“Silver isn’t ours,” she said succinctly, nailing exactly why I should be drafting my resignation letter.
Silver wasn’t mine. I ran it like it was. I worked like the place was Percival Farms and my grandfather was in my ear telling me how I’d be letting down generations if I failed. But it wasn’t mine.
And that money in my accounts? The funds I had squirreled away? I might not get the opportunity to spend them on my family’s land. Sure, I could buy or invest anywhere, but this would be an opportunity to build something with people I respected. With individuals who weren’t family but who also didn’t block me out.
“Anyway, Harold gave me permission to tell you. He didn’t want to track you down in Montana.”
“And you were afraid I wouldn’t return.”
“All this is unlike you,” she agreed. “Look, I know he could find someone else, but you and I make a good team.”
She said it with such confidence I nodded. We did work well together. Neither of us had attachments, we kept the endgame in mind, and we let pride interfere at the right time. With my experience as CEO and hers as CFO—we would make a strong team.
A sour burn wicked its way up my throat. “When does he want an answer?”
The closing date was ten days away. I wouldn’t have to choose if given the chance to do both—buy Percival and invest with Harold Washington. I could have it all. But I’d have to leave Bourbon Canyon. Which I was doing anyway.
“I told him how long you were planning to be out and he said he wants to meet with you when you return. It also goes without saying...”
“Keep this between us.” The board respected me, but Silver was their gravy train. If they thought I was jumping ship, they’d replace me in a heartbeat. Loyalty ran stronger up the chain than down.
“Exactly. I love my job, but can you imagine? I could look at a place just like this and say I own that.” She sounded wistful, but my chest constricted.
I rubbed my sternum. What the hell was wrong with me? I’d stayed in Bourbon Canyon for barely three weeks and I was sad to leave it behind? To leave a dad who’d rather teach me some mysterious bullshit lesson than just be honest with me? To leave memories that were better left in the past because they did me fuck all now?
To leave Autumn?
The ache behind my ribs grew stronger. “I’ll be back soon. We can talk then.”
She hung up. I stared at my phone. Regret that I’d called her sank into my gut.
An investment group. I had my own investments, but nothing like what Harold would dabble in. He had an enviable business sense that I’d be a fool to say no to.
I scratched the back of my neck. My laptop sat open on the table, its screen dark, taunting me. I should get back to work, but I went to the living room and sank onto the couch. Sprinkles woke up, stretched until her back arched and quivered, then she sauntered onto my lap and curled up. I put a hand on her warm fur.
My yes should be instant, but I was nothing if notprudent. I’d give the idea a proper amount of time to marinate, then I’d decide.
Autumn
I’d wrapped up my last parent-teacher conference. Mine tended to run later. I loved to talk and some of my kids’ parents had concerns that I couldn’t bring myself to cut short or put off. Tonight, I was only wrapping up forty-five minutes late, but thankfully, it was the last set of parents who went over by half an hour.
The number of people roaming the halls had diminished. I’d texted Gideon that I was done and packed my stuff. When I was shrugging into my coat, Mark appeared in the doorway.
He shoved his hands in his slacks. “The snow’s falling pretty heavy out there.”
I’d been watching it while chatting with students and parents. “Snow day tomorrow?”
His smile was small. “Maybe.”
This was the most he’d talked to me since I’d returned from Vegas married. I flung a scarf around my neck and his gaze landed on my ring.
“How’s married life?”
“Good.” Soon to be over. The backs of my eyes burned. I blinked. Where had that reaction come from? I’d known how this would go.
But last weekend had been more of the weekend before. Gideon had come with me to the bar. He’d sipped a drink while I’d worked and done inventory andfinished expense reports. Last night, for my Wednesday shift, he’d brought me a meal from Curly’s—with extra buns because I’d said I liked them.
But... there was something different. I couldn’t put my finger on it. He’d kept me too busy between the sheets—and on the kitchen table and in the shower—to ponder it too much. He’d opened himself up to me, but it was only a crack. I wasn’t getting further in, and the depressing truth was that there was no reason to. He worked at home all day, and at night, he lost himself in me. Wake up. Repeat.
