12. Serena
Serena
People bargained in the farmers’ market like the world would end without a tomato. I needed to focus. I wasn’t here for fruit or honey, even though the honey stand was already catching my eye. They had those hexagonal jars I liked.
I don’t know why, but when Miles was staring at me last night, I wanted to confess. Say everything out loud. Maybe not everything. But something.
Did you forget the main threat? Worry about Miles and petty feelings later.
Jenese’s threat echoed in my head, over and over.
If she actually wrote that book, everything I’d worked for would crumble. Everything I’d hidden would be exposed. At one point I thought that was the way to get ahead. But I was wrong, and I was glad I’d woken up from her spell when I did.
I was smart enough to not be recorded. So how did she do it?
Why did I even fall for her scheme?
Miles. He was to blame. If I hadn’t slept with him, if he had taken control of his father that night, my parents wouldn’t have fought.
Laurene’s engagement would have gone well instead of the disaster that happened.
She wouldn’t have fought with Mama, and I wouldn’t have been sent to that networking dinner.
I’d never have met Jenese. I’d never have fallen for her lies.
I’d never have done everything I did with her.
So really… He was the one to blame for the mess of my life.
“We’re not here to really shop,” I told him when he finally decided to pull himself from the deep debate with the man selling avocados.
“You literally have nothing in your fridge but baking soda, whiskey, and those sad-ass-looking paleo meals. I need protein. You think I keep this gorgeous body right and tight off of rice cakes?” Miles looked at me with a frown before he finally settled on a deal for five insanely priced avocados.
“Those meals are prepared by a Michelin star chef.”
“They look like those meals Eddie Murphy was eating as Sherman in The Nutty Professor . I will not be putting it into my temple.” He placed a hand on his pecs, and I tried not to get distracted by that at all.
Fine. I wouldn’t argue with him about having more food in the fridge.
Miles finished talking to the guy, and we kept walking through the crowd. We passed a small wooden fruit stand stacked with peaches and strawberries.
“You still hate peaches?” he asked.
“Absolutely. They’re slimy. The texture freaks me out.”
That earned me a side glance. A flicker of a smile tugged at his lips. “I remember you pretending to eat them then spitting them in a napkin and throwing it away when your grandpa wasn’t looking.”
A warm feeling spread through me, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Grandpa Ben liked them. I tried to like them for him but…” I shrugged. “And you used to eat them like they were gold.”
“Because they are , Miss Rice Cakes.”
Only two years. We could do this for two years, right? I slowed my steps, and Miles walked ahead of me, a canvas tote slung over his shoulder, brimming with fresh herbs and vegetables like some kind of domestic fantasy we didn’t earn.
With an easy confidence, he moved through the dense crowd; his broad shoulders carved a path, the sounds of chatter and laughter fading as people instinctively made way.
I bit my lip, watching as he smiled at people walking by.
Even with the entire mess that happened with his father, Miles was still smiling. Happy.
And not pretend-happy. Not the tight, professional smile I’d spent years perfecting. His happiness was unbothered. Loose. Real.
I tried to remember the last time I felt anything close to that.
Had I ever?
No. I’d trained myself out of joy. Joy wasn’t productive.
Miles never measured his worth in quarterly reports or proximity to perfection. He laughed at dumb jokes. He made room for chaos. I still remembered when he convinced me to sneak out of the house for the first time when we were kids.
Shit. Miles was a bad influence on my life. He’d always been a bad influence.
He looked back at me suddenly—just a glance over his shoulder. Caught me staring. A slow, knowing smirk curled on his lips.
“You good?”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, too quickly.
His lips twitched like he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t press. Instead, he gestured to a stall up ahead, and without thinking, I assumed, he grabbed my hand. “C’mon. I got something to change your mind.”
The warmth of his hand in mine felt like a strange, potent drug, leaving me weak and vulnerable.
Was I that desperate that holding hands sent me in a spiral?
He turned away, but not before I caught the subtle flex of his biceps as he shifted the tote bag higher on his shoulder. I felt the heat rise in my chest, that damn familiar pull. His body had always been a weapon.
My gaze drifted down involuntarily, trailing over the taut fabric of his shirt, the subtle bulge of muscle beneath it, the way his jeans fit just a little too perfectly.
God, Serena, stop it.
We reached the next stall, the one with the vivid display of peaches and plums, and Miles handed me a peach. “These are actually imported from Colombia. They taste like cotton candy.”
“I don’t try things.”
Miles rolled his eyes. “Today you’re going to have a new experience.”
I bit into the peach. Juice slid down to my chin, the fruit almost melting against my tongue, sticky-sweet and ripe.
Our eyes met, and the intensity of the moment sent shivers down my spine.
The sweetness clashed with the bitterness in my chest. Miles didn’t move, not at first. He just watched , his gaze dragging down to my mouth.
Without warning, Miles took the peach from my hand, his fingers grazing mine. He held another piece of fruit to my lips, not asking this time.
“Here.” His eyes locked on my mouth. “You’re not done.”
My lips parted before I realized what I was doing. He fed me slowly, watching the way my mouth closed around the soft flesh. I bit down, and his fingers lingered on the stem, like he wasn’t ready to let go.
“See?” he said, softer now. “Sweet. Like I told you.”
His thumb brushed against my lower lip, wiping away some of the juices.
I pulled away, my chest rising and falling sharply as if I’d just run a mile.
“Stop doing that,” I whispered, my voice unsteady, but the words felt hollow.
He tilted his head, his lips curling into a knowing grin, as if he saw right through me. “Doing what, Serena?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
“Can we look for Mrs. Fontaine, please? And get out of here?”
Miles’s head snapped to the right, and he frowned. “That guy owes me brie!”
My brows furrowed. “What?”
Miles dragged me across the aisle, nearly running over others.
“Miles, we don’t have time?—”
Then I saw her—Mrs. Fontaine. Standing near a stall just a few feet ahead, sorting through fresh flowers.
“That’s her.”
Miles frowned. “That’s the lead? Mrs. Fontaine? Serena, I?—”
“Just follow my lead, and I’ll handle it.”
I left Miles, rushing over.
“Mrs. Fontaine?”
She turned, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to place me. “Yes?”
I offered a friendly smile. “Serena King. We met briefly at the charity gala last month. I couldn’t help but notice your exquisite taste in flowers.”
“Ah, yes, Serena. How lovely to see you again. How is your sister Laurene? Has she had the baby yet?”
“Not yet. I wanted to speak to you about?—”
Miles caught up to us. His hand slid to the small of my back, the heat of his palm burning through the thin cotton of my dress. He began a slow massage, a wave of agonizing heat surging up my spine.
“Oh, Miles. Good to see you!”
Her wrinkled hands reached out, gripping his arms, before she leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek, her eyes crinkling with affection. I frowned, looking between them.
“You two know each other?”
Miles grinned smugly. “Mrs. Fontaine and I both go to a caregivers’ support group.”
“Miles was a great support during a very difficult time with my husband. How’s your father? Did he like my soup?”
“He loved it. Did you try that shrimp étouffée recipe I gave you?”
Mrs. Fontaine shook her head. “Too spicy for me.”
Miles laughed, and I felt my irritation growing. “A little cayenne pepper ain’t gonna hurt you.”
“You are a devil! Are you coming to our meeting next week?”
My stomach twisted slightly.
“Actually, Mrs. Fontaine,” I said, subtly shifting closer to her and moving him back, “Miles and I were hoping to speak with you about something. We recently got married?—”
“What? Congratulations! How haven’t I heard this through the grapevine yet?”
“Thanks,” Miles said with a strained smile. “I think the gossip mill is just running a little slow.”
I sighed. “We’re looking to make a deal?—”
“Oh, really? How…interesting.” She looked over at Miles, then back at me. “And when did your families start speaking again? I’m sure that would have made headlines.”
Before I could respond, Miles casually shrugged. “All things come to an end, don’t they?”
“I guess you’re right. Your families’ reconciliation will be an example for everyone.” Mrs. Fontaine just laughed like it was the most hilarious shit she’d ever heard.
“Would you be willing to sell your home? For a reasonable price?” I asked her bluntly.
Mrs. Fontaine’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“We’re ready to make an offer,” I continued, trying to clarify. “We’ve done our projections, and your property is a strategic cornerstone. It’s ideal.”
She frowned. “You think that’s how you ask someone for their home? Like it’s just…nothing?”
I paused. My mouth went dry. That hadn’t gone how I expected. I thought?—
“I didn’t mean to sound—” I started, but she cut me off.
“I’ve heard about your reputation, Miss King,” she said coolly. “Bulldozing over families who’ve been here for generations.”
My brain scrambled for a proper response, but all I could think about was how fast everything had shifted. I replayed the words I said. Was I too direct? Did I miss something?
“That’s not who she is anymore,” he said, voice warm and practiced. “Our companies are merging now, and we’re approaching things differently. More responsibly.”
He pulled me close, smiling at Mrs. Fontaine.
“We understand the heart of this place matters,” he added. “And we’d love the chance to prove we’ll honor it.”
Mrs. Fontaine blinked.
“Your company hasn’t done well either, Miles. I would hate for it to get foreclosed on or sold for scraps.”
Disaster. This is a disaster!
“Did I not mention this isn’t for business?” I looked at Miles, who was giving me a what the fuck are you doing look. “This is…personal. For us. We want to live there.”
The lie slid out before I could stop myself, and I felt Miles staring at me.
Lie. That’s what I learned from Jenese and from Mama. Lie to get what you want.
I needed this property. I wouldn’t let it go. Did it matter if I lied to the little old lady? We needed to restore our companies. After selling it, it was no longer her concern.
“Is that so?”
I nodded and forced a smile.
“How lovely.” Her tone was pleasant, but her eyes were sharp. “What was it about the house that caught your eye, then? The stained-glass windows? The garden in the back? The hand-carved staircase? I imagine you’ve done your research.”
Miles cut in, giving me a look, “I told Serena all about the sunroom you have out back overlooking the bay. I think it would be a great place for an office for her. She loves looking out to the hills.”
He remembered.
“Yeah, sounds lovely,” I agreed.
Mrs. Fontaine seemed mollified. “Okay. For you, Miles. I’ll let you look at the house. Since my husband, you know I’ve been wanting something smaller.”
“Of course. Quincy meant a lot to you,” Miles said.
Mrs. Fontaine wasn’t even giving me another look.
“How about you both to come over and tour the house? If you’re serious about keeping it as is, we’ll talk more about me selling it to you first before anyone else gets a look.”
“I would like?—”
Miles cut me off. “We would love that.”
“It’s a date. Miles, good to see you again and looking forward to our next meeting.”
Mrs. Fontaine gave us another glance before walking off. I waited a safe distance before I turned on Miles.
“What the hell was that, Miles?” My voice was low but seething. “You didn’t think it was important to tell me you knew her? You could have mentioned that, right? Could’ve—I don’t know—given me a heads-up before I stood there like a damn fool?”
“Did you even make small talk before you stormed in and asked for her house? I don’t see how you’ve been in business for so long with no damn tact.”
“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” I ground out, my voice trembling with barely contained fury.
Miles glared at me. “Yes. You need to treat people like they’re fucking humans and not robots. Just because you want something out of them doesn’t mean you can’t give a little respect.”
“Our parents gave us orders?—”
“ Fuck what our parents want. We are the ones working, and if we’re gonna work, we need to get on the same page on how we conduct business. Compromise.”
“I don’t compromise,” I said flatly.
He rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t.”
“My way has worked time and time again.”
“For you ,” he snapped. “But this isn’t just about you. You want to bulldoze your way through everything, but news flash, Serena—you’re not the only person in this partnership. My way works too.”
“Your way is slow. We don’t have time to ass-kiss.”
“And your way is reckless.”
We glared at each other, neither one willing to bend. The air between us was thick, electric, the tension thrumming like a wire about to snap.
Finally, Miles exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You know what? Fuck it. Do whatever you want. Clearly, you think you know everything. I’m going to get some shallots.”
He turned on his heel and walked off, shoving through the crowd of the farmers’ market without looking back.
I stood there, my jaw tight, my hands clenched at my sides, furious at him—at myself—at this entire situation.
I felt my phone vibrating in my purse, and I exhaled loudly, reaching in for it.
It was a text from Mama.
Be at the gallery tomorrow for your sister’s exhibit. Wear something appropriate. And bring Erik and me your updated business plan. I want both companies forecasted through Q4.
No greeting. No asking how I was after marrying our mortal enemy. Just the usual: be present, be polished, and produce results.