Then There Was You: New York Times Best Selling Author

by Claire Contreras

  “Do you think he saw anything yesterday?” I asked.

  “I think if he had seen anything, I would have a black eye right now.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Please.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret doing it, but I don’t want to hurt him.”

  I agreed with that. We went inside and headed our separate ways. I took a moment outside of the closed office, debating between knocking and just walking in. I wasn’t sure. I decided to knock. The door opened as if he’d been waiting for me. I opened my mouth to say just that when I saw Camryn standing there smiling. Her red lipstick was smeared. My stomach churned at the sight.

  “Tessa, it’s so nice to see you,” she said, all cheerful. “I’m so glad you’re helping Rowan these next couple of weeks. He’s always so exhausted and—”

  “Camryn,” Rowan interrupted. “You can go now.”

  She shot him a glare. “Of course. I’ll see you later.” She smiled widely at me, and I watched as she sauntered away. Red was the only color my spotty vision would allow me to see as I shut the door behind her.

  I didn’t even look at Rowan as I sat and fired up my computer. My heart would shatter if I did. Seeing Camryn, her smeared lipstick, was enough to tell me that Rowan wasn’t nearly as single as he claimed to be. It made me realize that things with him were a double-edged sword, regardless of when they began and ended or at which point in our lives we met up. As long as she was in the picture, there was no room for me. Before, I’d taken the couch and made room for myself. At this stage in my life, I didn’t want the couch. I wanted the king-size bed. I wanted the assurances that it would be me, only me. And if I were being one hundred percent honest with myself, I didn’t want that either. I was terrified to be on the bed. At least the couch gave me an easy exit.

  I dove into the phone calls, placing them in rapid fire, boom, boom, boom, never once looking up to acknowledge him behind me. He didn’t speak to me, either, and I was grateful that he was in one of his moods. The only time I saw him was when he left the office for his morning meeting, but I avoided looking at him when he came back. I even went as far as holding my breath when he walked by. I reminded myself that I had an apprenticeship I needed to choose and report to soon. That was what I needed to dedicate my life to. Not scary would-be feelings for a man who didn’t have it in him to fully reciprocate them.

  I was lounging on my bed and made a pros and cons list for the New York company and Paris company. So far, New York was winning. Language and proximity to the majority of my family were the biggest factors. Celia was in London, but only temporarily, and Mom lived in France, but not close enough to Paris that I could stay with her. The thought of seeing her with a guy my age crossed my mind, and I shivered. My phone vibrated on my nightstand, making me sit up tall as I reached for it. I swiped the screen and read a text from Sam. Party canceled. Relief flooded through me.

  Me: I don’t want to say I’m relieved, but . . .

  Sam: Thought you’d say that

  Me: Srsly though, why cancel?

  Sam: Something about letting employees know via email. They wanna meet with me and Ro instead.

  Me: Prob should have done that to begin with.

  When I didn’t see any little dots that signaled him typing back, I set my phone down and turned back to my list. The moment my pen hit the paper again, my phone started vibrating. I exhaled and lifted the phone to my ear, thinking it would be Sam again, except it was Freddie’s voice I heard.

  “Freddie?” My heart stopped. My brother never called me out of the blue.

  “I need a favor.”

  “Oh.” I paused, a sense of gratitude spread through me in knowing it was nothing serious but was immediately replaced with irritation. “You haven’t even asked me how I’m doing. How are you? How’s the job? How many men have you tortured today?”

  “Two,” he said without skipping a beat. I paused, gaping even though he couldn’t see me.

  “Seriously?”

  I felt my eyes widen. My brother never, ever divulged information about his work with The Company. That’s what he called his place of employment. I thought not re-enlisting in the military meant no more scary shit, but from what we’d heard about The Company, that didn’t seem to be the case. They were constantly changing their identities in order to catch fugitives, that’s what we’d gathered from the breadcrumbs Freddie fed us when we saw him.

  “You asked.”

  “Jesus.” I exhaled. “Were they bad people?”

  “Aren’t we all?” he said with a humorless chuckle. A chill ran down my spine.

  “What’s the favor?”

  “Remember the little gallery on Main? I need you to go to an exhibition they’re having. My paintings are featured, and I want you to tell me what prices are being offered.”

  “Isn’t that gallery super exclusive?” I smiled. “That’s a pretty big deal, Freddie.”

  “Yeah. I wanted to be there, but duty calls.” The disappointment in his voice tugged at my heart.

  “I’ll be there and FaceTime you so you can experience it with me.”

  He chuckled. “They won’t let you FaceTime in there. Just keep me posted.”

  Six hours later, I was walking into the gallery, making good on my promise.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rowan

  Sometimes life gives you lemons, but other times, it dumps buckets of shit over your head. It wasn’t only my brother, me, and our parents in the meeting. My grandparents were sitting in as well. Ultimately, that was the kicker. At least we could argue with our parents. Sam and I wouldn’t dare talk back to our grandparents, though. Hell, Dad didn’t even have the guts to do that. Samson was staring at Grandpa Pete in complete and utter disbelief as he continued his rant about how irresponsible and unreliable our parents were.

  “They had one job and that was to be the face of the company. The face,” Grandpa Pete said, raising his voice, “Not even the brains! And look where this got us. We’ve built a family company around two frauds.”

  “People get a divorce all the time, Pete,” Mom said, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it.

  “Divorce doesn’t belong in Hawthorne Industries. Not if you’re the face of the company.”

  “Dad—“ My own Dad started. Grandpa shot him a look that made him hold his words, then looked over at me.

  “You want this company? This is your shot at it. I already agreed to pay your parents a lump sum. If you want it, you need to find yourself a wife, someone you can boss around if need be. That’s the clause in the contract,” he said sternly. “I don’t want to hear any hoopla about it. You either want this or you don’t, which is it?”

  “I want it.” My voice was steady.

  I’d practiced this scene over and over in my head growing up, the day they’d finally let me take the rein of the company. The day they’d finally let me lead. I hadn’t planned on it being surrounding something like marriage, but if that’s what it took I’d have to focus and convince myself to do it. I met my father’s gaze. He didn’t look happy. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was being kicked out of the seat or because I would soon be filling it. He tilted his head as if to say, what’s the matter? Isn’t this what you’ve been asking for? More responsibility, more independence, more of a say in the company. More, more, more. My mother looked uncomfortable, as if finally realizing after all of these years just how much of a burden their expectations were to us.

  “So, you’re saying you’ll give us the States, South America, and Europe accounts if we get married,” Sam said, his voice hoarse.

  “Only one of you has to marry,” Dad clarified. “That’s how it worked with me and Joe.”

  Grandpa scoffed. “The firstborn has to do it and you know it. Unless he’s not up for the challenge.”

  “I never said I wasn’t,” I argued at the suspicious look Grandpa gave me. “It goes against everything I believe in, but I’m up for the challenge.”

  “Eve
rything you believe in?” Grandpa let out a tense laugh. “It’s marriage, not an abortion. You don’t need a moral compass to do it.”

  “No, I suppose we don’t need a moral compass at all,” I said flippantly. Mom turned bright red. Dad’s eyes narrowed.

  “Marriage is a contract, just like any other,” Dad responded.

  “Stay out of this.” My grandfather’s words thundered in the silent room. “You’ve already shown you don’t have a backbone.”

  I glanced at Samson. We had a wordless conversation that we hadn’t had in years.

  What the fuck is going on?

  Our parents are insane.

  What do we do?

  Don’t worry. I got this under control.

  “Do you want the company or not?” Grandpa Pete pushed.

  I held back a groan. “I just want to work.”

  “You were groomed for this,” Dad reminded me, a hint of warning in his voice. My heart beat harder.

  “I want it,” I said finally.

  I folded my napkin and put it on the table, leaning back. My grandmother, who hadn’t gotten a word in before, finally spoke in that soft voice of hers, telling us how important this was to our company and our brand. Ultimately that was all we were to them – a brand. A place that hardworking families felt comfortable going to for fabrics and manufacturing. They wouldn’t change their mind about that and if I wanted the company, which I did, I’d make a change in it down the line. I’d expand it, make money, and the moment I could, I’d buy it from them. In order to do that, I just had to do this one thing. One massive thing.

  I’d never hated the fact that my grandparents started the company because ultimately without them there would be nothing. What bothered me was that they were the type of people who gave you things conditionally. Their love was conditional. Their support was conditional. Our roles in the company that was centralized in family was conditional. Hawthorne Industries was tied up to them and my parents hadn’t done anything to separate themselves from their ideals. They’d signed their contracts and pulled us all into a hole right along with them. It was the first thing I was looking forward to doing once the company was in my hands. I’d buy them out and make new contracts.

  “Maybe you and Camryn can stop playing games and make it official,” Mom said.

  I sputtered my water. “Mom. Please.”

  “If anyone can handle a marriage for convenience, it’s her.”

  “I don’t want to think about marriage of any kind.”

  “It isn’t up to you,” Dad cut in, dismissing my statement. “You heard your grandfather. If you want the company, you need to do this. End of discussion.”

  Grandpa stood up, my grandmother followed. She smiled at me, while he took my hand in a firm handshake. “You have five days.”

  They walked out, Dad said goodbye and walked out after them, and Sam, my mom, and I stayed there with blank stares on our faces.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Camryn or her mother screwed him,” Mom said, breaking the silence. “It doesn’t matter. He was a lousy lay anyway.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “A part of me is glad that you’re opening up even though you’re two and a half decades late, but can we please not talk about that?”

  “You’re right.” She nodded stiffly and looked away. When she looked at me again, she leveled me with a serious stare. “This is one thing your father and I agree on, you know?”

  “I can see that.”

  “I think it’s stupid,” Sam said.

  “It’s what needs to be done,” Mom said.

  “How are you okay with this?” I asked.

  “I just don’t understand why that part of the contract can’t be changed,” Sam argued. “It isn’t the nineteen twenties.”

  “We didn’t sign our contract in the twenties,” Mom said.

  “Still, that was a long time ago. Times have changed,” Sam said.

  “You’re right,” she responded. “We have a board of directors now, and they all agreed to those terms.”

  I scoffed. “A board of directors you should have bought out years ago.”

  “You knew this was what was expected, Rowan. This isn’t news to you.”

  “I thought you’d change your mind. I don’t know. Have a change of heart. Tell the board to go fuck themselves.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t.”

  I sat back in my chair, rocking it back on two legs. Mom stood and gathered her purse. She looked at Sam. “I want to get lunch with you before I leave next week.”

  “Okay.”

  She looked at me. “With both of you. At the same time. In the same room, eating the same meal, sitting at the same table.”

  “That’s fine, Mom.”

  “I’ll wait for you outside, Rowan.” She walked out and shut the door behind her. I groaned, remembering I promised to take her to her favorite little restaurant down the street.

  “And then there were two,” Sam said. I felt my lip twitch. “I know we don’t talk like we used to and we have a lot of shit to get through before we get back to a good place,” he said, “but I think you should consider the marriage thing. It can be a fake marriage, just for documents. Hire someone or something.”

  The thought of marriage made my chest burn. I’d fail at it, and I wasn’t the kind of person who accepted failure lightly, but maybe if it was fake . . . maybe.

  “Why don’t you do it?”

  “Because I have no interest in taking over those accounts. Do I want to be a part of it creatively? Fuck yes, but as far as becoming the next CEO, that’s your dream, not mine. Besides, dad groomed you for this. It’s why they’re insisting so much.”

  “You know how I feel about marriage.”

  “Same way I do.” He shrugged. “Like Dad said, it’s a contract. Contracts can be broken.”

  “I’ll think about it.” I stood and walked to the door, my steps slowing as I reached it. Regardless of what was happening in my life, I realized one thing: my brother and I were truly in this together. He was getting burned as badly as I was. He didn’t deserve to be pushed further into the fire alone. My throat ached as I turned and looked at him. “You want to join us for dinner?”

  “What do you think about staying here and raiding dad’s liquor cabinet for old time’s sake?”

  I chuckled. “That actually sounds like a great idea. I’ll call Mom and ask her if she wants to bring back food and join us. Kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Let’s do it.” He stood up and walked over to dad’s office while I made the call.

  Two gin and tonics later, we were back to the sore subject of the marriage contract.

  “Your father and I were married under similar circumstances. I would’ve married him without the pretenses, to be honest. I always wanted to marry him,” Mom said, lifting her glass of scotch to her lips. My brother and I exhaled simultaneously.

  “That doesn’t make us feel any better.” He reached for the polenta fries between us.

  “We had both of you.”

  “We were a chore,” Sam said.

  “You were never a chore,” she said, placing a hand on her chest as if his words had hurt her.

  “Please,” I said. “We heard that countless times coming from both of you. You don’t have to pretend. It’s fine.”

  “Children put a strain on a marriage,” she said. “I loved your father. Still love him. Not that it’s ever going to be enough for him.”

  “You’re the reason we never want to get married,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow. “Think about that.”

  “You may find a nice girl and change your mind,” she said. I wanted to gouge my eyes out with my fork with all of the marriage talk.

  “Fat chance,” Sam responded.

  “Tessa’s a nice girl,” Mom said. I reached for some bruschetta and stuffed it in my mouth. Why was I suddenly feeling like I was being ambushed? The memory of my brother kissing Tessa by the pool came flooding back. I tried breathing thr
ough it. They were together. They were allowed to kiss. They were allowed to do . . . I couldn’t. I reached for my glass, but the words flew out of my mouth before I could even bring the glass to my lips.

  “You’re not marrying Tessa.”

  “I never said I was,” Sam said.

  “But if he wanted to . . . “ Mom started.

  “Tessa’s been through enough because of this family.” My voice was hard and non-negotiable, and I could only hope they’d buy into that excuse because I had no idea which other one to provide.

  “I’m not going to marry her,” Sam said with finality in his voice. I squeezed my glass tighter. Why was this happening and why was I so damn upset over it? I tuned out the rest of their conversation and ate the rest of my meal.

  “Your grandparents want us to have nothing to do with the front of the company. They claim that we’ve made bad business decisions. Them pushing this is their way to try to save the company’s image,” Mom said, which had me glancing up. I’d missed a lot while tuning them out. My eyes shot to Sam, who looked as if he had no idea what to do when faced with an emotional female.

  “Mom, just enjoy dinner,” I said. “Let’s not talk about Dad or affairs or divorce right now please.” I glanced at Sam and mouthed, Take her drink away.

  It seemed like alcohol only fueled her angry, sad, chaotic state. We sat there, waiting for her to breathe and get her shit together, and I wondered how often she did this in London.

  “You’re saying this is why one of us needs to get married?” Sam asked. “So that the company can keep its wholesome, family-owned appearance?”

  “Yes.”

  I rolled my eyes. “We live in a world where single CEOs are the norm, both male and female. Anyone can be anything. It’s a wonderful time to be alive.”

  “Not at Hawthorne Fabrics,” she said, her voice firm, her eyes narrowed. “We are a family-first company. We are a unit, regardless of what’s happening right now.”