Reaching inside, I take out a glass vase that’s deep purple on the bottom and blue on the top.

  “Oh, those must be our pieces from SCAD.” She walks over and takes the vase, turning it side to side. “It’s blown glass.”

  “It’s beautiful. It looks like it’s made of water.”

  “The art students send us their best pieces to sell. I love seeing what they make.”

  She pulls back more paper, and we both gasp. Inside are blown glass balls with swirls of colors through them. Some are rainbow, some are blue and white like the ocean, some are amber and green like the sunset.

  “We need to price them and put them out.” She digs farther into the box.

  “How do we do that?”

  “Here.” She hands me a sheet. “These are their suggested prices. If you think they’re right, go with it. Or price it whatever you think will sell.”

  “Me?” My jaw drops. “I don’t know how to price original art.”

  “Then just go with what they suggest. Unless you think it’s too low… We can always run a sale.” She reaches for my gun. “Give me this.”

  I slant my eyes at her, and she laughs. “It’s my turn!”

  For several minutes we work in silence. I neatly write the prices on the tiny tags attached to the art.

  After a while, I feel Renée watching me and glance up. “Am I doing it wrong?”

  She only smiles. “I was just thinking how nice it’s been having you here. I’m going to miss you when you go back to Nashville.”

  Blinking down to the list, I know what she’s doing. She’s letting me know it’s time to tell her what happened. Am I ready? I suppose I have to be.

  “I’ll head back tomorrow, I guess.” Just saying it flushes me with nerves.

  “You can stay as long as you want. The only possible conflict is if the house rents, but we can figure that out.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t hide forever.”

  She scans a few more bar codes, and I make a few more price tags.

  Her voice is gentle when she asks, “Why are you hiding?”

  I take a vibrant orange and yellow vase from the box and stare at it, feeling the pain fresh as ever. “I didn’t protect my chin.”

  Her eyes soften. “He got you on the ropes?”

  “I went all the way down.”

  She’s around the box, pulling me into a hug at once. We stay that way several minutes while I do my best to calm my breathing, not to cry.

  I can feel her stroking the back of my hair. “You know, those wrestlers always got back up and started fighting again. Even when they spun around like a top.”

  She catches my eye and winks.

  I do my best to smile back. “It was all fake. You don’t get up so fast from a real knockout.”

  Picking up the gun again, she returns to the shelves of stock. “I was afraid this might happen when you said you’d slept with him.” She starts scanning bar codes. “I’ve never met anyone as dark as Patton Fletcher in my life.”

  I think about him cooking me hot chicken, holding me back from seeing the secret recipe. I think about that crazy place where we got pancakes in the mountains. “He wasn’t all dark. He could be really funny sometimes.”

  “That’s something I can’t imagine.” She digs on a bottom shelf and pulls out a stack of starfish clocks. “The Patton Fletcher I knew never laughed. Nothing mattered to him except closing the deal.”

  Chewing my lip, I think about it. “Marley mattered to him…” My voice trails off as I remember the mountains… His mom mattered. I think I mattered…

  “I don’t know. I walked away and never went back.” She keeps scanning.

  I’m almost to the bottom of my box. I pull out a blown-glass Christmas ornament and study the red and green lines.

  “That’s my problem. How can I work for a man who treated you like he did? You’re my sister.”

  Her brow furrows, and she stops scanning. “Is that why you’re here? You’re thinking of quitting your job?”

  “What else can I do?”

  “But I’m okay, Rock. I’m better than okay—I’m happy. And you were happy there. I could hear it in your voice. Don’t ruin your career for me.”

  “You’re happy now, but you were not happy when you left there. I don’t care what you say.”

  “I told you—”

  “I know what you told me, but I also know you wouldn’t return my calls. You stayed in bed for who knows how long.” My stomach hurts remembering her that way. “You had a real crisis, and it was his fault.”

  She puts the gun down and walks to where I’m standing. “It wasn’t his fault. Yes, he was a bastard, but I was glad to leave Fletcher International. I didn’t return your calls because I didn’t know what I was going to do. I didn’t know what I was going to tell you. That’s why I hid.”

  “You can always tell me anything.”

  “But I felt like I let you down.” Her chin drops, and I see the guilt in her eyes. “We lost Mom and Dad. You needed me to be strong, to take care of you…”

  “I just needed my sister.”

  Our watery eyes meet, and we hug again. “You’ve always got me. I’ll do anything I can to help you.” She squeezes tighter, exhaling a little sigh as she releases me. “Even if it means giving Patton Fletcher another chance.”

  Blinking away the mist in my eyes, I look at the ornament in my hand. “I kind of fell in love with him.”

  The side of her mouth tilts down in a little half-frown. “Then go back. You’re the fighter in the family. Make him prove he’s worth your love.”

  She gives me a nudge, and we head to the front of the store. Ms. Hazel is with a customer, so we smile and walk outside to where our bikes are waiting. We pedal slowly back to the house, and I look around, memorizing the scenery.

  “I won’t wait so long to come back for a visit next time.”

  “Then maybe you’ll know what’s going on around here.” She’s teasing, but I pull my bike up beside hers in the garage.

  “You need to tell me more.”

  She waves a hand, and I follow her inside, watching the hem of her skirt sway as I think. Renée has always been more of a girly-girl, wearing skirts and beads. She likes drinking tea and not wearing makeup. Suits are not her style.

  Thinking of her in Patton’s office, keeping up with their corporate lifestyle… Of course she felt like a fish out of water.

  We go to my room, and I take out my small suitcase and place items I’m not going to use tonight inside. I’m picking up my makeup when my phone starts to buzz on the dresser. I don’t recognize the number on the screen.

  “Telemarketer?” I look at Renée, but she’s inspecting my toiletries. With a shrug, I slide my finger across the face. “Hello?”

  “You have to be careful with these exfoliants. They contain microbeads.” She holds up the tube of facial scrub.

  “Hello, is this Raquel Morgan?” I don’t recognize the female voice.

  “Yes, can I help you?”

  “They go straight into the ocean and end up in our fish… then in us.” Renée’s eyes are stern, and I hold my hand over my phone.

  “Tell me the good ones, and I’ll get just those.”

  “Sorry?” The female says.

  “I’m sorry. I was talking to someone else. What is this about?”

  Renée is still going. “Just check the ingredient list for polyethylene or polypropylene… these things should not be in your facial cleansers.”

  “Okay… I’ll do that.” I’m nodding as I step into the bathroom and close the door. “Sorry, what did you say your name is?”

  “This is Aly Walden. I’m with NABI, Nashville Association of Business and Industry?”

  “Oh, right. I think you spoke at one of my classes. At Owen Business School?”

  “I sure did!” Her voice gets friendly. “I’m also a reporter for Nashville Notes.”

  “I’m not really familiar with—”

  “It’s a local business publication. Did you say you’re out of town? I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy…”

  I didn’t say I was out of town, and she kind of sounds like she does want to bother me. “I’m actually just heading back to Nashville. I have to get back to work.”

  “At Fletcher International?”

  “Yes…”

  “Ms. Morgan, are you related to Renée Morgan?” The way she says it has my antenna up.

  “She’s my sister.”

  “Are you aware that Patton Fletcher paid your sister hush money a little over a year ago to keep her from going public with allegations of sexual assault at Fletcher International?”

  I look at the closed door, frowning. “I was not aware of that. I’m pretty sure that’s completely false.”

  “How sure would you say? Ninety percent sure? Eighty-five?”

  This feels like she’s fishing. “I’d better go. I’m sorry.”

  “Is it true you left because you were having sex with Patton Fletcher?” She speaks fast, clearly trying to get one more question in before I hang up.

  Her question shocks me, and I quickly answer. “No. That’s not why I left.”

  “So you did leave?”

  “Ah, gotta go.” I hit end before she can say another word. Then I stand staring at my phone. “What the hell?”

  Grabbing the doorknob, I whip open the bathroom door to see my sister sitting on my bed with my toiletries sorted on either side of her while she holds up the organic lotion she made for me.

  “I sorted them for you. These over here are bad bad bad. These over here are not bad at all.” She looks up and smiles sweetly. “Good work, sis!”

  “It was purely accidental, I assure you.”

  “You’re still using the lotion I made for you.”

  “I’m running low. Can you send me some more?”

  “Sure!” She hops up like she’s going to do it right this minute, and I fly through everything Renée has said about Patton this week—as well as what I know about Renée.

  My sister is not sneaky. I’m one hundred percent sure she wouldn’t say all the things she said about Patton if he gave her a bunch of money. Heck, I’m more sure she wouldn’t take hush money if she had decided to say something… which now I know wouldn’t have been anything, since Patton is a bastard, but he’s not the reason she walked away from her promising career.

  Her words, blended with mine.

  She collects the “bad” tubes from the bed. “You know there are more than three hundred thousand plastic beads in a tube of facial scrub?”

  “Renée. Listen to me a minute.” She discards a tube of my favorite exfoliant and blinks at me. “Did you take any money from Patton Fletcher last year?”

  Her head jerks back, then her nose wrinkles. “Take money? I haven’t even spoken to Patton Fletcher in almost five years.”

  Pressing my lips together, I quickly pull up the Internet on my phone, searching for Nashville Notes. I don’t have to dig. The second the site loads on my phone, I see the headline and teaser text at the top of the scroll.

  “Oh my god…” My voice is quiet as I read the first few sentences. “Ray, I’m going to have to head on back now, I’m sorry.”

  I’m already moving, collecting my clothes and the acceptable toiletries into my small suitcase.

  She’s watching me, concern lining her brow. “Is everything okay?”

  “I don’t know. What I read is bad.” I give her a tight hug. “It’s possible, depending on how this is handled… Patton could lose his company.”

  “So you’re running to help him?”

  I hesitate, and it hits me what I’m doing. I lower my arms and look at her. “I guess I am.” My insides are tight. I’m so mixed up right now.

  Renée puts her hand on my arm and smiles. “It’s your life. It’s where you belong. Go.”

  Stepping forward, I give her another hug. “I love you.”

  “Protect your chin this time.”

  “I’ll try.”

  30

  Patton

  “You need to consider turning yourself in.” I’ve been on the phone with my attorney, David Worth for almost an hour. “If he goes to the police ahead of you and files a complaint, you’ll be cuffed and stuffed and trust me, the press will be all over that shit.”

  “Jerry’s not going to go to the police.” My swollen hand is under an ice pack Sandra prepared this morning. “He’s done all the damage he needs with that fucking story.”

  “The video is on YouTube. It’s clear you hit him without provocation.”

  “Without provocation?”

  “We don’t hit. We use our words.” He’s speaking like I’m in preschool.

  “I’ve got a few words for that bastard.” Words they won’t print in Nashville Notes. “I need to see that video.”

  Tapping on my keyboard, I wake my laptop. It might make me feel better about not getting in that second punch. I can watch it on repeat.

  “I talked to Hank as soon as I got your email. I apologized for your call, but I said it was understandable in light of the situation.”

  “Thanks.” It’s a sarcastic response.

  “I told him if they didn’t correct the parts of the story that are untrue, they would face litigation for slander and defamation. Apparently some of it is true? I’m your lawyer. You need to tell me these things.”

  Groaning, I push back on my chair. “There was some inappropriate conduct between Marley and the CPA, but it was not assault.”

  “You need to let him go. A public parting of ways would go a long way—”

  “That’s not happening. Marley means more to me than this fucking bullshit.”

  David exhales long. “Well, if you continue to employ someone who is clearly a liability, you’ll keep me in paychecks.”

  “Congrats on the job security.”

  David chuckles. “I’m here if you need me.”

  “Thanks.” He’s here at $450 an hour.

  It’s a Saturday, and I’ve been in the office since the sun came up—busted hand, hangover, and all. Sandra has been screening my calls from realtors concerned about our clients, clients concerned about our realtors, media wanting more information.

  So far, our expansion seems to be intact. I was able to convince our new UAE guys the story is typical U.S. tabloid gossip—all hearsay from a disgruntled former employee trying to make us look bad. Those guys were all too familiar with such matters, and to my pleasant surprise, they were willing to take my word a retraction is in progress.

  That just leaves Hastings and Key.

  I’m sure Remi is back from Seattle by now, but I can’t tell if the story has legs. It’s possible, if I shut up and leave it alone… and stop calling publishers or punching assholes in the face… it might blow over.

  Leaning forward on my desk, I put my face in my hands. I’m tired, and the only thing I can think about is Rocky. Does she know about this? I haven’t heard from her since she walked out.

  I sent her one text this week, one night after a few drinks, and she never replied. Lifting my phone, I look at it now. None of this works without you.

  Shit, I cringe when I read it sober. I’m never that open with people.

  The strange thing is, I want to be that open with her. She made me want things that never appealed to me before. I don’t work without her. I don’t care about any of this. The expansion, proving myself, what good is it if I’m alone?

  “Jesus,” I hiss, rubbing my forehead. I’m going to lose my mind if I stay in this office one more minute.

  I’m about to walk out when my desk phone buzzes.

  I hit the button for Sandra to speak. “Your dad’s on Line 2.”

  Of course he is I’ve been waiting for this call all morning. “Thanks.” We disconnect, and I take a beat before hitting the button.

  “Patton here.”

  “What’s going on down there, son?” The condescending tone in his voice makes my skin crawl.

  “Oh, you know.” I make my voice casual in spite of it. “I had to let Jerry Buckingham go, and he made up a bunch of sh-stuff and told it to the press. Not even the press, it’s that crap NABI posts on the Internet.

  “That everybody reads. This is tacky, George. A sex scandal?”

  I’m pinching the bridge of my nose and counting to ten. “I’m handling it, dad. I just got off the phone with David. We’re going to get them to post a retraction.”

  “Which no one will read. Do you need me to call Hank? He and I go way back.”

  “David already called him.” I’m not about to say I called as well. “I appreciate the offer. You don’t have to worry.”

  He breathes deeply, letting me hear it on the receiver. “I’ll be keeping an eye on this.”

  “I really need to take this call.” It’s a lie. “Take care of yourself, Dad. We’ll talk soon.”

  I disconnect before he can get another word in, and I’m out of my chair, out of my door. “I’m walking to get some lunch. Want anything?”

  Sandra stands, pulling the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “I’ve got to pick up Ralph from the airport. If we’re all done here…” She raises an eyebrow, and I hold up my hands.

  “We’re done. Thanks for coming in on a Saturday. I can manage the remaining fires.” I hope.

  “Wanted to be sure I had a job to come back to on Monday.”

  “Right.” Nice vote of confidence. “Have a good weekend.”

  She hesitates at her desk as I keep going. “You know I remember how Marley was with that girl… Renée.” This makes me pause to hear her out. “It was the one time I thought he might be okay. He was calm with her. He talked to her. No pretense. She seemed to like him, too…”

  “Are you saying there’s a silver lining out there?”

  “If there is, it’s still a ways off.” She bends down, clicking her mouse to log off. “But I’m rooting for you.”

  Walking on the street helps me put everything in perspective. It’s a cool fall Saturday in Nashville, the tourists are out en masse, and my problems feel small by comparison. I’m a corporate guy in Music City.