by Staci Hart
Catherine operated her business by way of fear and intimidation, but when it came to those she loved, her love and sacrifice knew no bounds. She would do anything to protect those few who made it into her heart. And Evelyn Bower was one of the most important, which explained a thing or two. Just not everything.
“I don’t remember the Bennets having anything to do with Evelyn’s mismanagement of her company.”
She rested her palms on the surface of my desk and leaned in with a menacing look on her face. “Well, they did. And now you have one of them here, in my building, while Evelyn rots away in jail.”
I could have laughed—I very seriously doubted a millionaire was rotting anywhere, even prison.
“Aunt Catherine, I’m not sure what you’d have me do.” Or what I was willing to do. “Laney is the only marketing consultant at their shop, and the client requested she be a part of the team.” When she didn’t look swayed, I reminded her, “This is a five-million-dollar account. I cannot remove her from the team against the client’s wishes.”
“Then convince them that she’s a nuisance. Get her fired, if you can manage it.”
At that, I did laugh. “You can’t be serious. You want me to ruin the life of a talented woman because you believe her family wronged Evelyn Bower? An event that not only seems solely the responsibility of Evelyn, but one that has nothing to do with us?”
Gears clicking behind her furious eyes, calculating my words. The answer she reached displeased her.
She stood. Lifted her chin, putting her nose substantially higher in the air. But she smiled, her voice somehow both placating and dictatorial. “Yes, of course. You’re right. I have always admired your integrity, my darling—it is one of the noblest markers of your character. You know me well enough to understand my unhappiness. But there’s more than one way to skin a cat, they say. Now if you’ll excuse me …”
My brows flicked together with uncertainty—would she take matters into her own hands?—but I brushed the thought away. She wouldn’t jeopardize our standing. “I can’t imagine you came to see me without purpose.”
Caught, she corrected herself. “I wanted a briefing on this account and your progress, but we’ll do that another time. Let’s have dinner. Bring my sweet Georgiana. Friday, eight o’clock.”
“Of course. I’ll let her know.”
“Please do, and we’ll discuss it all then. Goodbye, dear,” she said with all the warmth of a marble statue.
I watched her go, wondering if this was the last I’d hear of it. And I found myself certain it wouldn’t be.
LANEY
Everything about that was weird, I thought as I walked back to my cubicle.
I’d expected to thank Darcy, endure an awkward exchange, and leave. Instead, I’d maintained a genuine smile, heard Liam Darcy laugh, and then he’d caught me when I stumbled—a gesture I could still feel the hot remnants of. As if his fingertips had marked me.
And as if that wasn’t confusing enough, his aunt had happened.
I liked to think I generally gave a good first impression, but Catherine de Bourgh was very clearly unimpressed by the likes of me. On discovering she knew my mother, I found a little clarity when it came to her disdain, but the vitriol in Catherine’s body language and tone were unmistakable. Granted, I also knew she was impossible to please, and most people were low-key afraid of her, so I told myself not to take it personally.
But when I stepped into my cubicle, I caught sight of her leaving Darcy’s office. She’d already seen me, and with every step, the glowing coals that were her eyes singed and smoked with contempt for me. When she disappeared into the elevator well, the temperature returned to a comfortable range.
I sat, opening my laptop with a frown on my face. Curiosity piqued—what on earth had my mother done to Catherine de Bourgh that had her so twisted? But I squelched the thought. Truth was, I didn’t want to know. In fact, that knowledge might be a liability—at least this way, I had plausible deniability.
Within a few minutes at my computer, I slipped into the stream of creation, going over the designs we were working on for the internal review—a print material spread, signage, ads. But I didn’t get far.
“Hey,” a cheerful voice said from behind me.
I swiveled my chair, finding a smile for Georgie. It was automatic when in the presence of someone so radiant.
“Just wanted to check in,” she continued. “Making progress?”
“We are. Check this out.” I opened up a couple of designs. “We have our taglines, and the write-up is almost finished. We’re just working on mock-ups, but here’s our palette, font hierarchy, and an aesthetic overview.”
“I really like it, Laney.”
“More than Liam’s?”
“Nice try,” she teased. “Did you just meet with him?”
“I did,” I answered with a note of wonder in my voice. “He was surprisingly amiable. Your aunt, however, was not.”
“I don’t think there’s a single person on the planet besides Liam and I who would consider her hospitable, so I wouldn’t take it to heart.”
“She knows my mother, so you might be wrong. I love Mom, but the society women she’s acquainted with don’t usually have a favorable opinion of her.” At Georgie’s confused expression, I added, “It’s a class thing. That, and Mom is notoriously oblivious. Most of the time, she doesn’t even realize they dislike her.”
Her brow furrowed. “Well, I hope it’s not that. But I am glad my brother was on his good behavior. Look at you two, getting along.”
“He’s much more enjoyable when his hackles are down.”
Georgie sighed her understanding. “It’s a rare glimpse behind the curtain. The man beneath the exterior Liam chooses to show the world is not who you think. He gives all of himself to what he loves, but … well, he’s a roaring lion with a thorn in his paw.”
“And you’re the mouse who pulls it out?”
“There’s no getting rid of it, only edging close enough to soothe him. To remind him everything is going to be all right. But to get that close, you have to earn his trust, and that is no small task. Few have risked it—fewer have made it all the way through. I’m sure I’m only in by default of genetics. But once you find your way into his graces, he gives everything of himself without question or thought.”
I took a moment to choose my next words. “But hasn’t he hurt you?”
A chuckle. “Sure—he’s still human. But he’s never done anything but try to protect me.”
“What about Wyatt?”
The tightening of her features was almost imperceptible. “Wyatt wasn’t Liam’s fault. I was hurt, yes. But not by my brother. I guess Wyatt told you what happened?”
I nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was for the best.”
“Do you really feel that way though? Liam went so far to stop you. To get between you and what you wanted. It didn’t even happen to me and I’m furious.”
She watched me for a beat. “Liam and Wyatt didn’t end on good terms, and I’m sure Wyatt didn’t have anything charitable to say about my brother. But sometimes—especially when it comes to who we trust with our hearts—we can’t see the truth of the circumstance until someone we love is brave enough to point out what we missed. That was all it was.”
“If someone tried to interfere with my relationship the way he did with you, I would have done the opposite out of spite.”
She chuckled. “Oh, I’ve defied him plenty. But this time, he really was right. Please, don’t be angry on my account. If I’m not upset, it stands to reason that you shouldn’t be either.”
The truth of that statement sank in slowly, like water on soil so dry, it sat on top of the dirt, unsure what to do with itself. Georgie had not only let it go, but endorsed Liam’s interference. It made me question the why of it, the reason Wyatt had been villainized and Darcy praised. One of them was lying—either Darcy had lied to his sister or Wyatt had lied to me. But even th
ough I couldn’t see Wyatt lying to me, I trusted Georgie, and even though I still thought Liam was an overbearing asshole, she was right. Being mad on her behalf was virtually pointless.
But the conversation struck me—I’d heard half the story from Wyatt, but I’d be willing to bet Georgie had a very different recount of what’d happened, and Liam would have yet another.
In the end, Georgie had forgiven Liam, and I probably should too. For that transgression, at least.
“I can’t really argue that logic, which is impressive. I can usually argue any logic,” I said with a smile. “Is it weird that I’ve been hanging out with Wyatt?”
At that, she offered a gentle smile, but something was hidden behind it. “No. Just because Wyatt and I didn’t work out doesn’t mean I don’t want him to be healthy and happy. But if I’ve learned one thing in life, it’s to make sure those you trust have earned it.”
Something about the way she said it sent a tingling warning whisper down my spine that I didn’t understand. So I widened my smile and changed the subject.
“Fair enough. Now I just need you to spy on Liam for me so I can beat him, and we’ll be all set on the subject of your brother.”
That earned me a laugh as she turned to go. “If I didn’t have to live with him, I just might help you. But alas.”
“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
One of our designers interrupted with a question for Georgie, and they walked away, leaving me with my thoughts, which were a jumble.
I’d thought things were black and white.
Darcy, bad. Wyatt, good.
Me, right. Darcy, wrong.
The truth was more complicated than that. It was a web of half-truths and perception, indecipherable as an outsider.
But I couldn’t see to stop trying.
15
Depends On the Stakes
LIAM
A few days passed, bringing us to the end of the week and the promise of the weekend. Georgie and I had plans for dinner at Catherine’s, but today would be about preparation for next week, when we’d present to Georgie and the other team for a review.
My team meeting had just broken, and excitement crackled in the air—we were going to win. Even not knowing what Laney had in store, we were convinced. But as I exited the conference room and caught a glimpse of Laney at her cubicle, I decided to find out for sure.
Laptop under my arm, I crossed the space to her, feeling the eyes of the other designers on me as I passed. She looked up, smiling when I stopped in front of her.
“How did your meeting go?” she asked. “Are you scrambling yet?”
“Not at all. The team’s pretty sure we’ve got this in the bag.”
“Oh, are they? I hope they won’t be too disappointed.”
I chuckled. “I thought we might discuss just that. It’s not a competition if you don’t know what you’re up against. Want to compare? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
At that, a laugh bubbled out of her. “How do I know you won’t steal my ideas?”
I leaned on the temporary wall and felt a smirk on my face. “You already know this is mine to lose.”
A blush and a chuckle. “All right. You’re on.”
“Grab your laptop and follow me.”
When she had her computer and was at my side, I turned for my office.
Again, eyes followed us.
Nothing to see here. She’d rather set herself on fire than entertain the thought of me, you’ve all seen it.
I wondered briefly if I was convincing them or myself.
At my office, I opened the door and held it for her. Once we were inside, it closed on its hydraulic hinge, closing with a snick. We were left alone, the silence heavy. I should have thought to prop it open, but to turn around and open it now would have given too much away—I couldn’t let her know how she affected me.
She wandered to the windows overlooking the city as I walked to my drafting table, lowering it to level.
“What a view,” she said with a touch of wonder in her voice.
When I looked to the sound, I was struck still. The shape of her body carved the span of the bright, sparkling city. The sun hit her at such an angle, she was cast in shadow, the light a gentle halo softening the line of her silhouette, illuminating the very edge of her hair, her skin, the dark fabric of her skirt. I longed to learn the shape of her, to commit it to memory where I could recall it for admiration when she was gone.
“Yes, quite a view,” I said, hearing a touch of yearning in my voice. Before she could respond, I gave her my back, making myself busy with my computer. “Did you miss it? New York?”
“You have no idea,” she said from behind me. “I think I would have taken any excuse to leave Dallas, if I’m being honest. But helping out at Longbourne is always worth it. I couldn’t let them try to manage social media on their own—the thought of my brothers on Instagram gives me nightmares.”
I chuckled. “Why didn’t you stay with them? Why leave for the bookstore?”
Her approach was quiet, but I heard her all the same. “I ask myself that a lot, more lately.” She paused, seeming to gather her thoughts as she approached. “I’m sure you understand familial pressures, this being part of yours.”
“I do.”
“Well, it’s always sort of felt like a cage.” She set her computer on the table and opened it, avoiding my eyes as I watched her. “I don’t know if you know this, but I don’t particularly like being told what to do.”
“I think I might have caught that.”
“Do you ever feel that way?” she asked, turning to me. “That all of this is stifling?”
“Never,” I admitted. “The opposite, in fact. It’s made my choices very simple.”
“You’ve never questioned it? Never wanted something else? Something not-this?”
“This is all I’ve ever known,” I said simply.
Laney watched me quietly for a moment. “I wish I had that devotion.”
“You sound devoted. I know what you did for your family, and you’ve admitted how easy it was for you to come home.”
“I love them, and I’m devoted to them, yes. But I’m afraid committing to the company would be a little death. That it would take away the last of my autonomy.”
“What if it fulfilled you instead? Without committing, you’ll never know.”
Recognition flashed behind her eyes, and I saw her instant shift into levity to close the door when I’d gotten to too close to the point. “Pardon me, but are you trying to talk me into quitting?”
“Could I convince you of anything you didn’t want to do?”
“Probably not,” she answered with a smile, turning back to her computer and effectively ending that line of conversation.
“Do you have your presentation in slides yet?” I asked.
“Not yet,” she answered, digging through her files. “One of my people are working on it today.”
“Your people?” I gave her an amused, sidelong look.
“You gave them to me, didn’t you?” she challenged. “I think they like me better, if I’m being honest.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it. But my job isn’t to make them like me—it’s to get results. Who says we have to be friends to do that? Seems that would only blur the lines, not motivate them.”
“So personal relationships don’t matter with your team?”
The question was posed as a trap I only had a glimpse of.
I frowned. “Why would it?”
“You don’t believe they need any investment beyond the directive of their jobs?”
“What’s your point?”
Smiling, she shrugged. “Consider your sister. Don’t you work harder for her—and vice versa—because of your personal investment?”
My frown deepened. “That’s different.”
One of her brows rose. “Is it? Our personal investment drove us to this.” She gestured to our laptop screens. “Even if that in
vestment was largely spite.”
A chuckle. “I’m more likely to motivate my team from spite than love. But really all I ask for is respect.”
“That’s fair. But it wouldn’t hurt to try.”
“What do you suggest? Parcheesi nights?”
“I was thinking Charades. Pictionary, maybe,” she joked, turning to her screen to pull up composites. She paused and gave me a look. “Are you really going to show me yours, or is this some elaborate scheme to just see mine?”
I brought my fingers to my touchpad to do just that, thankful for an excuse to divert my eyes. “I’m incapable of cheating.”
“Under any circumstance? Regardless of the stakes? I find that hard to believe.”
“Have I ever given you a reason to think me dishonest?”
She was silent long enough that I chanced a look at her.
“I suppose you haven’t. But under the right kind of pressure, everyone is capable. Like when someone you love is on the line.”
Georgie. She’s talking about Georgie and Wickham. Did he tell her what he did? Or did he lie?
“So you admit that you’d cheat?” I asked, deflecting. “As brutally honest as you are with your feelings, subterfuge seems out of your skillset.”
She rolled her eyes, but wore a small smile. “Well, Mr. Darcy, you inspire a particular frankness I can’t seem to hold back.”
“Likewise, Miss Bennet.” I stepped back, gesturing for her to take my place at my computer. When she did, I stepped up to hers and paused, surprised.
It was a sweeping campaign with a fill-in-the-blank tagline that was so versatile, it worked for every instance of marketing, including her precious parties. She’d built out campaign sets for each direction in a palette that was both soft and bold—a tonal spread of earthy pinks and creams and oranges, touched with accents of teal for contrast. She’d also built knockout options for the male-directed ads, flipping the palette around to focus on the teals and emerald greens.
