Bryant didn’t call anyone on his flight back to New York. He sent Alessandro a text stating that he’d met with Nicolette and she was in no danger. Done.
He hit the gym hard that night, but it didn’t help him sleep. No matter how he’d felt, leaving had been the right thing to do. She was not only attracted to him, she was also vulnerable and alone. Another man might have used that to his advantage and probably fucked her.
Sex, like success, was easier when one didn’t give a shit how anyone else felt.
That wasn’t who Bryant was or how he wanted to live.
As he tossed and turned that night, he went over everything she’d told him. Tortured himself with every touch, every kiss, every time she’d smiled at him. He was far from ready to give up on her, but he’d also heard her.
She had things she needed to work on before she could move forward with anything else. It’s what he’d said to Alessandro—she needed a friend. He hadn’t meant to kiss her, to push her for more. When he was with her, it just happened.
He finally gave up and called her.
“Hello?” She picked up on the third ring in a groggy voice that told him he’d woken her. He looked at the digital clock beside his bed.
Midnight, even with the time difference. Shit. “You were sleeping.”
“People do that at night.”
She didn’t sound irritated, so that was something. “How did it go with Paisley?”
“I told her you had to return to New York. She didn’t ask why, and I didn’t offer more than that.”
“I should have spoken to her myself.”
“I appreciate that you didn’t. I don’t want to lie to her, but I also don’t want her to know that I’m not exactly the Westerly she thinks I am. She’s not dumb. She knows we know each other. It’s best to leave it at that.”
“What are your plans for tomorrow?”
She hesitated. “You’re really interested in this?”
“I am. If you want to share it with me.”
That question hung in the air. He held his breath, waiting, not at all sure her answer would be the one he hoped to hear. “I do.”
He closed his eyes and let her voice wash over him. She’d made plans to meet the Bakkers and the Smitses. At his prodding, she described her initial phone conversations with both and how she’d already started compiling a list of contacts she had who might be able to help her spread the word about both businesses.
She’d been right to ask him to leave. He could already hear her confidence building as she spoke about the ideas she had for the town.
“What about you?” she asked. “What are you working on? Is it something you’re excited about?”
The question was one women didn’t normally ask him. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t share much of his personal life with them. They had fun. They went out. They fucked. They made plans to see each other again. They didn’t ask him about work or how he felt about it.
“I am excited about my current project. The codes I’m writing today may become the basis for how machines care for people in the future. It’s easy to write a program that allows a machine to manipulate something in its space. We’re entering into an age of robotics, whether we want to or not. In our lifetimes we’ll see automated health care. What will it look like? Will it be intuitive as well as prescriptive? Will it value human dignity? I’m doing what I can to make sure it will.”
“Did you—did you take care of your mother when she was very ill?”
“I did, and it changed the way I look at everything. There’s so much in life we can’t control. I couldn’t cure her. I couldn’t make my father want to be at her side. But I could make sure she knew I cared, that she wasn’t alone. Robots will never replace the human element, but they will be there, filling in, taking care of those who have no one. It’s not possible for a robot to provide real comfort to the sick . . . yet.”
“Yet. That might be my favorite word now as well.”
He chuckled. “It’s a good word. You’ve got a big day tomorrow, so I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
“Bryant?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for coming to check on me. And thank you for leaving when I asked you to. I’m not used to people respecting what I say.”
“You should never settle for less than that from anyone. Respect is a complicated thing. Right after my mother died, I didn’t like much about myself or my life. I had ugly fights with my father, and we both said some hateful things to each other. I gave his opinion of me weight it didn’t deserve. I became pretty much the person he said I was. My friends deserted me. I started drinking heavily. I didn’t respect myself, and because of that I didn’t get a lot of respect from anyone else. Lon explained that to me one day, but not as nicely as I’m saying it now. Don’t let anyone disrespect you, Nicolette. Not your family. Not that voice in your head that wants to tell you you’re not good enough. No one.”
“Will you do me a favor, Bryant?”
“Anything.”
“Will you call me again tomorrow night?”
He promised he would and fell asleep with a smile on his face.
Early the next day, on the way to his office, Bryant had an epiphany. Some relationships weren’t fixable, but some were. When Bryant had been at his worst, Lon hadn’t just told him that things could be different—he’d shown him. He dragged Bryant out of the house to meet people and essentially forced him to start making connections again.
Sometimes people needed a nudge.
He texted Alessandro again, this time asking for Delinda Westerly’s phone number. He expected to field questions, but Alessandro merely sent the number. He could have flown up to Boston to meet her, but if he was right, Delinda was in need of a nudge as well.
She picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Mrs. Westerly, this is Bryant Taunton.”
The line was dead silent for a moment.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your call, Mr. Taunton?”
“There is something I’d like to discuss with you. I’m free this afternoon. Are you available to fly down to New York? If so, how does three o’clock sound? We could meet at my office.”
“Excuse me. I must have misheard you. Did you just suggest that I come to you?”
“I did.”
She made a sound akin to a gasp. “My dear man, I would not so much as walk to my door if I knew it was a Taunton knocking at it.”
“That’s a shame. It’ll definitely make this harder.”
“Make what harder? Choose your next words carefully, Mr. Taunton. I am not a woman to be trifled with.”
“Delinda. May I call you Delinda?”
“No.”
Ouch. As Alessandro had said, Nicolette and Delinda were similar in ways neither of them likely saw. Both stubborn. Both proud. One would need to bend. “I believe I know how to help you mend your relationship with Nicolette. I look forward to speaking with you about my idea.”
“This ridiculous conversation is over. Good day, Mr. Taunton.”
He said, “I’ll text you the address of my office.”
“Hell would need to freeze over before—”
“See you then. Oh, and feel free to bring your fiancé. I enjoyed speaking to him at the wedding.” With that, Bryant hung up and smiled.
Lon’s voice broke in from the doorway. “I didn’t expect to see you in the office today.”
“I didn’t expect to be here.”
“So it didn’t work out with the Westerly woman?”
“Something like that.”
Dropping into a chair in front of Bryant’s desk, Lon crossed his legs at his ankles. “Too bad. I know you liked her. Well, luckily you’re not short on alternatives. I might take the yacht out this weekend. You in? We could head over to Bermuda. Don’t you have a friend out there? Monique or something?”
“Monica.”
“She was hot. Might be just the thing to cheer you up.”
> “Thanks, but I have something I’m working on.”
“You do? What trumps Bermuda?” His eyebrows rose, then furrowed. “Not Iowa again.”
Bryant shrugged. There was no reason to deny it.
Lon tapped the side of his head with one finger. “What is it about this woman?”
Drumming his fingers on the table, Bryant ignored his friend’s sarcasm. “I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this before. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I’m here, but I can’t concentrate.”
“Hang on. I’m ready to diagnose. You’re suffering from a condition many men deal with on a regular basis—it’s called, ‘She said no.’ You haven’t encountered this before, so you don’t have the antibodies to fight it, but don’t worry—it’s curable. You just need to fuck someone new.”
“That’s always your suggestion.”
“It always works.”
“Not for me. Not this time.”
“Walk away, Bryant, while you still can.”
“Too late. Her grandmother will be here this afternoon, so don’t plan any meetings with me around three.”
Lon sat forward. “Hang on, who will be here?”
“Delinda Westerly.”
“Here. She’s coming here? To our office?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I asked her to.”
“And just like that, she agreed to fly down?”
“Not exactly.”
“What did she say?”
“Something about hell freezing over first.”
“Um, that’s a no, man.” He rolled his eyes skyward.
“She’ll be here. I’m following my gut on this one. When am I ever wrong when I do that, Lon?”
“You’re playing with fire, Bryant. All joking aside, you piss Grandma Westerly off, she won’t hesitate to destroy you and our company. I know this Nicolette woman has you by the dick, but you’re not thinking straight.”
“All I’m doing is helping Nicolette reconcile with her family.”
“Is this payback for that time I had your secretary move your car every day to make you doubt your sanity? Because that shit was harmless. This is serious. Are you fucking with me or having a breakdown?”
“Relax, Lon. I know what I’m doing.”
“Because you’re a relationship guru? How often do you speak to your own father?”
That took a little of the wind out of Bryant’s sails. “This is different.”
“Is it? Family sucks, Bryant. Your family. My family. That family for sure. If you think she doesn’t like you now, wait until she finds out you’re meddling in her shit. There are some things you just don’t do.” Lon stood.
“We’ll have to agree to disagree.”
“Will we?” Lon took out his phone and sent off a text. “I just asked your father if he’d meet us for dinner.”
Bryant surged to his feet. “Why the hell would you do that?”
“So you can reconcile with him,” Lon said, his voice thick with sarcasm. He waved a hand over his shoulder as he walked out of the office. “Not grateful? Your girlfriend, a.k.a. the woman who will probably take out a restraining order on you right before her family comes for us, won’t be, either.”
Chapter Eight
Nicolette and Paisley took up a booth in Lily’s Breakfast Nook with two bananas buried beneath an obscene amount of ice cream and toppings. They had spent the morning together, visiting with business owners on Main Street. The toy-making Bakkers had taken careful notes as Nicolette shared the ideas she had for promoting their store. The furniture-producing Smitses had welcomed her ideas as well, but they were a laid-back clan who were quick to crack a joke. Both families seemed to adore Paisley, giving Nicolette the impression that Paisley was the main reason she was being welcomed so warmly to the town.
Although Paisley’s parents were no longer living, people Nicolette met throughout the day mentioned them and the kind acts they’d done. For many of those whose children had moved away, Paisley seemed to have taken on that role. They nagged her about not going to see them enough, asked her when she was going to settle down so they could have babies to dote on . . . all the things Nicolette imagined normal families did.
That was what the town felt like to Nicolette—a family. No wonder Paisley was fighting to save it.
MacAuley was home to her.
Watching Paisley was a humbling experience. She’d lost both of her parents but hadn’t let that break her. MacAuley was slowly being strangled by a lack of opportunity, but she didn’t lose faith in it.
Nicolette remembered a time when her life had felt that unshakable. No matter how bad a day she had at school, she knew Rachelle and Spencer would have her back. A kiss on the forehead from her mother magically soothed most wounds. Her stepfather was just a man her mother had fallen in love with after divorcing her father.
How had they moved so far away from that? Was there any way back?
Nicolette looked across at Paisley. If we’re going to be friends, she deserves the truth. “Paisley, Bryant didn’t come here to check out the abandoned factory.”
Without looking up, Paisley stirred two flavors together with a spoon. “I guessed that as soon as I saw the way he looked at you.”
Nicolette’s cheeks warmed. “I felt awful that you’d had your hopes raised like that, but I didn’t know how to tell you the truth.”
Paisley looked up and gave Nicolette a sad smile. “Did you break up?”
“We were never a couple.” Nicolette choked on the words. She told herself she was being ridiculous. She’d made the right decision.
“Oh, but Shelby said—” Paisley stopped, covered her mouth, then smiled sheepishly. “Small town.”
Wow, I guess so. “No. I hardly know him.”
“Really? Because when he left, you looked . . .” Paisley’s voice trailed off. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
Nicolette filled her mouth with enough ice cream to instantly give her a headache, groaned, rubbed her head, put her spoon down, and took a deep breath.
Paisley reminded Nicolette of the friends she’d walked away from when she’d left her hometown. She’d thought they’d changed once they found out her family was rich, but sitting with someone as genuine as Paisley made Nicolette wonder if the fault hadn’t been hers.
When Spencer had first found out that Dereck wasn’t his father, Nicolette had gone into an angry tailspin. She’d expected her friends to stick by her even as she’d spun out of control. Did I drive them away because I was afraid they’d leave me, too?
Did I do the same to Bryant?
His words from the night before came back to her. “I didn’t respect myself, and because of that, I didn’t get a lot of respect from anyone else.” Bryant understood her almost better than she understood herself. Because he’s walked this path?
He’s looked in the mirror and hated the person looking back at him.
Nicolette didn’t respect herself. She was untalented, scattered, self-destructive. Not good enough to be a Westerly.
She remembered a word she’d used to describe herself to Bryant—unlovable.
How did the voice in my head get so cruel?
Paisley was humble, but she didn’t put herself down. Maybe liking myself starts with being honest about who I am—embracing the good and the bad. “Paisley, I’m not who you think I am.”
Paisley’s eyes rounded. “You’re not Nicolette Westerly?”
“No, I am. I’m just not rich.”
“But I thought—aren’t you—how—”
“I literally have fifty dollars to my name. Well, forty after this.”
Placing her spoon beside her bowl, Paisley leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I thought you were related to the Boston Westerlys. The famous ones.”
“I am. I think. But maybe not. I don’t know what I am anymore. It’s complicated. If I misled you about my relationship with them, I was wrong.”
“Are you saying you’re
not a photographer, either? That those weren’t your photos I saw in the museum?”
“No, those were mine.”
“How about the website you promised to make? Are you saying you can’t do it?”
“No, I can. I do know how to build a social media platform.”
Paisley tipped her head to the side. “So what’s the problem?”
“I thought . . .”
With a shrug and a smile, Paisley said, “That anyone cares how much money you do or don’t have? Look around. We’re all just scraping by. You came, Nicolette. Yes, I asked you because I thought it might help if you were someone famous, but you’re the only one who cared enough to try to help at all. That’s what matters.”
Nicolette sat back, feeling a weight lift. She saw me—me—and stayed.
Paisley, I’m going to save this town for you.
“I have so many ideas already about what we can do to bring in tourism. I’m going to start making phone calls this afternoon. Before you know it, this restaurant will be full. You may miss the peace and quiet.”
“You really think so?”
“I do. If you want, I can show you how to design your own website. You’ll want one for your bed-and-breakfast, too.”
Paisley chewed her bottom lip. “Now that I know you’re broke, I feel bad about not paying you.”
“Don’t. All of my gigs so far have been volunteer. I always find a way to support myself.” She looked around. The old her would have waited tables and been proud of the paycheck she took home, no matter how small. Independent, determined, with a passion for capturing the essence of a moment in a photo—that’s how she used to describe herself. I’m not afraid of a hard day’s work, and I love taking pictures. That’s who I am. “Do you think they need waitstaff?”
Paisley wrinkled her nose. “I know they do. You won’t make much. That’s why they can’t keep anyone.”
“I don’t need much.”
“Then I’ll talk to Lily for you. I’m sure she’ll hire you.”
“There really is a Lily? I didn’t think there would be. So the woman I saw in the kitchen . . .”
“Yep. Lily. I would have introduced you, but she was baking, which is why we served ourselves. Every generation of their family has had a girl so far that they named Lily, and she always took over the restaurant. Unless something changes, that will end soon, too. The youngest Lily is off at college, but she says she’s not coming back. Her mother died giving birth to her. People think Iowa’s greatest export is corn or pork—it’s our college-educated kids. Can’t blame them, I guess. They have to go where the opportunity is.”
Runaway Heir Page 12
