Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
VIOLET
T he ringing of my phone woke me from a cozy noontime sleep. I was upstairs in the event barn, on the feather bedrolls in the loft. Jameson snoozed at my feet. It was the space Chase had built for me back when I’d been bringing the kids to work. I’d spent precious hours in this bed, nursing Trey when he was a baby, reading Bri to sleep, and catching some winks myself.
Chase had wisely built it in the warmest place in the barn, which made it pleasantly toasty. Its thick feather bedrolls let me sink down in the most delicious way. Given how badly I’d been sleeping at night, daytime naps were saving me. It felt so nice, I was reluctant to pick up my call. A second before I did, I looked at the caller ID.
“Hey, Katrina.” I stifled a yawn.
“I’m glad I caught you. I’ve got new information about your case. The story they fed us about the new general counsel? It doesn’t add up. At all.”
I nodded in groggy understanding, then said “Right” because body language wasn’t audible. Shimmying forward, I swung my legs off of the bedroll and onto the floor.
“The GC’s name is Don Rutherford. They poached him from another big insurance company. People at that level only get poached when they’re delivering results.”
I asked the half-a-million-dollar question. “So how is he winning his cases?”
“Turns out it’s the opposite of what they told me. He doesn’t have a track record of settling—he has a track record of winning in court. He’s notorious for taking cases to trial. Rumor has it, he’s so obsessive, he drives the defense attorneys who work under him so hard, a fair number of them quit. He’s even got a nickname: Donnie Darko.”
I frowned. “If he’s notorious, why would they feed you an obvious lie?”
“Classic underestimation.” She didn’t miss a beat. “Attorneys are trained to size up the opposition. They look at you and see a Black woman without a college degree, who lives in a small town and married a working-class man. They’re betting that 500,000 dollars is enough money to buy you off. They look at me and see a Black woman attorney who didn’t go to a fancy school and doesn’t work at a big-name firm in a big city. They think I’m not going to do my research.”
“Yeah, that tracks.” I wasn’t surprised now that she’d laid it all out.
“That leaves us with two plays,” Katrina concluded. “Option one is to agree to a settlement and negotiate a higher amount. But without knowing what they think we have, we’d be taking a shot in the dark.”
“What’s option two?”
“We let the case go to court as scheduled and work like hell to figure it out. If we’re successful, we bring in the new evidence; then, we win based on what the case is worth.”
“But we might not ever figure it out,” I observed aloud.
“That’s right,” Katrina confirmed. “If we go back to trial with no new evidence, the best-case scenario is a better judgment from a different judge and jury. A group that is extremely sympathetic could award you the 400,000 dollars—the maximum amount named in the policy. The worst-case scenario is, you get nothing.”
“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.” By now, Jameson had awakened and repositioned himself to set his head on my lap. Petting him held the added benefit of helping me soothe myself.
“Sometimes it is,” she agreed.
I thanked her for her thorough due diligence. She told me to think it through. I was about to hang up when I remembered what I’d been meaning to ask.
“Hey, do you happen to know any attorneys who handle incorporations?”
“What kind of business are you looking to start?”
“An interior design and event planning business.”
“You’re leaving Chase?” The degree of surprise—and interest—in her voice was unexpected. She knew Chase well, from the initial trial. He’d been there every single day in the courtroom for moral support.
“Not in any absolute sense.” I made a concerted effort not to sound defensive. “More like, I’ve overstayed my welcome. And now I’m moving on.”
“Alright…well, I guess congratulations are in order.” Katrina didn’t sound convinced. “And I do know an attorney who could help. I’m in meetings all afternoon and in court tomorrow. But I’ll send you a warm intro. Give me a couple days.”
Man Enough was on but I could barely pay attention. It wasn’t often that I felt uncomfortable in my own house. Then again, it wasn’t often that Chase and I were fighting. “Fighting” was a fluid concept—a word that meant different things to different people. For us, it meant short fuses and working each other’s last nerves. Things had been chilly since I’d told him I was leaving.
“Thanks, Chase.” I tried to be the bigger person as he handed me a drink. Tonight was peach martinis made using a special batch from Marly’s Moonshine. She was the only distiller who Chase would sell to. He liked to brag that his Octoberfest peaches were the secret weapon to her award-winning spirit. For those of us who didn’t have to drive home, he’d made a second round. I was already feeling the effects of the first.
He answered my gratitude with a wordless nod and took his usual place next to me. Tonight, I wasn’t feeling the love. Neither was anyone else in the room, apparently. Unlike most Thursday nights, when we supplied wisecracking comments while watching the show, all the adults—and even the kids—were silent.
“Looks like Marcus is being his normal self,” I said by way of getting our snarking started. I could not allow things to go on like this. So many things were in flux for me, I needed Thursday nights to feel good. Marcus was the suitor who Jules loved to hate, so I’d targeted him deliberately, hopeful that she would pile on.
Moments earlier on the show, Marcus had insisted that he and Chelsea skip their circus date so he could check in about their last conversation. She’d begun to share some serious things about her past on their last one-on-one, but Eric had crashed the party and rudely cut them off. Most other suitors would be eager to woo Chelsea on their next date—to ingratiate themselves to her and notch up the romance. But Marcus had put on the brakes.
“Can someone please tell me what he’s still doing in this game?” Like clockwork, Jules took the bait. She had a mean sense of humor, but she was funny. If anybody had us laughing, it was her.
“Marcus is sweet,” Tatum defended.
“Marcus ought to keep a hankie in his pocket,” Nikki quipped.
“To dry all those salty tears,” Jules joined in.
Bri giggled. Jules fist-bumped Nikki. Trey just looked confused. And Chase looked absolutely livid.
Watching his face redden, my own blood began to boil. Why didn’t he want us to go back to normal like I did? Why was he hell-bent on us not having fun?
“Maybe Marcus is the only suitor on this whole damn show who’s man enough to truly be there for Chelsea.” His tone was acerbic.
“Maybe Marcus needs to learn to let things go,” I bit back.
He looked at me accusingly. “Maybe Chelsea should quit trying to be a hero and shouldering everything alone.”
“Maybe Marcus should quit feeling like she owes him an explanation.” I lifted my chin indignantly.
“Maybe Chelsea should quit acting like she doesn’t.”
Now, Chase and I were scowling at each other.
“Kids, time to brush your teeth,” Nikki said. “It’s time to get ready for bed.”
I broke my death glare at Chase long enough to see Nikki spring up from her seat. It didn’t take long for the others to make their excuses. Tatum pulled Jules to her feet, claiming a need for a companion in catching some fresh air. On her way out, Tatum cast Chase a sympathetic glance as Jules gave him a dirty look.
“Mommy is too mad about Marcus,” Trey said plaintively to Bri as Nikki shooed them out of the room.
“I don’t think they’re talking about Marcus,” Bri responded.
Shit.
Now, I had as much of a hand as Chase had in ruining girls’ night in, and I’d scared my children to boot.
Once they were all out of earshot, I sprang to my feet, crossed my arms, and glared at him even harder. “We can’t do this, Chase. Not in front of my kids.”
He sprang up just as quickly. “You’re right. We can’t. So, let’s settle this—right here and right now. I’ll make myself clear. I do not accept your resignation.”
I brought my fingers to my temples and closed my eyes. “You’re only making it worse.”
“I will consider your resignation when you state your reasons.” He doubled down. “It’s reasonable for me to want an explanation as to why you’re bent on abandoning the house you built. Until such time as you provide one, you’re mine.”
My body’s reaction to him staking a claim was involuntary and traitorous. He’d said it more like a jealous lover than a pissed-off boss. I’d never known what it felt like for a man to want to possess me. And this was turning into one of those times that I couldn’t not think of Chase as a man—not with him standing tall over me, looking like he wanted to throw me over his shoulder and drag me off to his cave.
I expected some reaction from him—some sudden realization of what he’d just said, but his eyes didn’t relent. Chase had always been protective of me, even before Todd. And he’d certainly been persistent, the way he’d cajoled me to accept his help. But the way he was acting now? He wasn’t a man bent on protecting my interests. Domineering Chase was a first.
“Last time I checked, this was a free country.” I wouldn’t back down, either. “You can’t lock me up in my tower like Rapunzel.”
“Maybe not,” he seethed. “But, last I checked”—he threw my words back at me—“you were the most important person in my life.”
This time, he did look like he knew what he had said. I was speechless, and aghast, and entirely too flattered by his words. My schoolgirl crush on him was playing with my mind—it was reading into things he said and giving me the most dangerous thing of all: Chase telling me he needed me was giving me hope.
Now his eyes were pleading. “These past three years, we built something. I know it was mostly you. But I like to think I had a hand in giving you space to create a job you love. I thought you were happy. And thanks to those reports you show me every month, we both know the events business is thriving. You can’t leave me high and dry without an explanation.”
“You know I would never leave until I trained my own replacement.” My voice was weak. “You know me better than that.”
The other thing both of us knew was that I was deflecting his question.
“Violet.” His voice broke a little when he said my name and it nearly broke my heart. “I just need to know why you’re walking away from something good.”
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
For the briefest moment, I considered telling him the truth: that continued proximity might mean I’d never get over him, or that I’d do something stupid to mess up what we had; that to see him every day would doom every man I dated to comparison; that I couldn’t take his charity anymore.
“Chase…” Now my voice broke. “You gave me so much more than I deserved. You gave me exactly what I needed at the moment I needed it most. But the plan was never to work for you forever. All these years, I’ve been building your business. All these months, I’ve been earning my degree. The plan was always for me to find my own way. And to give you back a fraction of all you gave me.”
I said it earnestly, with sincerity and passion, because none of what I’d said was a lie. It was only a half-truth.
I saw the moment the fight went out of him—the moment it was replaced with fatigue. “You don’t have to pay me back.”
He repeated what he’d said to me a thousand times. So I let him think what I needed him to—that this was just a bigger version of the same fight we’d been having for years.
“I know.” Tears blurred my vision. “But I want to.”