Chapter 15 Adrienne #2
I press my palm against my chest, trying to slow my racing heart.
I should feel nothing but honored, right?
A firm like that would be a dream for most people.
For me, once, too. Harvard Adrienne, Northwestern Adrienne.
The girl who couldn’t get enough of the late nights, the high-stakes debates, the thrill of proving she belonged in rooms full of men twice her age.
But that girl also came back here. To family. To Slade Industries. To this office where my mug of tea sits beside contracts and party notes scribbled in my neat handwriting.
This is the life I built. This is the life I chose.
Except now I’m not sure if I chose it… or just stayed.
I stand abruptly, carrying my mug to the credenza just for something to do.
My reflection stares back at me in the window above it.
My strawberry-blonde hair falling in perfectly styled waves, silk blouse pressed, makeup flawless.
On the outside, I look like I have it all together. But inside? My stomach’s knotted.
Celeste’s voice echoes in my head: You shine when the stakes are high. You love the challenge.
God, she’s right. I did. I do!
There’s a part of me that still craves the sharp edges of that life. The adrenaline, the ambition, the sense of always pushing higher.
But then another memory pushes in. Boston winters, yes, but also Boston loneliness.
Chicago’s thrill, yes, but also Chicago’s ache.
Always smiling, always succeeding, always alone.
But there was always one face, in the back of my mind, that kept me coming back home.
One smile that kept me on the edge of my seat all Christmas break, hoping I’d catch a glimpse of it. Hoping it would be aimed at me.
I sink back into my chair, dropping my forehead into my hands. My throat tightens, the sting behind my eyes sharp. Because I know what this is really about, it’s not just LA. It’s not just Slade. It’s me, never knowing what I truly want.
Keegan flashes in my mind like a cruel reminder.
On paper, he was perfect: successful, handsome, the kind of man my family could brag about at dinner parties.
The kind of man who fits right into my family.
But the night I thought he was about to propose?
My stomach dropped so fast I could barely breathe.
My whole body screamed no, even as my brain whispered, but he’s perfect.
And then he walked away, deciding for me.
I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand, frustration bubbling. Is LA the same shiny distraction? Another box that looks good from the outside but leaves me empty?
The truth scares me. Because what if it’s not about cities or jobs or men at all?
What if it’s me?
I lean back, staring at the ceiling, forcing deep breaths until the pressure in my chest eases.
Celeste believes in me enough to hand me this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
That matters. But she also knows me better than anyone.
She saw me lit up once. She saw me thrive.
And maybe she’s right. Maybe I’ve dimmed since coming back.
I press my palms flat on my desk, grounding myself. “I’ll think about it,” I whisper into the quiet, as if she’s still here to hear it. Because I owe her that. And maybe I owe it to myself, too.
Still, when I close my eyes, it isn’t skyscrapers or corner offices that flicker in my mind. It’s the way Scotty looked at me this morning in his truck. The way he’s always looked at me, like even when I feel like I’m falling apart, I’m still enough, just the way I am.
And that thought terrifies me more than LA ever could.
The office feels too quiet after Celeste leaves, like she sucked all the oxygen out with her perfect opportunity on a silver platter. I sit at my desk, staring out the window at the slow roll of Colorado sky, and let the silence press in.
Her offer shouldn’t shake me this much. I have a good life here. A career. A family who needs me, even if they meddle too damn much. And it makes me wonder if I’ve just been settling.
My phone sits beside me, screen black. My first instinct is to call Brooklyn, pour it all out, let her talk me down. But my fingers hover over another name. Scotty.
God, Adrienne, don’t.
Except I do. I type two reckless words: thinking about you. Then I hit send before I can overanalyze it.
The second the text disappears, I drop my phone face down on the desk.
I try to bury myself in work, but every few minutes I sneak a glance, hoping, dreading.
But there's nothing. The screen stays stubbornly blank. By the time the clock ticks past five, I’ve checked it so many times I feel like a teenager again, pathetic and desperate.
I push back from the desk, my thoughts quickly spiraling from hope to desperation and now anger.
If he doesn’t want to answer, fine. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.
In the hallway, Trent catches me before I make it to the elevators. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, tie crooked, the look of a man who’s survived too many hours with Drake Slade in “semi-retirement.”
“Beer?” he asks flatly. “I’ve earned it after babysitting our uncle all day.”
The laugh bursts out of me, tension cracking. “God, yes. Please.”
Minutes later, we’re stepping into the warm hum of the Slade Brewing tasting room.
It’s the newest addition to the main brewery in Colorado.
Something that took way too long to finally get done.
But after it took my Uncle Drake a decade for this town to finally come around to the Slade name, a big thanks to my Aunt Celeste, he never wanted to jeopardize that again.
And by opening a tasting room, his fear was that it would take too much business away from The Place or the few other places in our small town.
But that’s when I had to step in and remind him just exactly who Adrienne Slade is.
I made sure there were contracts in place that would help the small businesses in town, not hurt them.
We sell food from local restaurants in our brewery, and for the few items we make in-house, we get all the food products we can from local farms.
The tasting room is so new you can smell it. A mix of hops and wood polish. A soft murmur moves throughout the room, the laugh of a few kids playing bags outside next to the roll-up garage door feature that I knew would be a hit.
Tyler spots us first, waving us over with that big, easy grin of his. My stomach dips the second I see who’s sitting with him. Scotty.
He’s leaned back in his chair, hat tipped low, a beer bottle loose in his big hand. My breath catches, pulse skipping. I think back to my earlier text; still been no response from him.
Please look at me. Please smile.
I offer him one first, tentatively. But all he gives back is a tight nod. Half a smile that never reaches his eyes.
The tiny sting of it slices through me sharper than I expect. My own smile falters before I paste it back on, sliding into the seat beside Trent. The hum of the room carries on around us, but all I can hear is the silence sitting heavy between me and the man across the table.
Trent groans, stretching like he’s been carrying the weight of the whole brewery on his back. “Alright, I’m up. Anybody need a refill?”
Before I can answer, Tyler hops off his stool, grinning. “Sit your ass down, Trent. You’ll forget half the order. I’ll come with.” He claps him on the shoulder and they both head toward the bar, leaving me alone with Scotty.
The silence is thick. Too thick. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and force myself to meet his eyes. “Hey… about earlier. If that text came across as too much—”
He cuts me off, voice low and rough. “Wasn’t sure it was even meant for me.”
The words land like a slap. I laugh awkwardly, confused. “Who else would I be texting?”
Scotty doesn’t answer. He just takes a long pull from his beer, jaw tight, gaze fixed on the wall like I’m not even sitting here. Then, flatly, he says, “Can we not? I just came for a beer.”
The brush-off hits hard. My back goes stiff, shoulders squared. “What’s your problem?”
He tips his head back, lets out a sharp laugh that’s anything but amused. Finally, his eyes cut to mine. “Maybe you should text the guy from the bar instead.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. “What?” I whisper, stunned.
But he’s already shoving back his chair, the scrape loud against the wood floor. Standing, creating distance like he can’t get away fast enough.
“I’m done,” he mutters, not looking at me as he strides off towards the restrooms.
I sit frozen, heat burning in my cheeks, heart racing with confusion and embarrassment.
What the hell is he talking about, the other guy? How did he?
Before I can catch my breath, Dolly’s voice rings out as she and Decker approach the table.
“Adrienne!” she beams, pulling me into a hug. Dolly squeezes me tight before I can even stand, her sunshine energy buzzing in sharp contrast to the hollow ache still churning in my chest.
“You look amazing,” she gushes, stepping back, her eyes bright. “God, I’ve been dying to see you. I think I may have just solved all your problems.”
I blink at her, forcing a smile. “My problems?”
Decker slides onto the bench beside Trent, already reaching for the basket of pretzels, completely unfazed by Dolly’s theatrics. She ignores him, dropping into the seat across from me and leaning in conspiratorially.
“I told Scotty,” she says, grinning like she just delivered the world’s best news.
My stomach drops. “Told him what?”
She wiggles her brows, lowering her voice but still bubbling with excitement. “About you dancing with that guy at the bar. And how he gave you his number.”
My pulse rushes in my ears. “You what?”