Chapter 24
twenty-four
AUTUMN
Trey: We’re keeping our hands to ourselves, right?
Autumn: I mean… I am, yeah. I can’t vouch for other people.
Trey: GIRL.
Autumn: What?! I’m letting him relieve my stress.
Trey: I reeeally don’t want to end up having to say I told you so…
It’s been three days since what happened in the alley.
After stopping by Angelo’s Slice House and stuffing ourselves full of pepperoni pizza over a dingy booth table, I drove home to touch base with the tech crew I hired for the fashion show, leaving Zeke at his car to go who knows where. Do who knows what. Who knows who.
God, that’s exactly where my mind’s been, too.
As hard as I tried not to notice that night, I was relieved to see Zeke’s headlights come bouncing down the driveway only half an hour after I got home.
And every night since then, I’ve been acutely aware of whether his car’s in the driveway at any given moment.
Of how late it is when he gets back at night.
I finally had to lower the damn blinds in the kitchen so I wouldn’t be able to see out.
Because every time he’s not at home, I start thinking.
And, just like Zeke warned me, that thinking is proving to be…
miserable. I keep picturing him with Jenny, running his hands down her luscious, curvy body, cupping her breasts while he kisses her.
And although I know I shouldn’t care—and believe me, I keep willing myself not to—it’s a lost cause. I can’t help it.
I cringe at how corny I am to even think this, but… Zeke is like a spark in a lightbulb. He lights me up, makes me feel alive. Alive, like I haven’t felt in absolutely ages.
So now that it’s Thursday afternoon and the customers I’ve had today at the shop—yes, once again, thanks to Zeke—are all gone, I’m trying hard to distract myself, bury myself in preparations for the show.
Almost everything is finished, down to the gift bags and lighting cues.
There’s only the stereo setup and fresh-cut flowers left to arrange, and Trey will come to help with that tomorrow.
Things are really starting to take shape.
I’m getting ready to lock up for the night when the front door swings open, and there, striding across the length of the store toward my desk, is Patrick.
“Autumn. What the fuck?”
I glance up at him, working hard to keep my expression smooth. I have no clue what he’s upset about, but if he thinks he’s going to walk in here and intimidate me, he better think again.
“Patrick, hi,” I say, making a big show of clicking through tabs and shutting my laptop before looking up at him. I smile. “And wow, what a greeting—what the fuck to you, too. They teach you that at prep school?”
“Not in the mood, Autumn,” Patrick snaps. “Who’s the kid? This kid you’re shacking up with?”
My heart speeds up. I probably should’ve told Patrick I was letting Lydia’s soon-to-be brother-in-law stay in the cabin a while, but like—it’s my cabin. I own the place now. I don’t answer to him anymore, or his shitty parents.
“I’m not shacking up with anyone,” I say, keeping my cool. “And even if I were, it wouldn’t be any of your damn business.”
Patrick sneers. “That so? Then explain to me why the McCallisters have seen the same shitty car parked on my property for weeks now, and why—”
“You mean my property. They’ve seen the same shitty car on my property—but go on.” I’ve never trusted our snooty neighbors, the McCallisters, but this just seals the deal. I sure as hell won’t be taking them any fucking brownies anytime soon.
“Whatever,” Patrick says, waving a hand. “They almost called the cops, thinking it was some deadbeat intruder scouting the place out.”
I snort, but Patrick cuts me off again. “And that’s not even the worst of it. Because, god fucking help me, last night I got a call from Dylan Stratton. And you know what he told me, Autumn?”
My insides freeze. This is not good. I haven’t spoken to Lydia’s ex and Patrick’s former classmate, Dylan, since last year, but he hardly even knows me. For him to be calling Patrick up out of the blue…
“No answer? Fine—I’ll end the suspense. He was heading into the Driftwood the other night, and he happened to glance down the alley next to the bar—you know the one?
That alley, yeah? Sounds like you do—because according to Dylan, you and that sleazy-ass Holloway brother were there sucking face for all to see. ”
Patrick finishes his spiel with a huff, an almost triumphant expression on his face. And I feel like the bottom has dropped out of my stomach, because I’m caught and he knows it. God. I knew someone had seen. I feel pretty stupid now for having brushed that off, relished it even.
I glare at him. “Why do you even care, Patrick? We’re divorced—and it’s pretty clear we don’t like each other.”
“I care,” he says, taking a menacing step closer and pointing a finger at me. “Because I have a reputation to uphold, a family name to honor. A name you still use and benefit from, I’ll point out.”
“Wow.”
I don’t even know where to begin with that.
Honor? Reputation? I can’t help but think that fucking escorts on your business trips would do a bit to dim one’s reputation in this town.
But I don’t say that—because the way he’s looking at me is terrifying.
His face has gone placid, like some kind of mask.
“This is my town, if you’ll recall,” Patrick continues. “And I will not stand for having my family’s good name tarnished by rumors about your errant sex life. You got that? So either you cut this stuff out and act like an adult, or I’ll be forced to take action.”
“Action?” I frown.
This isn’t just Patrick being his normal asshole self. It’s Patrick being cold as steel. Completely unfeeling. He swipes a hand through his hair, flashes me a sympathetic smile. An image of Dracula flashes through my mind, and I hold back a shudder.
“Well,” he says. “For example, I’d really hate for you to be evicted from a Carroway-owned building—but that might be what has to happen. It might be for your own good, too. Get you set back on the right path.”
I open my mouth to retort, but no sound comes out.
My throat aches with the need to scream at him, give him a verbal lashing like I haven’t done since the night I found that lacy thong in his briefcase.
But I don’t. It’s like his cool and collected self has sucked all the air out of me, pulled me right back into my old role of cowing, cooing trophy wife.
So I just stand there, trying to figure out how to speak.
“Patrick,” I finally say, disgusted by how pleading my voice sounds.
“Be reasonable. There is nothing untoward going on, and I’m doing this—letting Zeke stay in the cabin—as a favor to Lydia.
She and Will were going a little nuts with Zeke all up in their business, and I just thought, well, no one’s using the cabin—”
“It’s kind of endearing how adamantly you’re denying this,” Patrick says, a nasty smile on his clean-shaven face. “Or—it would be, if it wasn’t so fucking embarrassing. Really, it’s beneath you. Cut it out now while we can still shut down the rumors.”
“I don’t care about rumors,” I say, still clinging to my charade of innocence.
“And you shouldn’t either. They’re only that—rumors.
You think I’m not aware Zeke’s just a player?
Get real. There’s nothing to any of this, except for the fact that Zeke Holloway is staying in my cabin until he gets back on his feet. ”
“Like that’ll ever happen.”
I roll my eyes, about to tell Patrick to kindly leave my store—but a glance toward the door stops me in my tracks. Because there, swaggering across my tiny shop, a mask of cool rage on his ridiculously gorgeous face, is Zeke.
And he’s headed straight for Patrick.