Truly Madly Deeply: Chapter 23

There were countless things I disliked in this world. A never-ending list of shit that ground my gears. To name a few: overcooked seafood, foreign films that won Oscars, any music made after 2015, the vast majority of humans, and porn that had more than three minutes of plot.

But the thing I loathed more than anything else, hands down, was getting visitors while I was working. Especially when I had to leave early for some bullshit town hall meeting.

Which was why I was currently every shade of pissed off under the sun.

“No visitors,” I maintained to Rhy, charring an octopus at my sous-chef’s station. Had I or had I not said I hated overcooked seafood?

Rhy wedged his shoulder between the metal shelves, which were laden with containers full of produce. The kitchen was approximately the temperature of the sun. “Listen, man, I get the frustration, but you gotta hear her out.”

“No, I don’t.” I slid the perfectly browned octopus onto a plate with a poached egg, blackberry jam, and a mandarin salad. “Being accommodating is your trait. Being an asshole is mine.”

“She’s your ex-girlfriend.” He puffed out his cheeks.

“Ex is the operative word here.” But she had never been a girlfriend either. Allison Murray and I had seen each other a handful of times when I’d first moved back. It had lasted barely a couple weeks. She was like a Range Rover. Pure status symbol and unreasonably high maintenance. Her entire allure was that Cal seemed to hate her, and Cal didn’t hate anyone.

“Right.” Rhy blew out an irritated exhale. “How about you need to see her because she’s the mayor of the town you live in?”

I tossed another octopus into a buttered pan, sprinkling it with herbs. “Not for long.”

“It’s probably about GS Properties.” Rhy unscrewed a bottle of S.Pellegrino, taking a long sip. “She might have info she doesn’t want you to be ambushed with later today.”

That got my attention. I grabbed a dishcloth from my station and wiped my hands, dumping it onto the butcher block. “Give me five. I’ll meet her in the upstairs office.”

I made a Rose Kennedy, double the vodka—her favorite—before trudging my way upstairs. Allison and I had never meshed well. She was the wrong type of go-getter, the kind that ran people over on her way places. She had tried too hard to impress me, to keep me, to seduce me, which resulted in me breaking things off before I’d even had a chance to take her for a spin.

When I pushed open the door to my office, Allison was already there. Perched on the edge of my L-shaped desk, legs crossed in a tight gray pencil skirt and a white blouse, the first three buttons undone.

She had scarlet hair and matching lipstick, and red-soled heels higher than Willie Nelson. At twenty-six, she was the youngest mayor in the United States. Impressive, even if Staindrop had fewer citizens than some sheds.

“Ambie.” She looked up from her phone, setting it down and uncrossing her legs à la Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. “I see you brought me my favorite.” Her ruby lips parted alluringly.

“Pardon my shitty manners.” I placed the cocktail on the desk and stepped back, resting a shoulder against the wall. “But what brings you in, Al? I gotta wrap things up before the town hall meeting tonight.”

“Actually, the meeting is the reason I stopped by.” She took a demure sip of her cocktail through the tiny black straws, blinking at me through synthetic lashes.

Allison always checked the pulse to see if I might be interested in taking her out for dinner—and having her as my dessert. It always flatlined. Monogamy wasn’t my thing. I didn’t want a family. Didn’t want kids. Didn’t want any dependents. The less responsibility I had, the fewer chances I had to fuck something up. Artem’s voice chuckled in my head, Simple math never lies.

What’s more, I had no idea why she was interested in me. She had seemed just as bored as I was the couple times we had gone on dates.

“Anything I need to know ahead of the meeting?” I pulled a cigarette from behind my ear, lighting it up. No Cal around to chide me for killing myself, thank God.

“Yes, there is.” She glided from the desk, smoothing her hand over her skirt and trotting her way toward me. She slid one hand up my chest, her fingernails toying with the collar of my shirt, scraping the skin beneath it. Her nails were red, like the rest of her.

Anger flared through me. Yesterday, I’d been hoping the hot, desire-soaked need to plow into Cal and fuck her until she was boneless was the result of being abstinent for too long. But no. Carrying a muddy, disheveled, panicked Cal to safety apparently made me harder than having a willing woman in a full sexy librarian outfit try to undress me in my back office. Clearly, there weren’t enough years in my life for the amount of therapy I needed.

“Spit it out.” I clasped her wrist, removing her hand from my chest. “And don’t start with the regulatory bullshit. I spoke to the developers. They said the zoning falls just outside of the historical landmark’s limit.”

“It is. Well, technically, I guess.” Her manicured fingernail trailed down the seam of my chef jacket again. “Still, I would feel soooo much more comfortable if you withdrew from the deal altogether.”

“I’m not compression socks.” My jaw clenched. “I’m not here to make you feel comfortable.”

“Ugh. Ambie, be realistic here.” She balled her fists, pounding them on my chest before letting out a brattish snarl. “This town has been historically maintained for the hundred and ten years of its existence. I cannot have it all go down the drain on my shift. You know how much money Daddy spent to make this happen?” She motioned toward herself. “I didn’t come this far only to come this far.”

Ah, the famous Tom Brady quote. Only, Allison and Tom both had it wrong—sometimes, you needed to know when to quit.

It was no secret Mr. Murray had dropped serious bucks to make his little darling the most important person in this zip code. He wanted Allison in Congress and had the means to make it happen. I knew Staindrop was just a pit stop on her way to D.C.

I slanted my head sideways. “I think what you mean to say is this place has been at a standstill for decades longer than it should have been. People are fleeing it by the dozens. Your population’s been shrinking for nine years straight.”

“Those who stay here like it the way it is.” She curled her fingers with a pout, checking her pointy fingernails. “They’re going to blame me for letting it happen.”

“What do they expect you to do, murder me?” I arched an eyebrow.

“If that’s what it takes.” She screwed her lips into a scowl. “I contemplated this, but the odds weren’t in my favor. With your size? I’d be lucky to give you a paper cut. Anyway, people are blaming me for what you’re doing, and that’s disastrous for my career trajectory.”

“It’s not ideal,” I agreed.

“See?” She perked up. “Totally not ideal. It’s not too late to—”

“But it is also not my fucking problem.”

“Ugh, come on!” She threw herself at me, and now we were chest-to-chest, face-to-face, groin-to-groin, and my anger morphed into fury. This woman was all over me, and my dick was softer than a bath sponge. Yesterday, up to—fine, and including—the time I’d found a dead fucking coyote on my property, my erection could have been detected from Mars. In fact, that Cal hadn’t noticed I was sporting a stiffy the size of the Empire State Building while showing her around attested to how out of it she had been.

I wasn’t horny. I was just horny for Cal. Problem was, if I scratched that itch, I’d shed my flesh until I hit bone. I also didn’t want her to do McMonster dirty. Which was fucking deranged.

Because I was McMonster.

“Do you really want to go down in the history books as the person who let the powerful boot of capitalism crush the romantic town of Staindrop?” Allison penetrated my thoughts.

I looked around the room, scratching my neck. “Don’t flatter this shithole. No one is going to write a book about it.”

“Ambie, I’m serious.”

“Me too. Not even a leaflet. I doubt we’re even on the map.”

“If it’s money that you nee—”

“Respectfully, Al? Fuck off.” I was no charity case. If there was one thing I hated, it was people waving money in my face like I was a problem in need of fixing.

“You can’t sell the land. It’s historic. It’s special. It’s…it’s…haunted!” She threw her arms out desperately. “That’s a well-known fact.”

I advanced toward the door. “Look, I appreciate the last-ditch effort to try to save your career, this town, or whatever it is you’re fighting for, but it ain’t happening. It’s a good deal, and I’m taking it. I just built a house for Dylan and my mother and bought my own apartment in London. The cash flow will help, and I actually think the plan’s good.” I did. Not that it mattered to anyone. People couldn’t see past their anger once you moved their cheese.

“You bought an apartment there?” Her throat bobbed, and she had that look in her eyes of a kitten that had been kicked to the curb.

I strangled the doorframe on a sigh. “Told you I’m leaving for good.”

“I thought…” She rubbed at her temple, frowning. “I thought you meant in a few more years. Not…like, now.”

“Seven weeks.” And not a moment too soon.

“So you’re basically killing this town, then bailing on it?” Her expression hardened, and she was pretty, but she wasn’t Cal-pretty. Her skin glowed but wasn’t punctuated by freckles. Her eyes were blue, but they didn’t sparkle. And when she smiled, the world didn’t stop spinning.

“Sadly, I’m bailing before.” I bowed my head sarcastically. “The constructor said they aren’t going to break ground until next year. Blueprints are ready, though.”

“And what is it that I’m hearing, that Calla Litvin is working for you now?” Allison changed the subject sharply, her eyes roaming my face wildly. “She’s the poster child for useless. Are you doing your sister a favor? I thought Dylan finally ditched her all those years ago.”

“Are we done here?” I folded my arms over my chest.

Allison shook her head. “She’s a weirdo.”

“Yeah?” My hand grabbed the doorknob. “Well, normal people are boring, and ordinary and average are fucking synonyms. Who wants to be that?”

“Wait, Ambie, come back here! We’re not done talking.”

She started chasing after me. My answer came in the form of the door being slammed in her face.