“We’re here,” I say as I reach for her hand. Then I grimace and offer one last piece of advice before we get out: “Be ready. Things might get uncomfortable.”
Phoenix
My grandmother overseesher empire from a massive corner office, one with floor-to-ceiling windows, two large couches, and a wet bar.
Clarence’s office is right next to hers, and on the other side of his is Lawrence’s, even though Lawrence doesn’t technically hold an executive position—yet. Their offices aren’t on the same level as Mavis’s, but they’re still nice; so was mine when I worked in this building.
Holland and I pass my cousin’s and my uncle’s offices on our way to Mavis’s, and both of them notice through their windows; Lawrence gets to his feet immediately, looking interested, but Clarence just watches us with narrowed eyes.
I used to wonder why Mavis didn’t care to leave the company to her son instead of her grandson, but I think Clarence himself would prefer Lawrence to receive the title. Lawrence would be easy to manipulate from behind the scenes, an easy puppet. Clarence and Mavis both like that.
When we reach the door to Mavis’s suite, Wyatt is already there, waiting for us. He has his briefcase in one hand and his large leather folder tucked under the other arm, and the little nod he gives me assures me that everything is ready.
So I don’t bother knocking. I’m not here to play nice, and I’m not here to ask permission. Sheasked to see me anyway; she knows I’m coming. I simply walk in, Holland close behind me.
And like I thought, Mavis is waiting for me—waiting for us. There are no papers in front of her, and she’s not looking at her computer. Her sharp eyes find mine the second we enter; she seems more foreboding when she’s sitting behind her desk, and even though this room is full of bright natural light, she makes the whole place feel stifling and oppressive.
“Mavis,” I say curtly. She’s in a new chair, I notice with interest, one that looks more like a recliner than an actual office chair.
Maybe her health isn’t so great after all.
“Hmm,” she says, raising one penciled-in eyebrow at me and then turning her gaze on my wife. It’s the only greeting we receive, and I don’t expect anything else.
“You asked to see us,” I say. I straighten my jacket and then approach the desk. “We’re here.”
Mavis doesn’t look back at me, however. She’s still examining Holland, her thin lips curled in displeasure, her features a haughty mask.
“Turn,” she says in her thin voice, pointing one crooked finger at my wife.
Holland blinks at her. “What?”
“Turn,” she says again. “Turn around. Let me look at the woman who sold herself to my grandson.”
Holland’s face turns red, not with embarrassment but with anger; that little jaw muscle is twitching on the left side, and her normally lively eyes have gone cold. She shoots me a glance and then rotates on the spot. When she’s facing Mavis once again, she raises her brows expectantly at my grandmother.
She’s cool and composed and Mavis will never, ever see the parts of her that make her who she is.The woman who soldherself—I try to swallow my fury, but it continues to rise in my throat, in my neck, spreading over my skin.
Mavis inspects her for several more seconds, but when she finally reacts, it’s just toharrumph.Then she waves a dismissive hand and says, “You may see yourself out.”
“Gladly,” Holland mutters, but I grab her arm just as she’s turning toward the door.
She does not appreciate this, judging by the glare she sends me.
I loosen my grip. “She stays or I go,” I say.
Mavis shifts with irritation, the sun glinting in her iron curls. “Don’t be dramatic,” she says, her voice impatient. She waves her hand at Holland again. “Get out.”
From over by the wet bar, a flash of movement catches my eye, and I realize that her secretary has been in here the whole time. I’m not worried about the secretary or the assistant—also tucked over by the wet bar, I see, and also completely silent. What I want to avoid is causing a scene that would attract the attention of security.
So although there are many, many things I’d like to say or do, I simply give a sardonic little bow. Then I turn away, and together Holland and I head toward the door, where Wyatt is stationed.
“Wait.”
I freeze at the bark of Mavis’s voice; Holland slows much more reluctantly.
When I look back at my grandmother, she speaks again. “This is hardly the hill to die on,” she snaps as her body twitches with anger. “While I’m impressed by your dedication to the Butterfield legacy, you took this too far. I couldn’t care less about the state of your supposed marriage, but the fact that you got caught is…sloppy. If I found out, others certainly will.”
My fingers curl into fists, but she’s not entirely wrong. It was my oversight; I should have expected one of the family would break in and steal the contract.
