As I pull into Main Street, my phone rings. It’s Ben.
“Yeah?” I say abruptly when I hit the button to answer.
“Yeah, so Peterson’s secretary called again. Said he’s going to speak to his lawyer this afternoon if he doesn’t see you.”
“God, he’s such a dick,” I spit.
There’s a pause before Ben starts to speak, very deliberately and carefully.
“No-one disagrees, Boss,” he says. “But he’s also our biggest client and he’s been ramping up for a month. I offered him Cecie.” That’s our Chief Customer Officer. It’s not her name. Her name is Victoria but we started calling her Cecie as a joke when she became CCO and it stuck. “I offered him Ethan. He’s not interested.”
He’s right, of course. This is my mess now, and I need to clean it up.
I pull up behind Allie’s car on Main Street. She’s standing beside it, arms folded, looking a few shades less cheery than her usual self. She smiles at me, but she also lifts her phone up, facing me, and taps the large digital clock on the lock screen.
I glance at my car’s clock and it’s 1:55 pm. Emma’s concert starts at two.
“All right, listen. I have to go to a thing right now. Keep me updated. I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“Greyson, I—”
I don’t want to hear it. My stress levels are at maximum and I have an awful, foreboding feeling that everything is coming to a head. That no matter what I do, I’m going to let someone down. So I swipe my biggest problem away with my thumb, cut Ben off mid-sentence, and get out of the car.
“Ready?” says Allie.
I nod, shove my phone in my pocket, and walk into the hall beside her.
“Welcome, welcome everyone!” says a shrill-voiced teacher, standing in front of a gaggle of over-excited toddlers. Emma is right at the front, encased in a big, white, puffy costume. She beams when she sees Allie and me, waving her little hand so fast it looks like a propellor. We both smile and wave back as we take our seats The murmur of conversation around the hall gradually gives way to a hushed silence, as proud-faced parents and grandparents all turn towards the stage to see their little angels—or clouds, as the case may be—sing.
I’m trying to put everything else out of my mind and give Emma my full attention, but it’s proving more difficult than I thought. I’m not even aware that my leg is shaking until Allie reaches over and presses her hand on top of it.
“Thanks,” I say, and she gives me a genuinely warm smile in return. I can’t tell if she’s less pissed at me, or just delighted to be here watching Emma’s first school play.
“We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas,” the kids start singing. It’s completely out of tune, but they’re certainly giving it their all. They’ve got a little dance to go with the song, and they’re really getting into the choreography, their eyes glued to the teacher as they swing their arms from side to side like energetic little pirates. I can’t help but smile at how positively wholesome this is. And then I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, and it wipes the grin clean off my face.
It’s an SMS message from Ben.
Ethan wants you to call him. Peterson on warpath.
I clench my jaw and shove the phone back into my pocket. I have no idea how I’m going to get out of this without either blowing up my business, and therefore my brother’s livelihood, or destroying whatever it is I have with Allie.
But isn’t that on the verge of ending anyway? She’s said she has no intention of ever leaving Sunrise Valley while the girls are still small, and my current predicament just goes to show that working remotely just isn’t going to be an option for me.
My phone buzzes again and I pull it out. Another message from Ben.
He says ASAP
I clench my jaw again, so hard I think my teeth might crack, and then I feel the pressure of Allie squeezing my hand. Hard.
I look over to her and she’s staring at me with wide eyes and a deeply unimpressed expression on her face. She directs a very exaggerated nod at my phone.
The pressure inside me is building so much I’m not sure I can take any more. I give her an apologetic smile and, in what can only be a moment of sheer madness, I press my phone’s power button down hard enough to turn my fingertip white, and switch it off.
Allie smiles and squeezes my hand more gently this time, and we go back to watching the adorable, familiar little cloud in the front row.
“Wow!” I say as Emma comes running over to us after the concert is done. “You were amazing! Star of the show!”
Allie gathers Emma up in her arms and pulls her into a tight hug, and we filter out of the hall with all the other parents.
“You know where Lottie’s school is?” asks Allie, outside. “Just down the street from the church? Her play will be starting in about fifteen minutes.”
“I know the one,” I nod. “I’ll meet you there.”
As soon as I get into the car, I dig the phone out of my pocket and switch it on. A stream of messages comes in, each one more urgent than the last, and then it starts ringing in my hand.
Ethan.
Oh, shit.
“Hey,” I say, as casually as I can.
“Don’t you fucking ‘hey’ me!” he says. I can hear the stress in his voice, plain as day. “Where the hell are you? Peterson’s lawyer just called legal.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, ‘fuck’ is right. I don’t care what else you have going on over there, Greyson—call this jerk, find out what he wants and give it to him, or he’s going to sue us into the ground because you didn’t do your fucking job.”
I swallow hard. This is… not like Ethan. He doesn’t get angry, and he especially doesn’t get angry with his kid brother.
“Okay,” I say. I don’t have any excuses for him, because every one of them sounds frivolous or stupid. “Okay. Sorry, Ethan.”
“Don’t apologize,” he says, through what sounds like gritted teeth. “Fix it.”
“I will,” I say, and hang up. “Call Ben.”
The phone doesn’t even get through half a ring before he picks up.
“What can I do?” he asks, without missing a beat.
“Set up a meeting. Tomorrow. And get me a flight out of Plattsburgh today.”
“Done,” he says. “I’ll send the details through.”
“Thanks, Ben. Sorry about earlier.”
“No worries, Boss,” he says, and I hang up.
And then I grip the steering wheel in both hands and lean forward, pressing my head against it.
“FUCK!” I bellow.
I have to go back to the house and pack a bag. Right now, if Ben’s record is anything to go by. He’ll have me on a flight within two hours.
I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that just wants to drive straight back to the house and avoid telling Allie. But I have to face the music.
When I arrive at Lottie’s school, Allie and Emma are waiting outside. There are only a couple of other people hurrying down the path, so it looks like I’m late. I get out of the car and jog across the road, stopping a few paces from her.
“Hey,” she says, smiling. But her face drops as she notices the drawn expression on my own. “What’s wrong?”
I gaze beyond her to the school hall. Lottie is probably rehearsing her big solo right now, buzzing with excitement. I desperately want to grant her Christmas wish—to walk into the hall, sit down right in the front row, give her a big thumbs-up during her solo, clap and cheer at the end—but it would mean potentially ruining my brother. And myself.
“I can’t come,” I say.
I can’t even look at Allie. I hate myself so much I feel sick.
She doesn’t respond. When I do finally muster the guts to look at her, her face is absolutely blank.
“I have to go back to the city. For a work thing. Urgently.”
I know my eyes are pleading, but there’s still nothing on her face
; God, I wish she’d scream, or shout, or…
“Okay,” she says, giving me a tight smile. “Well, I need to get inside.”
She turns around with Emma in her arms, intent on making sure Lottie has someone there to see her—even if it’s not the one person she explicitly asked for. Emma gives me a little wave over Allie’s shoulder, and I loathe myself with every last ounce of feeling I have left.
My phone buzzes again and I pull it out of my pocket to see a message from Ethan.
Thanks, bro. I knew you’d fix it.
A lump rises in my throat, thick and heavy. I feel a sudden wave of revulsion for the phone and everything on the other end of it, and I shove it back into my pocket with such force that I hear the lining tear.
Chapter 21
Allie
I wake up groggy and dehydrated from crying myself to sleep last night. My eyes are puffy, my nose is red, and my face is blotchy all over.
“Mommy, you look sick!” says Lottie, diving under my covers. She was a little disappointed that Greyson couldn’t make it to her show last night, but she was far too pleased with the standing ovation she got for her solo to let it bother her that much.
I don’t know why I’m so upset. I knew it was coming. I knew he’d be leaving. And it’s only happened two weeks earlier than I had thought it was.
Actually, I do know why I’m so upset. I feel stupid. And gullible. Stupid for letting him in, and gullible for believing that having his family over for Thanksgiving and decorating the tree together and inviting him to the fair would do anything but encourage the girls to get attached to him. In the back of my mind, I realize now, I was hoping that all of it might convince him to stick around. Last night was a rude awakening to reality.
“I’m all right, darling,” I tell Lottie.
Emma stirs beside me, opening her sleepy little eyes. She wriggled into my bed at 3 am and hugged me tighter than she ever has before as she fell asleep. I think she knew I was sad, and that breaks my heart.
I would love to mope about here all day and cry into my pillow, but it’s just not an option. I force a bright smile onto my face and sit up.
“Right!” I say. “Time to get ready for school. Who wants pancakes for breakfast as a special treat for doing so well in your concerts yesterday?”
“Yaaaaaay!”
The two of them are suddenly wide awake, and they run ahead of me down the stairs—Lottie reminding Emma to hold on tight to the banister. I gather my hair up into a bun, pull on some jeans and a hoodie, and tromp down the stairs to make their pancakes.
“Holy mother of God,” says Sadie as I open the door. She’s come to collect the kids, and I’m still in my unkempt jeans and hoodie with my face blotchy and swollen.
“Thanks,” I croak.
“Are you sick?”
I shake my head. Sade glances at the girls, who are busy collecting up their coats and bags, and leans in towards me. “Greyson?” she whispers.
I give her a tight little smile and nod slightly.
“I’ll come back when I’ve dropped the kids off,” she says.
“No,” I tell her, shaking my head. “I need to go collect my stuff from the mansion and leave the key. Might as well rip off the bandaid.”
“Did you cut yourself, Mommy?” asks Lottie, overhearing.
“I’m fine, sweetheart,” I call back.
“That bad, huh?” asks Sadie, keeping her voice low. The pity on her face is too much for me, and I have to look away before I burst into tears.
“You girls have a great day!” I chirp, far more brightly than I feel.
Sadie squeezes my arm and promises she’ll stay awhile when she brings the kids back from school this afternoon. I smile back, hoping that it looks braver than I feel. I don’t think I can hold it together much longer.
I close the door as soon as they’re through it, just in time. A sob hiccups out of me, and I clamp my hand over my mouth to try and hold it in, only for another to come after it, and another, and another. Realizing that the battle is lost, I throw myself down on the couch and decide to just let myself cry until I don’t need to anymore. My trip to the mansion can wait for another hour.
Cucumbers are wonderful things. By the time I drive over to the mansion, my eyes are much less puffy, even if I still feel like shit.
I pull to a halt on the gravel driveway, not even bothering to go around the side of the house where the cars are normally parked. This won’t take long.
I dig the old iron key out of my bag and slide it into the lock, just as I have so many times before. It turns with a loud clank, and I push the door open.
I stop dead in my tracks when I see Greyson standing in the hall. He has his coat on and his suitcase in his hand.
“Allie...” For a moment it looks like he’s going to say something more. But the words seem to catch in his throat.
I look from him down to the case and back up.
“You’re still here,” I say, too astonished to say anything else.
“Ben couldn’t get a flight ‘til this morning.”
I’m suddenly, utterly and unrelentingly furious.
“YOU’RE STILL HERE!” I practically spit at him. This time I can feel the anger crawling through my veins and onto my face. I can hear it in my own voice.
“I didn’t know when the flight would be.”
“You promised Lottie! Promised her! And then you let her down… for nothing!” I shout at him. “You’re still here!”
Greyson looks like he’s been punched in the gut.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.
He doesn’t even try to explain. He just stands there with his head down, staring at the floor, and I have never in my life wanted to smack someone so badly.
“Is that all you’ve got to say?” I demand, my shoulders lifting and falling with the heavy breaths I’m taking.
“You’re better off without me,” he says, looking away.
I let out a derisive little snort, half anger and half surprise.
“That old cliche? Give me a break, Greyson.”
“What do you want me to say?” he asks.
What do I want him to say? The question pulls me up short. What do I want him to say? He hasn’t broken any agreement—we never had one. He didn’t keep his promise to Lottie, but if I’m honest, I’m more upset about that than she is. He’s leaving a couple of weeks earlier than he was supposed to, that’s all. So why do I feel so angry about it?
“Nothing,” I snap, irritation and bile rising up behind my sternum. “Nothing at all. Go back to your life like you were always going to.”
Ugh. Does that sound pathetic? Part of me thinks it sounds pathetic and I want to kick myself for being so vulnerable.
Greyson’s nostrils are flared and his jaw is tensed. He looks upset and angry. Good. It’s not a noble thought, but part of me likes the discomfort painted across his face. It matches the turmoil I feel inside myself.
For a moment, it looks like he’s about to yell something back at me, and I find myself praying that he does. Because that would at least tell me that he’s not completely at ease with the idea of breezing out of my life like I’m nothing to him and never was.
But he doesn’t do that. He takes deep, long breaths until his jaw is relaxed and his expression is level, and he looks me right in the eye and says: “It’s only two weeks.”
Bubbling, rage-filled madness grips me and a loud, bitter laugh comes out of my mouth.
“You’re right. You’re right! What was I thinking? Two weeks! Why, that’s almost a third of the time we’ve known each other!” I scoff, shaking my head like I’ve just had an epiphany, and all this fuss over a two-month affair is just ridiculous. But I don’t feel it. Not at all.
“Allie, I…”
“No, no,” I say, holding up a hand to stop him. The coat and two bobble hats that I came to collect are still hanging in the hallway where I left them, so I grab them and shove them under my arm.
“Save
it,” I say. I can barely see straight, I’m so pissed.
I notice a few scarves that are mine and add them to the pile under my arm.
“I hope you have fun when you get back to the city. And have a nice life, Mr. Blair!”
I storm back out and slam the door behind me. I barely get two steps before I’m yanked back so hard I almost fall over.
No, it’s not one of those cheesy romance movies where the guy stops the girl with a heart-churning kiss. I caught one of my scarves in the door.
The door clicks and Greyson pulls it open, looking up at me.
He looks so deeply, profoundly sad that I can barely stand to look at him. But I will not cry in front of him and I will not give in to the desire to comfort him.
“You caught your—” he starts.
“Scarf! I know,” I huff, pulling it free and shoving it deeper into the pile under my arm. I flash him one last angry glance, before turning on my heels and storming off to my car. I throw the pile of clothes angrily onto the back seat, slam the car door shut, and peel away like I’m leaving the pitstop at the Indy 500.
It’s not until I’m halfway along Old Green Road that the first tears sting my eyes, but by the time I get home I can barely see through the haze. And one look in the mirror is enough to know that I’m gonna need to stock up on cucumbers.
Chapter 22
Greyson
Two days after I arrive in LaGuardia, I’m sitting in my car, heading into the office to meet with Lincoln Peterson.
No, this isn’t a second meeting. He sent me a text the day I came home, an hour before we were due to meet, canceling. This is what he considers a “power move.” It accomplished nothing, except to reinforce that I did indeed miss Lottie’s show and fuck things up with Allie for no reason whatsoever. And that I fucking hate Lincoln Fucking Peterson.
My Smalltown C.E.O. Scrooge: A Festive Romantic Comedy Page 15
