Chapter 18
“Wait, tell me again?” Bella asks for the fifth time.
I close my eyes and groan dramatically as I walk down the street with a coffee in my hand and the phone pressed to my ear.
“If you didn’t understand the first five times, I’m not sure you’re gonna get it the sixth,” I say, turning a corner.
“Humor me,” she says with her mouth full of what I’m assuming is a granola bar.
“He said he wanted to kiss me but knows I’m not ready for that yet and that one day soon I’m gonna let him love me.”
Bella squeals. “That is sooooo romantic.”
“What’s romantic?” Brodie asks from the background. I pinch the bridge of my nose. I do not need his best friend to hear this conversation.
“Chase wants to love my sister,” Bella says.
Brodie chuckles. “Hey, Little Silver.”
I let out a sigh. “Hi, Brodie.”
“What’s this I hear about Chase wanting to love you?” he teases, and Bella giggles. “Do we need to have the birds and the bees talk?”
“I’m hanging up now,” I say as the automatic doors part for me.
“Erin, wait,” Brodie calls out, his tone changing from playful to serious.
I pause and step to the side, so I’m out of the way of people, who are getting their passes out to scan past the barriers.
“I want you to know that he’s the type of guy that means what he says. So, if he says you’re the one for him, then you’re it. He won’t hurt you, Erin. And when you’re ready to let him prove that to you, he won’t let you down.”
I close my eyes, letting his words sink in. “I know,” I whisper.
“Give him a chance, baby sister. He’s one of the good ones. I know it,” Bella assures. “Listen, we have to go, we’re viewing a building—call me later?”
“Yeah, I will. I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Erin. Us against the world.”
“Us against the world,” I echo back before I hang up.
I blow out a shaky breath and walk over to the barriers, swiping my pass.
I take a minute to collect my thoughts as the elevator hums upward, each passing floor tightening the knot in my stomach as I think about Ink and Print’s polite rejection email still sitting in my inbox.
Loved your ideas.
Someone else who fits better.
Thanks for your time.
When I step out of the elevator, the first thing I notice is Wess’s office, construction tape across the doorway. Someone’s drilling inside.
At least he’s gone.
Before I stepped out to grab a coffee, I overheard a few secretaries gossiping about how Wess came in this morning and was fired. A few people found the courage to come forward during his suspension and a decision was made to finally let him go.
Thank God.
I drag my heels to the fancy glass office on Angela’s side of the floor. The one that’s usually reserved for important meetings and people. It’s a room I have no business being in, until the call from HR came through at 9 a.m., asking me to be there.
“We received a letter this morning and your presence is required at twelve. Please don’t be late.”
That was all that was said. I’d already heard about Wess, so I knew it wasn’t about that. I’ve been in a tailspin since the morning, wondering what would happen at noon.
It’s 11:58 a.m., when my sweaty hand pushes on the door to the conference room. I sit down and pull myself in close to the glass table, staring at the empty chairs in front of me and wonder if this is where people are sent to get fired.
As I wait, my brain backtracks to Chase’s birthday. The whole night consumes me. Us dancing, The Mighty Ducks, cake, and candles.
His wish.
He blew out the candles, cut two slices of cake, and faced the TV as if he hadn’t just told me he really wanted to lay one on me.
And me?
I said nothing. Did nothing. My tongue glued itself to the roof of my mouth. Calling myself a coward doesn’t even begin to cover my lack of bravery in that moment.
After everything that Chase has gone through, the last thing I want to do is add more pain to his life.
Over the last couple months, aside from the odd flirtatious comment every now and then that sends tingles up my spine, Chase hasn’t crossed any lines.
He’s been polite, sweet, and nothing but the perfect gentleman. But his confession about wanting to kiss me? It has me on high alert again, questioning why my mother’s voice inside my head hasn’t used the moment as her opportunity to strike.
The door clicks at twelve on the dot, silencing my thoughts.
I stand immediately and am greeted by an older gentleman in a sophisticated navy suit holding a briefcase. Somehow, I don’t think he’s here to fire me, but his presence still stirs an uneasiness inside of me because I don’t know why he’s here.
He chuckles, clearly smelling my discomfort. “You can relax, Miss Callahan. I’m Finn Copeland. I’m a lawyer here on behalf of a client.”
A client?
“I’m not with HR. And, no, you’re not getting fired. Take a breath.”
I don’t get a chance to form a single question as Angela walks in dressed in Jimmy Choos and soaked in expensive perfume. Two HR reps trail in behind her. They take the seats on the opposite side of the table.
My stomach twists, but Finn is as cool as a cucumber as he takes the chair next to mine. I lower myself back into my seat and reach for the sealed water bottle in front of me, gripping it so hard the plastic crackles.
“Erin,” Angela says in greeting, eyes narrowing. I wonder if her cold stare has anything to do with the mountain of paperwork coming her way now that Wess has been fired. I twist off the cap of my water bottle and take a long gulp.
“Okay, now that we’re all here, we can get started,” Finn begins. “My client, a private backer, is interested in making a significant investment in your company,” Finn says, adjusting his suit jacket. “They’ve heard rumors about possible budget cuts and wish to help by donating.”
Angela raises an eyebrow, her interest piqued. “How generous. What kind of an investment are we talking about?”
“One hundred thousand dollars,” Finn offers in a smooth tone.
The pressure from my fingertips punctures the water bottle in my hand. Water shoots through the hole and gushes all over the table.
“Subject to renewal,” Finn adds smoothly, unbothered by my water fiasco.
Who the hell is his client?
Angela sits up straighter, her expression shifting across her face. This is… unexpected,” she says, her professional demeanor kicking in. “I can arrange for our teams to look at which departments could benefit from the donation. I’ll have my PA and accountant review—”
“My apologies,” Finn’s voice is polite but unwavering as he cuts her off. “I should’ve been clearer. This investment isn’t for W&B as a whole. My client is specifically focused on one department.”
Angela all but turns to stone when Finn slides the file he pulls out of his briefcase across the table to her.
What does it say?
“The money is for Erin’s marketing department. She’s to be the face and lead of a new project my client wants to run here. And her department will operate under the terms set,” Finn says.
They want me?
“I have a personal team that will oversee the funds. Expenses will be reported in a monthly meeting. Some people,” Finn glances at Angela, “have been known to pocket department money to fund their own personal activities. Botox, shopping trips, front row tickets to New York Fashion Week…”
I nearly choke.
Oh. My. God.
“Not that I’m saying that’s what happens here, of course.
Just that I’ve had experiences with that sort of thing in other offices.
It’s nothing personal,” he says, but the way his gaze flickers to Angela tells me it’s exactly that—personal.
“Now, if you could take a moment to read through the document before signing on the dotted line, we can conclude this meeting.”
Forty minutes later, when the document has been read by Angela and HR, Finn pulls out a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pen from the inside of his jacket pocket, and my heartbeat trips over itself.
Signatures mark the crisp white paper, and then Angela and the two HR reps leave without saying another word or sparing me a single glance.
“Mr. Copeland, what is… What’s happening?” I ask, standing from my seat. I press my hand into the back of the chair to keep me upright as my knees shake.
“Did Angela really take the department money and use it for what you said?” I ask.
“Someone in the elevator confirmed the Botox and Fashion Week stories. I just used what I heard to call her bluff.” He grins and hands me a file.
My eyes land on a sticky note that sits on top.
Sweetheart, fight back and reclaim your power. I’ll be with you, always. Yours, Chase.
I open the manilla folder and take in the printed black ink.
The Bookworm Project.
“He believes in you, Erin. He’s had this set up for a while just in case you found yourself back here. You fell in love with this place once. He’s giving you a chance to do that again. And if not, he’ll help you find something else or set up your own place.”
“This is…” I shake my head. My hands tingle, my stomach churns, and a dizzy sort of happiness presses against my ribs.
“Get to work, kiddo. Oh, and no trips to New York. If you want to go, I’m sure Mr. Harper will gladly take you.”
Great Lakes Stadium is quiet.
The only sounds are the rumbling hums of generators pumping cool air around the space and the small taps of my fingernails against the metal pen twisting in my hand.
I spent the rest of the afternoon locked in the chaos that had become my office. My wall resembles a murder board now—strings, notes, and ideas taped everywhere. Endless possibilities—because of him.
His gesture was bigger than money. He gave me back oxygen.
“Hey, Erin,” Valerie sings.
“Hey, Val. I loved your recent post. The new logo for the team looks great! Chase said he’d be hanging back a little longer tonight. Is it okay if I wait for him?”
She’s bright and bubbly as always. “He got off the ice a few minutes ago with Briar. He’s in the locker rooms.” She winks. “Lock the door behind you, if you know what I mean.”