Epilogue #3
“Tragically, yes.” Sagging completely on him, I give in to theatrics. “Pretty soon I’ll be asking you to chase me with a chainsaw.”
“Just say the word.”
Caine
Outdoorsy, if there are orgasms involved.
I add the newest fact to the Book of Margot and hold it up for her inspection.
She shakes her head, but I see a pleased little smile before she returns to her paperback.
We’re lounging in the Airbnb, freshly showered and riding an endorphin high that feels illegal.
Margot’s draped across the love seat, Gremlin in her lap.
There’s a horror marathon playing on the TV, the volume on low.
I’m holding the Book of Margot, trying to get my nerve up to pass her the stack of papers I’ve had tucked between its pages for the last few weeks.
When she sets her book down, running her fingers through her damp hair, I move. Rising from the couch, I join her on the love seat. Always perceptive, she gives me a quizzical look.
“You okay? You seem a little tense.”
“I’m good, and I am,” I blurt.
Reaching for me, she runs her fingers through my hair, grazing her nails over my scalp. “Why are you tense?”
“Because of this.” I pull the papers from the Book of Margot and pass them to her. She takes them and starts reading. After giving her fifteen seconds to get her bearings, I take a knee on the floor.
Her eyes dart from the papers to me.
“Margot Elizabeth Walker.” I clear my throat, mouth suddenly dry.
All the sweet things I thought up to say go flying out of my ears.
Shit. Looks like I’m winging it.
“I love you, and I love working with you. Will you be my business partner?”
She looks at the papers again. “Caine, these say 50 percent. What are you doing?”
“Making a business proposal.” It’s not the only proposal on my list, but I want half of the haunt to be legally hers before I pull out the ring box sitting in the top drawer of my dresser.
Over the past year, she’s thrown herself wholeheartedly into turning the Abattoir into a year-round venture with me.
While I believe her when she says she’s much happier managing it than growing her freelance business, I want to make sure she always has something she can leverage.
I meant what I said about never putting her in a corner.
Wild-eyed, she waves the papers. “I don’t know how to be a business partner! And you can’t just give this to me! You realize that’s completely absurd?”
I hear what’s beneath her protest, that questioning part of her that struggles to accept good things.
While she’s getting better at identifying it, some beliefs linger for a lifetime.
As someone who still flinches when they catch sight of themselves at an angle that looks too much like their father, I understand that.
But just like Margot only sees me as me, I’m incapable of seeing her as anything but incredibly deserving.
I’d give her the world if I could. “Look at me.”
She does. Just like always, it takes superhuman focus not to fall into her eyes and forget everything else. “Gorgeous, there are frat bros out there running Fortune 500 companies who ChatGPT’d their way to diplomas. They wholeheartedly believe they deserve their spots.”
I gently flick the papers with my pointer finger. “Take yours. Don’t doubt yourself. You’ve been running your own business for years, you’ve got this.”
Slowly, she nods, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
I snap my fingers. “Shit. I see what this is. If you like me being your boss, all you have to do is say so. We can keep that dynamic going regardless.”
“Oh, that’s definitely what I was thinking.” She laughs. “This is your way of avoiding an HR nightmare, isn’t it?”
High off success, I lean in and steal a kiss. “This is me sorting out paperwork before.”
“Before what?” She wrinkles her nose.
“Before I get married.”
Arching an eyebrow, she holds form beautifully. “Oh, you’re getting married, are you?”
“How can I not?” Tugging at my T-shirt’s collar, I give her the best smoldering look I can manage. “Grade A husband material.”
“Mmm. And your soon-to-be lucky spouse?”
I beam. “I think you’ve met her. Ass for days. Absolute smoke show.”
Margot tilts her head.
I keep going. “She’s so pretty that I need to warn heaven I came up with a new sin.”
She blinks innocently.
“Not to mention she has the tightest, wettest—”
Faster than I can block, she smacks me in the stomach.
“Brain,” I cough. “Love that tight, wet brain.”
“You’re ridiculous, partner.” She’s grinning when I lean over to kiss her, still grinning when I stop.
Delicate smile lines crease her pretty face.
If I do my job right, they’ll only grow more pronounced as the years pass, evidence of every single time I’ve made her laugh.
It’s all I want. Everything else is extra.
Making Margot laugh is what I was put here to do, and I’m going to do the hell out of it.
That said, there is one thing that comes close to being as satisfying as making her laugh.
Making her scream.