Chapter Eighteen
Magnolia
"Thanks," I said. "Now you go. I'm going to eat my burger, and you're going to tell me what the hell is going on at work."
Getting Charlie to talk was like pulling teeth, but I was determined. I took a huge bite of my burger and pinned her with my eyes.
She let out a gust of air and said, "Okay, I can't really say that much, but we have a client—kind of a client and kind of a business partner—and he's breaking a few laws.
Intentionally and repeatedly. I'm working with Aiden on it, and we're easing out of the relationship between his company and Winters Inc. , but that's not enough."
I swallowed and asked in a hushed voice, "Are you going to turn him in?"
"I think I have to." Charlie cut off and let out a breath.
"No, I know I have to. I've got evidence.
I'm almost ready, it's just . . ." Charlie's shoulders slumped, and she studied a nonexistent spot on the table.
"I hate this. I hate being in this position.
I hate this business, and I hate my job. "
My heart squeezed at the sound of her voice. I'd never heard Charlotte sound so small and defeated. I put down my burger and wiped my hands. "You're allowed to hate your job, Charlie," I said. "You don't have to keep doing this if you don't like it, if it's not what you want."
She shook her head and forced a bright smile on her face. Vance said I ran away from difficult situations, but in her own way, Charlotte was worse.
"I can't quit my job, Maggie. I can't. Aiden needs me.
I'm the only other Winters at the company right now. Vance has his art and his investing, Annalise is off with her camera, photographing the world, and both Holden and Tate are busy with WGC and their club. Gage is off the map doing something he can’t talk about with the military, and who knows if he'll ever come home.
He used to love the business, and then he just bailed.
Aiden has everything on his shoulders. I can't abandon him. "
"What does Aiden say?" I asked.
All pretense dropped away, and Charlotte sat up straight. When she spoke, her voice was deadly serious. "I'm not talking about this with Aiden. No one is talking about this with Aiden, do you understand? Not you, not Vance, no one. Okay?"
"I swear," I said, holding my hand over my heart. "I swear I won’t say anything to anyone." I thought she should talk to her brother, but it was her life and her decision.
"Anyway, we have another situation, and I need to ask for a favor,” she said, picking up her lemonade and taking a last sip, clearly finished talking about her job and the family company.
I wasn't quite ready to drop the subject, but I didn’t want to get in a fight with Charlie over it.
"What's up?" I asked, curious.
"Do you remember my Aunt Amelia?" Charlie asked.
"Of course I remember Aunt Amelia," I said. "I haven't seen her since my grandmother died, though. I should have visited. I just . . . it's been hard seeing her friends, and I didn't. I'm sorry. How is she? Is she okay?"
Charlotte's Aunt Amelia had been a friend of my grandmother's. Amelia was quirky and had a biting sense of humor. She used to make my refined grandmother laugh out loud and blush at the same time.
"She's okay," Charlotte said. "But she's getting to the point where she can't really live on her own anymore.
Aiden is the best about spending time with her, and he asked her if she wanted to go live in some kind of home situation or move into Winters House with him, and they'd get a live-in nurse to help her out. "
"Aiden offered to take her in?" I asked, kind of surprised.
"Of course. She's family. And they've always gotten along well. Plus, it's not like he doesn't have the room. He only offered the home because he didn't want her to be lonely, rattling around in that huge house with just him and a nurse."
Her words put me on alert. "What do you mean just him and a nurse?" I asked. "You live there, don't you? Did you move and you didn't tell anyone?"
"No, I still live there. We'll talk about that in a minute, but first, Aiden asked me to do the interviews for the nurse.
He said he doesn't have the patience, the time, or the temperament.
He's right. He'd probably hire some termagant with a clipboard.
And you know Amelia. She's sweet and kind of flighty.
She needs someone patient, with a sense of humor.
Anyway, I told him I'd do the interviews, but will you help me?
You know Amelia and you're good with people.
I know you're busy right now with Vance's show and Rosie, but—"
"Of course I'll help," I said. Now that I was thinking of Amelia Winters, I realized how much I'd missed her.
When my grandmother had died, I'd stopped seeing all of her friends, the pain too raw for me to handle reminders of the life we'd had.
I shouldn't have done that. In a way, they'd been my friends too.
"Just let me know when the interviews are, and I'll work it out. I—"
My phone rang, and I grabbed for it, worried it was Vance and Rosie was feeling worse. When I saw who it was, I stabbed a finger at the Decline Call button.
"Who was that?" Charlie asked, reaching for my phone. I slid it out of reach.
"Brayden," I said.
"What does he want?"
"No clue, but I have nothing to say to him." Changing the subject, I said, “Tell me what you meant about you living at Winters House."
Charlotte stood and pushed back her chair. "Come for a walk with me," she said, obliquely. "I want to show you something."
"After ice cream," I said, eyeballing the shop across the street.
Charlotte raised an eyebrow at me. "Of course, after ice cream," she said, hooking her arm through mine.
"So, tell me—what are you up to?" I asked.
"I'm not quite sure," she said.
My phone rang a second time. After a quick check, I declined the call and shoved it in my pocket.
"Again?" she asked.
I shook my head. "I'm ignoring him."
"Give me your phone," she demanded, holding out her hand.
I eyed her, suspicious. "Why? You're not going to call him and tell him off, are you? I don't want to encourage him."
"No, I promise. Just give me the phone."
"Fine," I said, unlocking the screen and handing it over. She tapped at the screen as we walked, arm in arm, letting me watch for cars and other pedestrians. I wondered what she was doing with my phone, but she kept it angled away from my curious gaze.
As we stood in line at the cafe, she handed it back, saying only, "Now you'll know when he calls." We got ice cream and strolled down the street, passing shops, cafés, and restaurants.
A moment later, my phone buzzed to life again, this time with a mechanical voice saying, "Warning, the Loser is calling. Warning, the Loser is calling." I dissolved into giggles, almost dropping my ice cream. This time, I didn't bother to silence the call.
"Much better," Charlie said with relish.
"I agree.” Brayden was a loser, and the sooner I erased him from my life, the better.
Charlotte led me around the corner and down a residential street filled with a mix of Victorian and Craftsman homes, some exquisitely restored and some in need of a little TLC.
She stopped in front of a two-story Craftsman with a wraparound front porch and faded, peeling paint in shades of gray.
I think it was gray. It could have been purple or blue before time had leached out the tint.
The yard was a mess of weeds and brambles, overgrown in some places and bare in others.
A prime example of the kind of homes in the neighborhood that needed some love. When it was fixed up, it would be adorable. At the moment, it was a little scary. A For Sale sign sat in the front yard.
"What do you think?" Charlie asked. I looked from her to the house and back again.
"For you?" I asked doubtfully, eyeing the deep bow in the front porch and the loose shingles on the roof.
She shrugged one shoulder, staring at the peeling paint with a look I could only describe as wistful yearning. Charlotte didn't just like the house. She wanted it.
On the surface, they were a terrible match. Charlotte's polish, her starkly tailored business suit and her sleek hair, did not fit this house with its welcoming architecture and general air of neglect.
I watched her eyes devour the house, and I knew that this sad structure was more Charlotte than Charlotte was. At a loss, I said, "It's a little smaller than what you’re used to, but anything would be small compared to Winters House."
An understatement. Winters House was bigger than some hotels.
"I know," she said. "It needs a lot of work, and I never have time. And actually, it’s a lot bigger than you’d think. Too big for just me. But I saw it on the website, and it looked—"
"Like home?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "It looks like home." I didn't bother to ask if she could afford it. She was Charlotte Winters. She probably had enough money to buy the whole street.
"You should—" My words were drowned out by the sound of a lawnmower roaring to life at the house next door. Both of us turned to look, and my jaw dropped.
The man pushing the lawnmower was well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and long legs, every inch of his body chiseled with muscle. He had on a pair of faded khaki cargo shorts and no shirt, displaying tanned skin heavily decorated with tattoos.
The only one I could see clearly was the bird on his back—maybe a hawk—its talons extended, dripping blood. The tattoo was a little intimidating, but when he turned around, all thought fled my mind.
Cut cheekbones, light green eyes, a lush lower lip, and shaggy black hair. Holy crap. If he lived next door, I was having second thoughts about Charlie buying that house.
Leaning into Charlotte so she could hear me over the roar of the lawnmower, I said, "I was going to say you should put in an offer, but if he’d be your neighbor, let's go to the real estate office right now. Good Lord, he's hot."
As if he'd heard me, which was impossible, the hot neighbor looked up and winked.
Not at me. At Charlie. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away.
"Let's go," she said, looping her arm through mine again and dragging me up the street, away from her dream house and the gorgeous guy next door. I tried to resist, but she was relentless.
"Are we going to the real estate office?" I asked. "We should at least get more information about the house, don't you think?"
"No," she said mulishly. "I'm going back to work. I don't know what I'm thinking. I have a place to live. It's stupid to think about moving out. And I don't want to leave Aiden on his own."
"I don't know. He's going to have Aunt Amelia and the nurse. I think you should move in next door to lawnmower hottie. You don't even have to talk to him. Just watching him mow the lawn is entertainment enough."
"That is true," Charlotte agreed, but she dropped the subject of the house and asked me about Rosie. I knew her well enough to know when she was done talking about something. I let it go.
I was more than happy to talk about Rosalie. How was it that I'd been away from her only two hours and it felt like I'd left a limb behind? Not to mention Vance.
Lunch with Charlie was fun, but I was ready to get home to my family, even if they were only mine temporarily.