“Okay, I won’t sell it for now. It’s nice to have somewhere to come home to. Besides, I’m finding that I like keeping a tie to my roots.”
“Good. I’m glad.” His phone buzzes in his hand, and Cannon’s name flashes across the screen. “I need to take this.”
“Go conquer the world from New York, Crey. We’re going to be just fine.”
I shove him toward the stairs, and he goes. Beyond his clipped greeting, I hear nothing of their conversation. Instinct tells me that all is not well back in New York at Karas International.
The urge to ask is strong, but I fight it back . . . now, and the whole drive to the airport. I’m still fighting it when Creighton cups my face and kisses the hell out of me, and when he climbs on the jet and gives me one final wave.
Alone in the Cadillac, I wonder if I shouldn’t have fought the urge to ask.
The next day, I’ve just scarfed down a tuna sandwich for lunch when someone knocks at the door.
Really? Again?
I’ve already received two deliveries from Crey today. First, Delores Maynard’s grandson, Leander, dropped by with the other journals that Crey asked her to make for me. After I fished out a twenty to tip him, I almost swooned at the beautiful colors.
After that came Ben from Brews and Balls.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked him.
He hefted a black-and-pink bowling bag up with the hand not wrapped around his cane. “Special delivery from your man.”
“What the hell?” I took the bag from him and unzipped it. A hot-pink glitter-swirled bowling ball with my name engraved on it sat inside, along with black-and-pink bowling shoes.
What in the world?
“Okay, well. Now that that’s done, I gotta run, sugar. I’ll see you at the lanes tonight, if you’re coming in.”
I mumbled something to him as he picked his way down the steps and shuffled to his car. I had no idea what I said, because I was too stunned. I pulled out the note stuck to the ball and set the bag on the floor.
Read me.
I tear it open and read it.
In case you get bored. Also, I think the citizens of Gold Haven would love to have a reason to get you back into the bowling alley to give another impromptu concert. I might have only caught the tail end of the last one, and even tequila spiked, it was amazing.
I miss you.
Yours,
Crey
Hell.
If I hadn’t already given the man my heart, he would have stolen it right there over a pink glittery bowling bowl and black-and-pink bowling shoes. I may be the only woman on the planet to prefer this gift to a Harry Winston diamond collar, but there was more thought and effort tied up in this gesture, and that makes all the difference in the world to me.
The next knock on the door—which has morphed into angry hammering—jars me out of the memory.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I mutter as I yank the door open.
I should have looked through the lace curtain covering the tiny window in the door. But I didn’t.
“Hey, baby! Mama’s home!”
I hit the ground running when I arrived yesterday in New York, and have barely stopped since. Cannon scowled at me the entire time I was on the phone with Ben to get the bowling ball, shoes, and bag set up for Holly, but I kicked his ass out of the room when I arranged for the other delivery. That was the only time I spent on anything unrelated to business since I got here. Otherwise, it’s been clusterfuck after clusterfuck.
My uncle is accusing me of breaching my duty of loyalty to my own fucking company, and usurping a corporate opportunity because I didn’t allow the board of directors to vote on the purchase of Homegrown Records before I bought it personally.
I’ve spent almost every minute since I got here locked in with my lawyers—the ones I had to hire personally to defend me since my company attorneys have a conflict of interest—and what they’re telling me isn’t good. Sure¸ there are plenty of arguments in my favor, good ones, but the fact that they’re saying he has a case at all burns me straight to the gut.
There wouldn’t be an issue if I’d put the matter on the agenda to be voted on, gotten the blessing of the board, and then proceeded with the purchase, but I was in such a goddamn hurry—so eager to do the deal for Holly and make sure the record execs couldn’t screw her over—that I fucked up. I’ve never fucked up like this before. If my uncle files suit, my reputation in the business world, and with my own board and shareholders, will be damaged, maybe irrevocably.
I should have told Holly everything before I left Kentucky yesterday. She’s the one person I want to vent everything to, and she’s completely unavailable to me because I didn’t open my fucking mouth and say word one about what I did.
I know it’s because part of me doesn’t want to tip the new balance we found. This harmony feels so fucking good, I don’t want to screw it up before we even have a chance to enjoy it.
But this isn’t something I want to tell her when she’s not within my reach. I don’t think she’ll run again, but there’s always the chance she may think I was trying to buy her, and I’m not taking the chance that this announcement isn’t delivered with care.
What Cannon told me on the phone early yesterday when he called me in Kentucky was only that my uncle planned to file suit—not that he has any actual grounds. I figured the lawyers would sort that shit out in record time. God knows I pay them enough. But no solutions yet. Just multiple possible courses of action qualified a dozen ways to Sunday.
I pick up my phone to call Holly anyway. Just hearing her voice will be an improvement.