
I keep it measured, controlled, even though my pulse is kicking hard enough to make my fingers tremble.
The hallway feels longer on the way out, like the house is listening. Like it already knows how this is going to go and I’m the only one catching up.
By the time I push through the front doors, the cold hits me, and I finally breathe properly. I keep moving down the path, the sound grounding in a way nothing inside that house was.
Everything in there felt… curated. Controlled down to the tone of someone’s voice, the way a napkin gets folded, the exact second you’re allowed to speak.
Out here, at least, the air doesn’t expect anything from me.
I don’t stop until I’m far enough away that the shine from the windows doesn’t feel like it’s following me.
Then I slow.
Then I stop.
My hands are shaking.
I stare down at them, flexing my fingers like I can physically push the feeling out of my body, like I can decide I’m not affected by what just happened.
That’d be nice.
It’d also be a lie.
“Temporary,” I murmur, the word tasting wrong in my mouth now that it’s been handed back to me like a label. “I know I’m temporary, but that…”
I didn’t come here looking for anything permanent, didn’t come here to build roots or carve out a place at someone else’s table. I came for a job, a contract, a clean in and out.
That was the plan.
But plans don’t account for people.
They don’t account for Silas looking at me like I’m something he chose instead of someone he has to manage.
They don’t account for Cody watching me like I’ve rearranged the way his entire world works.
They definitely don’t account for Duke, who somehow makes everything feel easier and harder at the same time.
I press my lips together, hard enough to steady myself.
This isn’t about them.
It can’t be.
Because Vivian is right about one thing, even if I hate the way she said it: this place runs on legacy, on history, on a version of permanence I’ve spent my whole life avoiding.
And I don’t belong to anything like that.