She turns to me, her expression somber. “What am I going to do about the video, Hollis?”
I knew our post-coital bliss would eventually fade, and reality would rush back. It had to. Jace’s deadline was approaching, and we needed to come up with a plan.
I set down my fork and take her hand. “I think you mean, what arewegoing to do.”
She opens her mouth to argue. “It’s not?—”
“You’re my wife, Pres,” I press. “Not just in the bedroom or when it’s convenient. I know we don’t exactly remember our vows, but I will still do everything in my power to uphold them. I will honor and cherish you. And right now, I will protect you.”
“Jesus, Hollis, you’re gonna make me cry all over my bacon.”
I huff out a laugh, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. “There’s more in the oven.”
“God, you really are perfect.”
I give her a hesitant smile. “You may not think so when I tell you this next part. I think we should go to the police.”
Her eyes widen. “But he said not to.”
“I know.” I offer her my hand. She takes it willingly. “I know. But here’s the thing with people like Jace. He’s gonna keep coming back, Pres. He’ll use that video to squeeze every last dime he can out of you, ’cause he knows you’re terrified of it damaging Hendrix and Zander’s careers.
“But won’t he just do that anyway if I go to the police?”
“Not if he’s behind bars. What he did was a serious crime. He filmed you without your consent, blackmailed you, and threatened to distribute it. That’s at least three felony charges, not including what he did to your bar.”
She looks genuinely conflicted, and I get it. “I know it’s a risk, so I will support you no matter what you decide. If you want to pay him off, that’s what we’ll do.”
“But I don’t have the money, Hollis. Even if I wanted to, I can’t pay what he’s asking. I’d have to go to my parents, and then I’d have to tell them about everything—the stealing, the break-in…”
This is the part of the conversation I’m dreading. “I can.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“I can pay it.”
“That’s…a lot of cash. How?”
Breakfast forgotten, I nervously lick my lips. “When we first started talking, and you asked me about my job, you made an assumption, and for some reason I never chose to correct you.”
“What assumption did I make?” she asks softly.
“That I’m the manager of Velvet.”
“You’re not?”
I shake my head. “I’m the owner.”
“The owner? But I thought that was Jonas.”
“We co-own it.” Jonas and I co-own several other restaurants and properties in Nashville, but we handed off day-to-day operations a while ago. Judging by the shocked look on my wife’sface, I think I’ll save that explanation for later. “He’s the face of the company. I run everything behind the scenes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“At first? Because money makes me uncomfortable. Jonas says I’m a guilty millionaire, and maybe that’s true. Growing up the way I did, having a mom who constantly chased wealth…” I shrug my shoulders. “I never want to become one of those people who think money fixes everything.”
Her throat works. “And then later on?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Because I didn’t want you to think I was one of those people who use money to fix everything.”
