Nutmegs & News Briefs
Chapter forty-six
Eslin
The emergency Stand-In meeting Marlow calls feels less like a strategy session and more like a courtroom. We’re huddled in her office—me, Tatum, and Marlow pacing like she’s preparing to prosecute the entire world.
The news brief is everywhere. Secret marriages, Thanksgiving Gala scandals, and the cherry on top—whispers are circulating that someone saw Grant sneak off. Someone heard his name being whispered…yelled.
Someone.
Surprisingly, the potential leak of her secret marriage was the least of Marlow’s worries.
In her mind, it could just as easily be her or even Luca that the press had stumbled onto so she decided not to worry about it until she absolutely had to.
What consumed her now, what had her pacing and snapping at anyone in reach, was the question of who exactly had her father been screwing at the gala?
I am a mess of nerves. Because not only did someone hear us, they took it and handed it over to the press like it was currency. The very first time I let myself go with Grant, the first time I gave in completely, and it’s splashed across the city like some sordid secret.
And worse, I have to sit here, stone-faced, while Marlow rages about it. While she talks about her father like he’s the reckless one, the embarrassing one, the liability we can’t control. I have to nod, to look just as shocked, as though I don’t already know exactly who was calling his name.
As if it wasn’t me.
“Malina swore it wasn’t her,” Marlow snaps. “So who was it? Who the hell would be reckless enough to sneak off during a gala we were hosting?”
I keep my face still, keep my mouth shut, though the words are burning inside me.
It was me.
Tatum, ever the wildcard, twirls her pen. “People lie. Malina could’ve been playing coy, keeping her conquest a mystery. Everyone said she was willing to do whatever it takes to snag your father.”
“Then why,” Marlow counters, “would she lie about being the one caught fucking my father! Screaming his name for all the world to hear! My father’s.” She lets the word father fall like an accusation.
She stops pacing, finally leaning against her desk, and sighs. “I can’t control him. I can’t control what he does any more than I can control the damn weather. But if he doesn’t get his shit together, this team is going to be eaten alive by the press. And me right along with it.”
Her anger is sharp, but underneath it I hear the ache. The disappointment. And it only twists the knife in me deeper. Because if she knew I was keeping this secret from her—if she ever found out from someone other than me—I wouldn’t just lose her trust. I’d lose her.
Tatum raises a hand, mercifully cutting through the tension. “Did anyone ever figure out what Luca and Croix were fighting about?”
I flash her a silent thank you with my eyes. I can’t stand talking about Grant and his supposed recklessness any longer.
Clearing my throat, I force myself back to business. “Coach Jones said it has something to do with a girl, but I haven’t pressed them yet. I’ve got a session with both of them tomorrow—Huntley and Xavier’s orders.”
Tatum leans back, wide-eyed. “Uh oh! Big bosses calling the shots?” she teases, but her lightness falls flat when Marlow slams her pen down.
“Yes. Because clearly, I can’t do this job!”
I cross the room towards her. She’s sitting on the edge of her desk, too wound up to use the chair. “Sweetie. You are amazing at this job. If a man had these kinds of setbacks, they’d call it a learning curve. You? You’re a badass. You’re doing something nobody thought you could.”
“And you look damn good doing it!” Tatum chimes in with a wink.
Marlow exhales, her shoulders sagging before she straightens again. “You’re right. I am a badass. I am doing a damn good job.” Her eyes darken. “It’s my father who’s fucking everything up.”
“Exactly!” Tatum blurts out, but my head snaps toward her, pleading silently for her to stop piling on. Every word feels like another strike against him—against us.
“Thanks ladies. I really needed this.”
Tatum joins us at the desk anyway, looping her arms around both of us until we’re caught in an awkward girl group hug. I’ve never really had one before, but in spite of everything, it makes something in my chest loosen, just for a second.
But then I glance up. And there he is—filling the doorway.
My heart leaps. My lips betray me, curving into a smile before I can stop it.
Correction—a beam. And panic flickers through me because I have to smooth it away, fast, before anyone notices.
Before anyone realizes that my first instinct at the sight of Grant Mills is something far too close to desire.
I clear my throat, realizing he’s probably here to smooth things over with his daughter. Not to see me.
“Uh, Low? Grant…Your dad’s here,” I say and we break the hold we have on each other.
Grant steps into the office, tentative. “Can I speak to you, munchkin?”
“Don’t call me that! Especially not at work where I am still trying to earn respect while cleaning up your messes!”
Tatum and I both wince. “We’ll just go,” I say, not even bothering to put on my shoes that always end up on the floor in Marlow’s office because the carpet is so plush.
I grab my shoes, my purse and my pride and scurry out the door.
***
Thirty minutes later, a knock lands on my office door.
It’s him.
“Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi.”
An immediate smile tugs at my lips but his face doesn’t match mine. His shoulders are heavy, his eyes shadowed.
“How is she? How’s Marlow?” I ask carefully.
“Pissed,” he admits. “And I feel like a damn fool, Es. I’m so sorry for dragging you into the middle of this. I should’ve waited. I should’ve controlled myself. I should’ve—”
I rise, stopping his spiral with a gentle hand pressed to his lips. “It wasn’t just you. It was both of us. We both crossed that line. But I do appreciate you being willing to carry the weight of it.” My chest tightens. “I just don’t think it can last this way.”
He shakes his head once, certain. “It won’t.”
“So we’ll tell her,” I say, eyes locked on his.
He nods.“When?”
I let out a sigh. “Working on that. But soon. Okay?”
He nods again. “Okay. Soon.”
Then his eyes soften, the fight in him quieting as they trace over my face. He exhales like it costs him something to say it. “What?” I ask.
He leans down, pressing his forehead against mine, his voice barely above a whisper. “You sure are pretty, Dr. Eslin Saunders. I wish I could kiss you.”
A quick glance toward the open doorway makes my pulse jump. No one’s coming. I rise onto my toes and press a fleeting kiss to his cheek.
His grin breaks through, crooked and irresistible. “What are we, in study hall?”
I smirk, lowering my voice to match his. “It’s a prelude, Mr. Mills. Come see me tonight.”
And because I know his daughter’s secret, I know she won’t be home to catch him sneaking into my place.
“Are you doing the team’s Thanksgiving dinner?” he asks.
Since so many of our players don’t have family nearby for the holiday, we decided to host a dinner here for anyone in the league who might otherwise spend it alone.
“I am. My friend Max is coming down, and she’s going to help me make all the pies.”
He smiles, and despite the salt and pepper streaking his hair, his grin is still boyish. Almost child-like. “I’m looking forward to it. To sharing a holiday with you.”
I shake my head, baffled by this new softness in me, and hear myself say, “It will be our first Thanksgiving together.”
His brows lift, teasing, but his voice dips lower. “Why, Eslin Saunders, do you plan to keep me around for a while?”
I smirk, covering nerves with bravado. “We’ll see.”
I say goodbye to Grant, excited about the promise of tonight. But just as soon as I turn to close my office door, my phone buzzes. A message from Marlow.
Marlow: Sunday dinner. After Thanksgiving. Daddy’s place. We’re decorating the Christmas tree. Be my buffer between me and my dad?
I stare at the text, my chest tightening. Family dinners. Traditions. Marlow tugging me even closer into her circle when I’m holding a secret that could blow it all apart.
I type back one word, my fingers shaking as I hit send.
Me: I’ll be there.