It wasn’t a question. By the somber look on his face, I knew he’d seen it firsthand, and while I’d suspected as much, I hadn’t been ready to face the truth. I called Lincoln a liar and told him I never wanted to see him again—mainly because I couldn’t bear that pity that I’d seen from others. But never from him.
This man, who knew how I’d been watered down yet still saw me clearly.
I couldn’t stomach his pity then, and I’m not about to start now.
“Business my behind…” Whitney laughs. “You told me yourself you missed him.”
“Past tense,” I say, even though it’s a fair point. Even though that picture of him in his work boots with his sleeves pushed up his forearms lives rent-free in my head.
Focus,Ebony.
Any other day, meeting up for business with a beautiful man—a friend who tried to protect me and whom I wrongly called a liar with my whole chest—would have me freaking out. But right now, I’ve got to get my game face on.
“And that’s beside the point right now,” I insist. “Cornelia didn’t even mention Lincoln’s company would be restoring Madison Manor untilafterI agreed to plan Hailey’s wedding.” Which I know was by her shady design. “I’m telling you, she’s manipulative.”
She knows exactly how vulnerable I am.
It’s been a year since my last job. My clients have dried up, not just due to my depression, but also public opinion. #TeamNora didn’t help, but Cornelia has slandered me, blaming me for the divorce and insisting women should “stay in their lanes.”
Like, really? What year is this?
Maybe she should tell her son to stay out of the past lane, and stop texting me.
“Classic ex-monster-in-law behavior. Wouldn’t expect anything less from her,” Whit sums up, correctly. “However, in the words of the great Savannah Sampson, life coach to thestars…” She drags out the word dramatically.
“Um, crisis mode…”
My words go in one ear and out the other.
“If you’reunwillingto tell the truth, to bevulnerableto those deep, heavy emotions,” she continues, reciting her Savannah-ism à la the PopShot app, “then you’re not ready to receive your blessings.”
“Mm, mm,mm, mm, mm,” Priscilla says, snapping her fingers like this woman has said a whole anointed word instead of a whole lot of nonsense that absolutely does not apply to anything concerning me and Lincoln Bridges.
This is what I get for activating the Divatante Bat-Signal, especially after I vented to them the entire Memorial Day weekend.
“First, there are no deep, heavy emotions. As far as I’m concerned,hisinvolvement is a non-factor. Second, this is business.”
“Try again. You said that already,” Whit baits me, clearly ready for a debate I don’t have time for.
I hesitate, though.
I’m not about to tell them that ever since I learned we’d be partnered, my mind keeps conjuring up glimpses of what might’ve been if I’d listened to Lincoln. I’ve been mentally replaying different versions ofThe Morning Tea—without the ambush—wondering if I would’ve been better off quietly divorcing Julian or staying unhappily married. I’m damn sure not admitting to imagining what would’ve happened if I’d listened when he warned me not to let tradition dictate my life, right before I moved back to Ellswood after college.
Nope, I need to be alert. Cover my bases.
“So that’s your story? Business?” Priscilla laughs.
Breath traps in my throat, and all I want to do is end the call.
Except as I barge into the restroom, ready for relief, Whit loudly declares, “I would’ve paid good, hard-earned cash to hear the advice that woman gave when you told her y’all fell out because you were repressing your feelings for that fine-ass man,” right as the universe pulls a swift Uno Reverse on me.
I don’t have time to explain that I didn’t discuss Lincoln with Savannah, or remind myself that he isn’t supposed to matter, because standing at the sink, washing a pair of obscenely huge hands, is Lincoln Bridges.
Everything inside me stalls, my bathroom emergency all but forgotten because…
Respectfully, Lord have mercy.
It’s the picture. The dusty work boots, Henley sleeves pulled up, soulful gray eyes on me. It’s the blurred lines, threatening in the distance.
