“We aren’t just dating. Zoe is my fiancé, remember?”
“That’s exactly my fucking point!” he barks out. “I don’t know what you two are trying to prove but all your little stunts are soiling the family name, not to mention the brand. Whatever your issues are with each other, you need to settle them and fast because you’re making Hardin look bad. And when Hardin looks bad, we lose money. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” I answer. “Anything else?”
“Is she pregnant?”
Both of them are looking at me and I look at the ground, arms still crossed. “Yeah.”
“And it’s yours?” Avery asks and my head snaps up so fast I nearly give myself whiplash.
“You better fucking watch it!”
“Cool it! Both of you!” Our dad says before starting to cough. He grabs a glass of water and takes a sip. “I’m tired of looking at both of you. For once in your lives, give your old man some peace.”
I grill Avery a moment longer with my eyes before tearing my gaze away and stalking out of the office. As I make my way down the hall I can hear Avery’s footsteps behind me.
“I don’t know whether to slow clap or punch your lights out right now,” he says and against my better judgement, I turn to look at him. “You got the man worked up with those photos.”
“And your party girl fiancé had nothing to do with it? He’s right, you know. Zoe has made it very clear why she’s in this. And it ain’t love.”
Just as we approach my office, Avery grabs my shoulder and shoves it around, so I am facing him. “Leave Zoe out of this. Dad is worked up because you got married on a whim, just like I suspected, after a heated night in Sin City. And instead of annulling the damn thing, you’re using it to gain Hardin. We see through the act, why don’t you just admit it. You’re using her for your own gain.”
I get right in my brother’s face and plant a finger hard in his chest. “I am not using Amanda for anything. It isn’t the way it looks. It’s real.”
“Real fucked up. And what is this about an auction? Jesus, Callum. I knew you were going to loosen your tie a little in Vegas, but you actually got on a stage with a bunch of young pretty boys and made girls bid on you? I don’t know if that’s impressive or pathetic.”
“Funny you should say that because that’s the way I see your whole life. The marriage is real, the baby is mine and soon dad will see through your bullshit and Hardin will be mine too. Because unlike you, I care about this company. I care about the music, not just the profit. And whether or not he’s too tired to show it, our father once felt the same way. And I’ll be damned if I have to watch you destroy that. Now get out of my fucking office.”
“With pleasure,” Avery steps out and I slam the door. For a solid ten minutes, I face the floor. I am absolutely reeling. This is the last thing I need right now. I am fully aware of just how bad it looks. But I also know how I feel. And I feel shitty. Shitty for compromising things at Hardin. Shitty for going along with Noah’s stupid antics in Vegas when I really should have just had a drink at the hotel and went to bed like I was planning. Shitty for upsetting Amanda and reacting the way I did.
If I hadn’t paraded around that stage I wouldn’t have met Amanda that night. Obviously we would have still met but itwould’ve been at work and things would most likely be different now.
I sit down at my desk with a heavy sigh and pull out my phone, dialing her number. It rings one, two, three times and goes to voicemail. Maybe she’s still sleeping. Maybe she’s ignoring me. Maybe she never made it back to her apartment. I wouldn’t know, I didn’t actually check on her after she left my house. Maybe she didn’t go home at all. Maybe she went to her sister’s house, and her sister took her phone and lit it on fire and she’s coming for me next. That actually seems like the most plausible reason.
I realize I am being irrational, another trait that is not typically me. I dial the number again, wanting to hear her voice. To see if she is okay. To apologize and let her know we can talk things out. Work things out. But the message goes to voicemail again. And again.
For the rest of the day, it goes like that. I call about every two hours. I go to voicemail every two hours. By the time I’m ready to clock out, I am kicking myself for how desperate I look. And I’m done.
A knock wraps on the wooden doorframe of my office followed by Noah’s voice.
“Hey bro, I just spent the last six hours rewiring the soundboard because some asshat from that Wrecker band that your brother signed thought it needed tuning because his voice didn’t sound guttural enough. You wanna grab a drink or five?”
“Or five sounds good,” I answer, tucking my chair under my desk, shoving my phone in my pocket and walking out.
Chapter 33
Amanda
It’s official. I am not speaking to anyone ever again. Except, of course, for Iris. But that’s a given. Other than her, I have no interest in communicating with any human life.
I don’t go into work for a week. And I don’t even call Callum (or answer his calls) to let him know that. With a little exaggerated complaining, I am able to get the doctor to sign a note that I need some sick time. Between stress elevating my blood pressure and mentioning that I have had violent surges of morning sickness, it’s not hard to get the note. And when I call HR at Hardin, it’s not hard to get it excused either.
Honestly, the morning sickness hasn’t been that bad. It’s mostly subsided, other than an aversion to the smell of popcorn and the tropical breeze air freshener in my car which I promptly threw out the window while driving one day and getting a wave of wooziness. But they don’t need to know that. No one needs to know that.
So, for the better part of the week, I sit in my house, working on songwriting for January and ignoring the fact that I’m being ignored by my bratty, younger sister all while ignoring Callum. I just need to breathe.
A knock comes to my door on Thursday evening just as I am wrapping up the bridge for a song I’ve been wrestling with for the last four hours. I set my guitar aside and shove to my feet just as the door opens.
