“Like when he convinced you that you had Dutch elm disease?” April teased.
“That wasn’t funny,” I snapped, although the rest of the table burst out laughing.
“I never knew that,” said Frannie. “How did he do it?”
“He told her that freckles on the nose were a sure sign, and if she started to grow hair on her legs, she should definitely cover them with peanut butter,” blurted April, that traitor. “He told her that was the only known cure.”
“Oh, that’s right.” My mother wiped tears from her eyes as she gasped with laughter. “I’d forgotten about that. I found her in the pantry one day just covered with Skippy.”
“We called her Skippy for months after that,” wheezed April.
“All I knew was that she broke her leg after he dared her to jump off the barn roof,” said Frannie, giggling. “And didn’t he break his collarbone jumping after her?”
My mother sucked in her breath, laying a hand on her chest. “Yes! Good Lord, I thought I’d had a heart attack when I saw the two of them lying there.”
“It was more than a dare, it was a bet—which I won, and he never settled,” I said, grouchy at the memory, “because he was a liar and a cheat and deep down he probably hasn’t changed, and that’s why I don’t want to be his partner.”
“This is making me feel better about what my kids do to one another,” said Mack, grinning as he picked up his beer bottle.
“I bet your girls never put a rubber snake under someone’s covers when they were a guest at the family cottage,” I huffed. “Then hid under the bed to see how loud they’d scream.”
Mack paused with his beer halfway to his mouth and shook his head. “Can’t say that they’ve done that, but it sounds kind of like something I would have done to my sister.”
“I find that hard to believe,” I said with a sniff, “because unlike Oliver Pemberton, you are a gentleman. And you have manners.”
“Oh, Chloe, for goodness sake,” my mother scolded. “Oliver has manners. You two used to butt heads just because you were so close.”
“That’s not all they used to butt,” April mumbled under her breath.
I gave her another kick in the ankle—harder this time—and tried again to be cool and rational. “Look. I’m willing to be open-minded about this, but I want to be honest, too. I don’t know how well he and I will work together.”
“He seems to think you’ll work beautifully together,” said my dad.
I rolled my eyes. “No, he seems to think it will be great to boss me around for six months. That’s what will be beautiful to him. He’ll probably make me scrub the toilets and mop the floors.”
“That’s not at all what he said,” my mother assured me, reaching over to pat my hand. “He said he was reluctant at first too, since the two of you’d had some friction in the past.”
Friction?
That was one way to put it.
“But then the more he thought about it,” she went on, “he realized what a great opportunity it would be to work with someone as talented and passionate as you.”
“He said that?” I asked doubtfully.
“He did. And he also said that he likes the idea of working with someone he knows he can trust, because he sees that as the most important thing in a partnership.”
How ironic, I thought.
“I think you should do it, Chloe.” Frannie smiled at me enthusiastically. “You’re amazing at what you do here, but I know you’ve always wanted to challenge yourself to do more. I say go for it.”
“How would this even work?” I wondered. “Would I have to move to Detroit for six months? What about my job here?”
“You and Oliver can work out the details of your schedule, but yes, I’d imagine it would involve going down there for some of the time,” my father said. “As for your job here, your mother and Henry will work together to find a replacement.”
I thought carefully for a moment. My gut told me this was my big chance—if I said no, I lost esteem in my parents’ eyes and the opportunity to really make my mark here. I’d seem like the defiant teenager I used to be, or worse, like a stubborn toddler throwing a tantrum. But if I said yes too quickly, I’d seem too eager and the Boys Club would think they could steamroll me forever. I wasn’t going to be their little rag doll.
Sitting up taller, I tucked my hair behind my ears and spoke with confidence. “I’ll consider the offer after I hear for myself what Oliver has to say. I’ll reach out tomorrow and set up a meeting.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” my dad said, reaching for another slice of bread. “He’s already on his way up here. He’ll arrive about nine, I think, and he’s staying here for the night. If you’re too tired to stay and chat with him, you can meet with us tomorrow in my office at eight.”
My jaw dropped, and I felt the steamroller move over me, hot and heavy, leaving me crushed.
It wasn’t the first time Oliver had left me feeling that way.
And it wouldn’t be the last.
3
Oliver
NOW
God, I wish I could have seen her face.
Every time I thought about how mad Chloe must have been when her parents told her about the deal I’d proposed—and how they’d basically accepted on her behalf—I laughed out loud.
I hadn’t spoken with her in a few years, but I could picture her perfectly, not only because I occasionally stalked—I mean stumbled across—her photos on social media, but because we’d known each other since birth and I was familiar with every single one of her expressions.
Hot and angry because you’d distracted her and then eaten the cookie off her plate.
Stubborn and determined when you bet her she couldn’t run as fast as you （I had no idea why she took those bets—I was way taller with much longer legs and beat her every fucking time）。
Outraged and defiant when you called her a chicken for refusing to do something stupid you dared her to do （she did it every time）。
Narrow-eyed and resentful when you both got caught doing something dumb and dangerous that had been your idea, even though she never tattled on you.
Flushed and breathless, her dark eyes half-shut, her mouth open as you slid inside her, her hands clutching you desperately, your name a plea on her lips …
Fuck.
Shifting in my seat, I focused on the highway again.
It had been a pretty easy Sunday evening trip. Most people were heading south on I-75, returning home after a vacation up north. My family had a summer place in Harbor Springs, but it was about a two-hour drive from Cloverleigh, so instead of staying there, I’d decided to take the Sawyers up on the offer to stay in one of the guest bedrooms at their house.
Had they told her I was coming yet? I started to smile again. Uncle John had said the family would have Sunday dinner at seven, and that’s when he’d mention my offer. He’d invited me to join them, but I figured it would be better if she heard about the deal when I wasn’t in the room. Probably she’d have turned it down right then and there just to spite me, and that wouldn’t have done either one of us any good.