Chapter Twenty-Three #2
"We have an announcement," he said, the wide grin on his face matching the one on Tate's, in contrast to the semi-amused scowl Emily wore.
"We don't have to do this now," she said. "We haven't actually decided."
"Yes we have. I heard it. Tate heard it. Josephine heard it. Aiden heard it. You agreed. Deal's done."
"Fine," Emily muttered. "Go ahead."
"Tate and I are very pleased to announce," Holden said, "that Emily has finally agreed to join us at WGC after she graduates."
Tate let out a whoop and tugged Emily out of Holden's grasp, lifting her in the air and spinning her around. "She also agreed to move in with me," Tate said.
Emily laughed and protested, "Tate, shut up."
"No fucking way," he said, setting her back on her feet and kissing her. When he was done, he said, “Do you know how stubborn you are?"
"Apparently, not as stubborn as you," she shot back.
"Damn straight," he said. Vance turned to Holden, now standing beside us, one arm around Josephine.
"Why didn't Tate make the announcement?" Vance asked.
Jo laughed. "Because Emily refused to negotiate with Tate. She said he was devious and he knew how to talk her into anything."
"Smart," I said. "How long did it take you to talk her into signing on?"
Holden shook his head in exasperation. "Too long. We've been trying to get her on board since we found out she designed a game we both like. But she said it was a conflict of interest. She's very stubborn. But she's also a huge fan of Syndrome and crazy in love with Tate, so we had an edge."
Syndrome was Winters Gaming Group's flagship game and a massive hit. Both Emily and Josephine were computer science grad students at Georgia Tech.
Josephine was doing work I didn't really understand with some kind of device meant to help the blind navigate. Word was they'd made good progress with it, and Josephine would have her pick of employers when she graduated.
But Emily's specialty was game design, making her a perfect fit not just for Tate, but for his company. I wasn't surprised they'd talked her into working for them, even though the last time the subject had come up, she'd been adamant about not taking any handouts.
From what Tate and Holden said about her talents, offering her a job was no handout. They were lucky to have her.
"You're not going to make another announcement, are you?" Josephine asked Holden in an undertone.
"Do you want me to?" he asked, dropping a kiss on her temple. She shook her head. "Not really, but you can tell Vance and Magnolia."
Curious, I waited. Vance interrupted to say, "Josephine's moving in with you."
"Did you tell him already?" Jo asked Holden.
"He didn't have to. He wouldn't let Tate get one up on him like that."
Holden sent Vance a glare that was only partly in jest. "Jo moving in with me has nothing to do with Tate.
I've been trying to get her to move in with me since our first date.
But she didn't want to stick Emily with their lease, and Emily refused to do the same to her, so Tate and I had to gang up on them to get our way. "
He looked so pleased with himself, I had to laugh. I knew Holden well before Josephine had shown up, and I would have put him at the top of my list of guys who were never going to settle down.
He'd met Jo at Mana, the club he owned with Tate, while she was on a date with another guy. One look at her, and he'd fallen hard.
It was cute because while Jo was pretty, with her dark blonde hair and intelligent blue eyes, she was not the girl I would have thought would capture Holden's attention. She was a geek, in the coolest way possible, and was more often to be found in old jeans and a hoodie than in club wear.
I guess while Holden had been happy to hook up with the girls he met at the club, that wasn't what he wanted long-term. He looked completely satisfied with his life, his arm around Jo and a smile in his dark eyes.
Charlotte poked her head in the living room, still wearing the suit she'd worn to work. She gave us a wave and said, "I'll be right back."
She returned five minutes later in jeans and an Emory T-shirt, her hair in a messy ponytail, her face cleaned of makeup.
Like that, she looked about fifteen, except for the circles under her eyes and the pallor to her skin. Heading straight for Abigail and Jacob, she scooped up Rosie before Abigail could protest.
Jacob leaned down to whisper something in Abigail's ear that brought a pretty pink flush to her cheeks. It was both sweet and bizarre to see him so gentle and affectionate with Abigail.
I'd sat in on investor meetings with Jacob, and while I liked him, he was a little scary. Not with Abigail. With her, he was a completely different man.
Charlotte only got a few minutes to blow kisses on Rosie's cheek before Mrs. Williamson, the Winters family housekeeper, announced that dinner was served.
Now in her forties, Mrs. Williamson had come to the house as a maid when she was only eighteen, not long before Vance's parents had died.
With the house mostly empty these days, Aiden and Charlotte didn't need much staff, but Mrs. Williamson was more than staff. She was family. And even with fewer residents, the house and grounds still needed full-time management.
We were all casual, but the only place a group this large would fit was the formal dining room, and we followed Mrs. Williamson down the hall.
The table was long enough to fit twice our number.
She'd seated us at one end, close to the fireplace.
Despite its size, the fire and the polished wood furnishings made the room cozy.
I started to look for the baby carrier, thinking I'd give Rosie a bottle and hopefully she'd fall asleep while we ate, but Mrs. Williamson appeared at my side, took Rosie from Charlie, and said, "Don't worry, I've got this one. It's been way too long since we've had a baby in the house."
Charlotte sat beside me, Vance on the other side. I scooted my chair closer to Charlie's and whispered, "You look tired. Are you okay?"
"Yes, and ditto. Rosie keeping you up? Or something else?"
Charlotte could see right through me, but I wasn't going to talk about any of the doubts plaguing my mind at the Winters family dining table. Not with Vance sitting beside me. I had to work this out on my own.
"I'm fine," I said. "I just couldn't fall asleep last night after I got up to feed Rosie, and I'm worn out, that's all. What’s going on with you?"
"Nothing," Charlie whispered back. I didn't call her a liar out loud, but I knew she could see it in my eyes. She let out a sigh and said, "That house I showed you? It's under contract."
"Oh, that stinks. Is that what's bothering you?" I asked.
Charlie shrugged one shoulder and didn't meet my eyes. "Not all of it," she said. "But a lot of it, yeah. I guess I didn't realize how much I wanted the house until it was gone."
"The house or the lawnmower hottie next door?" I teased, nudging the side of her chair. A light flush brought color to her cheeks, and she shook her head, her ponytail swinging from side to side. I said, "I think it's the hottie as much as the house."
Charlotte's cheeks turned even pinker. "It's not the hottie," she protested. "I really liked that house."
"Then call the agent," I said. "Just because it's under contract, it doesn't mean it’s sold. A lot of stuff could go wrong. You never know."
"Maybe," Charlotte said.
"Do it," I urged. "Just in case. Now that you know, really know, that you want it, it'll make you feel better if you at least make a phone call."
"I'll do it tomorrow," she promised. The cook, who I'd never met personally but who Charlotte said was amazing, served us himself.
I had to agree with Charlotte's assessment. His food was spectacular. Herb roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and chocolate cake for dessert.
It was comfort food, not gourmet, but every bite was perfection. I'd forgotten what it was like to eat a dinner I hadn't cooked without rushing to finish before Rosie needed one of us.
By the time I took the last bite of chocolate cake, I was stuffed full, almost woozy with satiation.
I drank a glass of wine with dinner, and the wine combined with the food had me almost asleep on the short drive home. Vance's aggravated voice brought me back to full consciousness.
"What the fuck is he doing here?" Vance said, smacking his hand on the steering wheel for emphasis. I looked up and noticed with dismay that Brayden's luxury sedan was parked in front of the door. What the hell did he want with me?
"He's been calling me all day," I said without thinking. At the dark expression on Vance's face, I wished I'd kept my mouth shut. He looked like he wanted to beat Brayden to a pulp, and Brayden was absolutely the kind of guy who would press charges.
"Stay in the car," Vance ordered.
"No way," I said, undoing my seatbelt and jumping out as soon as the car came to a halt.
I was around the hood and facing off with Brayden a second later, Vance right behind me. He put one hand on my shoulder, but he didn't try to move me.
"Do you want me to call the police?" I said to Brayden. "Because I think I was very clear the last time you came to my house that if I saw you here again, I would call the police."
"Magnolia—" Brayden started. I was in no mood to listen.
"You don't have any right to be here. There's nothing of yours in the house, and you don't live here anymore. Go. Away."
"If you'd answer your phone or return one of my calls, I wouldn't have to come by," Brayden said with exaggerated patience.
Just the sound of his voice put my teeth on edge.
"I didn't get everything of mine out of the house.
I need to come back in and go through some of the closets.
I lived here for three years, and my stuff was spread all over.
Unless you've been through every single room, you don't know that I didn't leave anything, and I know that I did, so stop being such a bitch about it. "
"I will call you tomorrow," I said, slowly and deliberately. "I'm not letting you in the house tonight. We're tired, Rosie's tired, and I just want to go to bed."
"Why not just let me in now?" Brayden said.
His refusal to leave was irritating the hell out of me. I didn't think this was about me, about us, but the next thing he said made me wonder.
"You think you've got it all figured out now, don't you? Shacked up with Winters and his kid? You think I'm the asshole for breaking up with you and cheating on you. Maybe I am. But you're the stupid one.
"You're a fucking doormat. You let me get away with murder for years—I let you pay the bills, I was cheating on you, and I strung you along with an engagement when I had no intention of marrying you.
So yeah, I'm an asshole, but here you are letting this guy do the same fucking thing.
He gets a kid all of a sudden, and now you're what?
His girlfriend or his nanny? Just remember that while you're blowing me off, thinking he's got your back.
He's doing the same thing to you that I did. At least I'm willing to admit it."
Brayden got into his car and slammed the door. Vance's hand tightened on my shoulder and he jerked me backward, out of the way, as Brayden hit the gas, tires spinning, and flew past us down the driveway.
I stood there, frozen, Brayden's words ping-ponging back and forth inside my head. There was something vindicating about his admission that he was an asshole.
I hated having it laid out that way, how he'd intentionally used me. It was humiliating that he’d admitted it so easily. It was also liberating, in a way.
Yes, I'd been an idiot. I knew that. But it reminded me that the real failure in our relationship had nothing to do with me. It was him.
Brayden was an enormous flaming jerk.
The only thing I'd done wrong was put up with him.
Which left me with Vance. That part of Brayden's little speech stung. Vance was not Brayden. He wasn't. I knew he wasn't. I wanted to believe that I'd learned my lesson. I wasn't a doormat.
Not anymore.
But what Brayden had said was so close to Sloane's accusations. Vance himself had admitted to Sloane that he wasn't looking to be anyone's husband.
I wasn't expecting a ring. We'd only been together a few weeks, but I had to be honest with myself. He and his daughter were living in my house. If he wasn't thinking that we were a family, didn't see himself as a husband, then what were we doing?
I felt a little sick. I was in love with Vance. He was my closest friend, and I'd fallen in love with him. My whole life was wrapped up in him.
I shook my head, trying to banish my uncertainty. Vance was not Brayden. It might look the same from the outside, but I was not making the same mistakes with Vance I'd made with Brayden. I wasn't.
"You okay, Babe?" Vance asked. "If he shows up again, don't say a word to him. Just get back in your car and call the police. I don’t like that he’s so insistent about getting into the house.”
I nodded numbly, saying only, "Do you need help with Rosie?"
"I've got her," Vance said, studying my face in the dim light outside the front door. "You sure you're okay? You're not letting him get inside your head, are you?"
"No, I'm fine. I'm just tired," I said.
I was saying that a lot tonight. I was tired. Everything would look better in the morning. I took the keys from Vance and unlocked the front door.
I didn't want to talk anymore, and with everything tumbling around in my head, for the first time, I didn't want to have sex with Vance. I couldn't think when he touched me.
My body trusted him, wanted him, and my brain didn't trust my body.
I washed my face and changed into a nightshirt while Vance was busy with Rosie. When he came to bed, I pretended to be asleep.