I’m just curious how long it will take before I have to show my hand.

  “She can’t do this,” Joshua says. “She can’t leave for months on end for this project that has nothing to do with Haywood. It’s dereliction of duty, Dad. It’s grounds for her to forfeit her stake in—”

  That didn’t take long.

  “Beg, borrow, or steal to get on Sharpe’s preferred contractors’ list? How Haywood would be set with work for life? Those were your words, right, Joshua?” He blanches at my question, clearly still pissed about Ford’s snub. “Or is it only okay if you secure work with S.I.N.? Because from my perspective, my partnership with them could be a win-win for all of us.”

  I play my card and hold my breath as Joshua sits there looking like a guppy, his eyes flitting back and forth between Garland and me.

  Asking for a leave of absence was always going to be an issue. I knew Joshua or Gregory would attempt to use it as validation as to why I should no longer be a part of Haywood. With me gone and with Garland soon retiring, it would allow each of them to have a fifty-fifty stake in the company versus one of them holding a greater majority.

  I wouldn’t put it past them to undercut each other either.

  When I wondered how to play it, Joshua’s words kept coming back to me. His desire to be on S.I.N.’s elite and exclusive contractors’ list. I have absolutely no intention of propositioning Ford or his brothers to give Haywood Redesigns work. None whatsoever. But that doesn’t mean I won’t use the suggestion of it to my advantage.

  That I get to leave and remodel the inn while keeping my place here at Haywood.

  It gives me options should this project crash and burn, and every good businessperson likes to make sure they have a Plan B.

  “Those were your words, right?” I repeat. “What does it hurt to let me show the Sharpes the kind of work we can do? To sell them on Haywood while I do it? Dad?” I turn the conversation to him. He’s the one who makes the final decision, we all know that.

  “I’m not happy about this, Ellery. You’re valued here at the company.”

  I snort. To do what? Get coffee? Have my ideas and work ripped off by your sons?

  But I don’t voice my thoughts nor do I back down from his scrutinous stare.

  “I trust your judgment on this, Ellery.” Ford points to the proposal I suggested with the schematic I think will best fit the inn. A vibe that is completely opposite of the one he prefers. “If you think this is the way to go, then this is the way we go.”

  “Just like that?” I glance around, expecting to see someone else in the conference room he’s putting on a show for. I typically have to fight for my opinions to be valued. But when I look back at him, there is no hint of uncertainty in his expression.

  “Yeah. Just like that. Quit feeling the need to prove yourself to me.” His grin disarms me. “I mean, you said Chex Mix was better without the pretzels. Guess what? I tried it and you’re right. It is.”

  “And that’s your basis for trusting me?” I laugh. Pretzels?

  “It was a good start.” He taps his finger on the proposal. “But this is why I trust you. You have a good eye for what will work. You have an understated knowledge of why it will work. Why should I question you when you clearly know what you’re doing?”

  I just stand there with my hands on my hips and my head shaking, not used to someone having such unequivocal confidence in me.

  “But that trust goes both ways, Sinclair.” He winks. “When it comes to things I specialize in, you’re going to have to trust me too.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like what type of pizza we’re ordering for our working dinner, because I’m frickin’ starving.”

  I’m valued at Haywood? That’s the last thing I feel. And that exchange with Ford last night proved what real professional confidence feels like.

  It was such a little show by Ford, but it meant so very much to me.

  And to hear Garland say I’m valued here at the company without ever giving me one ounce of respect Ford gave me last night only reinforces why I need the freedom and blessing to take time off for this project.

  “It’s nice to hear you value my input here,” I lie, and the smile that strains on my lips says as much, “but—”

  “But I think you might have a point.” He pauses and jots something down on his pad of paper in front of him while I slowly exhale the breath I’m holding. “I can move one of the boys onto your Revlon project to take it off your hands.”

  Ha. Case in fucking point.

  “You already did that. After I did all the legwork and scheduling, you told me it was better suited for Gregory,” I say, my smile lacking amusement. “Remember?”

  “Oh. Yes.” He nods and waves his hand back and forth. “It’s neither here nor there now, is it? Since you’ll be leaving now anyway.”

  “So that’s a yes?”

  “Yes.”

  I fight the urge to do a fist pump when I leave the conference room, but that doesn’t mean I’m not doing one in my head.

  Ellery

  Seventeen Years Ago

  “What are you doing, sweetie?” My mother’s eyes meet mine from her reflection in the mirror.

  “Just thinking.”

  “About?” She turns to face me, her long, elegant neck exposed as she pulls her hair to one shoulder and continues to brush it. I watch the continuous motion of her hand, mesmerized by all things that are my mother. Her delicate skin. Her bright blue eyes that my eyes mimic. Her signature scent—rose and ivy. The hint of the South in her voice.

  “Things. Stuff. You know.” I shrug from where I lie on the bed, face in my hands, feet kicking back and forth in the air over my butt.

  My eyes veer past the brush to a picture on her vanity. It’s tiny and faded, and I know what it looks like from memory even though I’m across the room.

  It’s of my mom, dad, and me. We were at the beach. I’m in one of his arms and his other is around my mom. She’s looking at him like he’s the entire world, while he’s looking at me with the same, adoring look.

  It’s the expression I always think of when I think of him.

  I don’t remember the moment because I was so young, but I savor the image and the feeling it gives me.

  “What’s wrong, Elle? You’ve got that look on your face,” she asks, her head angling to the side to study me.

  “Does it bug him that you have that picture?”

  “What?” She looks over her shoulder and her entire body relaxes. “That’s my absolute favorite.”

  “Mine too.”

  Her expression softens. “He loved you with everything he had, you know that, right?”

  I nod, the funny feeling in my chest returning just like it always does when I think of him and miss him. “Why did he . . . never mind.”

  Why did he not love himself enough then? Why did he do it? Why did he rob me of a life with him?

  Questions. They’re always there. Always haunting me.

  Because I know I loved him enough to make up for all the love he didn’t have for himself. Wasn’t that enough? Weren’t we enough?

  “Daddy had an accident, Elle.”

  I don’t understand why tears are streaming down Mom’s face. Why her hiccupped breaths can barely come out.

  “He smashed the new car?” My eyes grow big. We just got it, and he loved that car so much. Oh, he’s going to be so mad when he gets home.

  “No. Not that kind of accident.”

  Why does she keep shaking her head back and forth as if she doesn’t believe what she’s saying?

  “Then what? Did he accidentally cut himself with that super sharp knife in the kitchen like I did?” Man, I got in so much trouble for trying to use that to cut an apple last month.

  “Baby. You need to listen to me.” My mom kneels in front of me and puts her hands on my face. Her mouth opens and closes as she blinks away more tears. It looks like she’s already cried so many she’s probably out of water inside to cry more.

  “Okay.”

  “Daddy has gone away and . . . he won’t be coming back.”

  It’s hard to swallow and my tongue feels heavy. Thick. “Why? He’s my dad. He loves me. He wouldn’t leave me.”

  She makes the most horrendous sound as she pulls me against her and just holds on. Her chest heaves against mine and her fingers dig into my shoulders.

  It’s then I get it.

  It’s then I know.

  Daddy’s gone.

  My perfect world inside my perfectly pink room on my perfectly lacy bedspread with my perfectly perfect parents will never be the same.

  And he’s never going to be able to come back.

  “Sometimes people’s minds are sick. And they can’t help it. I loved him and you loved him . . .”

  I nod again because it’s easier than speaking. We both study the photo. A picture of love . . . until it wasn’t. “You have his smile and his laugh and his intuitive sense to make people who are nervous, comfortable.”

  It feels good to hear all those things, to feel like I’m like him somehow, some way . . . but it doesn’t take away the sting of his absence.

  “Do you still love him, Mom?”

  Tears well in her eyes as do mine. “I do. Yes. I’ll always love him.”

  “So will I.”

  “Of course you will. You’re a part of him.”

  “But you married Garland, though,” I say of my stepfather.

  “I did.” She gives a measured nod.

  “So you love him too, then?”

  Her smile falters. “He’s a good man.” Her eyes dart to the doorway as if to make sure no one is there and then back to mine. “But our marriage . . . it’s different from the one your father and I had.”

  “How? Isn’t being married the same thing?”

  Her sigh is hesitant as she moves to the bed and sits beside me. “Garland is kind. He treats us well. He’s a good provider. I mean, look at the company and everything it has allowed us to do and have. Who would have thought that this could happen to us? That I could build that with him.” She smooths a hand over my hair and leans down to press a kiss on my forehead.

  “But wasn’t Dad kind and didn’t he treat us well?”

  “Yes, silly. He did and then some. What Garland and I have is just . . . how do I explain this? Sometimes two people meet and decide that they want a partnership in a sense. Meaning, we want the same things out of life, for our children, and in most respects, really.” Her smile is tight, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself of it, and I’m too young to understand why.

  But I do know that when I look at my mom, when I see her talk about my dad and then Garland, her eyes go from being alive to hollow.

  And I’m old enough to understand that’s how I feel inside too with my dad being gone.

  Love isn’t enough.

  Lesson learned the hard way. Love is glorious but fleeting. It hurts. It will cut you open and bleed you dry before emptying every other part of you.

  I’ve only loved two people in my life. They were my whole world. One is gone. Little do I know that within years of losing Dad, I will have lost them both.

  Seems the pain that comes with real, true love isn’t worth it.

  Ford

  She stands with one hand on her hip and her lips pursed as she studies the papers laid out on the conference room table in front of us. Structural prints for the changes we’re making to the interior—combining rooms to make suites on each floor with individual exits and entrances to them for privacy. Then there are the elevation drawings to show what the new exterior will look like. Next to those are interior design choices on spec boards—colors, carpets, fabrics, tiles. Elegance and luxury mixed with comfort and decadence.

  It’s been five weeks since we partnered up and signed the papers. Five weeks of waiting for escrow to close while we prepared for every facet of the remodel. Our hope is to complete it at lightning speed because time spent is money lost. Five weeks of being surrounded constantly by people helping us plan and plot and everything in between or on Zoom calls scheduling and brainstorming from our individual offices across town as we get ready to move on-site.

  Five weeks, and this is the first time we’ve been completely and utterly alone. My staff has gone home. Her assistant has left. It’s just her, me, and the night sky outside of this skyscraper’s windows.

  The thoughts running through my head right now shouldn’t be there as I study her while she’s busy contemplating something trivial on the table before her.

  I welcome them, though. Oh, how I welcome them. What my fingers would feel like digging into her hips. What her lips would taste like as I delved my tongue between them. What her pussy would feel like as it pulsed around me.

  Oh, how I’ve thought about them. About her.

  And way too fucking much.

  My eyes are bleary from staring at prints and my mind is exhausted, but I can still imagine and want and then tell myself I can’t want. Can’t have.

  She’s off limits.

  The best way to fuck up a partnership is to fuck your partner.

  End of story.

  But another look at those pursed lips has my dry spell feeling like a goddamn drought.

  The big question though is why is there still a tan line where her engagement ring was? Five weeks is a long time for a tan to fade and yet it’s still there. Still a blaring symbol that she belongs to another.

  So is she just not wearing it in my presence? Did it drop down the sink drain? Did she chuck it at her fiancé as she told him she wanted me instead? And if she’s not wearing it because of me . . . what in the hell does that mean?

  “What?”

  When I snap from my thoughts, I realize that I’ve been staring at Ellery with narrowed eyes. “I’m sorry. What did you say?” I ask, trying to run that last fantasy of bending her over the conference room table from my head.

  Yeah. It’s bad. And no matter how often I tell myself it’s going to be a long, torturous few months living on-site with her if these are my thoughts now, I can’t stop them.

  “I asked what that look you’re giving me is for because it’s really intense. Did I miss something?” She glances to the table and then back to me. “If I did, please let me know. The last thing we need is for one of us to not be in sync with each other on everything.”

  “And if we’re not, we’ll figure it out,” I say as I move to her side of the table.

  “Spoken like a man used to having such huge decisions on his shoulders.” She sighs as if she doesn’t exactly trust herself. She should though. She’s brilliant.

  And her brilliance, input, and keen eye for detail has made me wonder why we never contracted with Haywood Redesigns before. Oh, that’s right. Joshua Haywood. Prick extraordinaire.

  “I believe you were the one who wanted to step out from beneath your brothers’ shadows and prove that you could handle the types of projects they handle. That being the coffee girl wasn’t enough for you.” I lean my ass on the table and look at her. “Are you chickening out on me, Elle?”

  “Of course not. It’s just—”

  “It’s just this is a lot of money and a lot of pressure and what the hell happens if it doesn’t work or if you don’t know what you’re doing and, and, and . . . right?”

  “It sounds ridiculous. I’m sorry.” She emits a nervous laugh and starts to fidget with her hands. “You must be wondering why the hell you agreed to this. I’m a rookie. You’re an experienced professional. I mean—”

  “Stop.” I step forward and close my hands over hers. The hitch in her breath is audible. So is the visceral reaction my body has from touching her. For someone so brilliant, she lacks confidence now and again. Most likely from years of her brothers disregarding her. Well, not anymore. Not with me. “Quit stressing. In case you haven’t figured out by now, I’m pretty low-key. If a problem arises, we’ll figure it out. If we disagree, we’ll . . . I don’t know, we’ll yell at each other and you’ll tell me I’m being an ass and I’ll tell you you’re being stubborn, and then we’ll shake hands or something and move on.”

  “Why is everything so effortless for you?” she asks with disbelief woven into her tone. “Don’t you ever doubt yourself? Don’t you ever question things?”

  Her words hit me squarely in the solar plexus. Isn’t that why I took on this project? Because I doubt the man I am? Because I wonder if I’m more to everyone than the man who sits between his notable brothers? Because I want to know the eyes through which my father saw me?

  “All the time,” I murmur without giving more of an explanation. Doesn’t she remember the bar that night? The turmoil I was in? I offer a smile. “This project. Our partnership. We’ll figure it out.”

  She inhales a shaky breath and gives a definitive nod as she takes a step away and breaks our connection. After a moment, she turns back around with a more fortified smile. “Okay. I apologize again. I’m normally not one who needs a pep talk, so forgive me for sounding so . . . weak.”

  “Not weak. More like strong. Determined. Admirable.” I shrug as she emits a nervous chuckle. “Taking chances is a hard thing to do. I promise it’ll all work out.”

  “Thank you.” There is a softness to her tone that matches the look in her eyes. Both give me pause. Another more convincing smile as she takes a step back toward the conference room table. “Then it looks like we should be able to hit the ground running.”

  “It does.” I turn to look at the plans, and then step up beside her. “You’ll get there tomorrow and do the final walk-through. I’ll be there Wednesday once I’m done with my meetings.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” She tries to stifle a yawn but just gives in and lets it happen. “Sorry. It’s been a long couple of weeks.”

  “Exciting weeks though,” I murmur as I lean forward and flip a page of the elevation drawings. “With even more exciting ones to come.”

  “I know.”

  We both move to leave, but as if choreographed, we turn and bump into each other. She wobbles on her heels, and I grab her biceps to steady her.