Chapter 12

Ihave never been so not-hungry for dinner in my life. But I’m here all the same. I spent extra time on my hair and makeup and have on a lovely A-line floral dress I’ve worn a few times, but never in front of Priscilla.

That I’m even conscious of that irks me on a cellular level because I couldn’t care less about who sees me wearing what, but I don’t want to give them ammunition and start the night off at a loss.

The door opens after I ring the bell, and Sabrina appears, looking gorgeous. I’m not a troll by any stretch, but to myself, at least, I’ll admit that Sabrina is a beautiful woman. On the outside.

Her freshly-highlighted hair sheens, falling in a smooth sheet down her back. Her blue eyes are played up, her full lips blood-red. Her designer-label white lace sheath dress looks nearly bridal, save the low V-neck that highlights a full cleavage. Her heels give her a height advantage of several inches, all the better to look down on me from upon high.

“Well, don’t you look pretty,” Sabrina says, her tone relaying the opposite. “So . . . ladylike.”

Like she knows the first fucking thing about being a lady. But I remind myself for the tenth time since I left home that I’m going to be on my best behavior. For Dad and for Lance. “Thank you, Sabrina. You look lovely as well,” I say civilly, my tone bland.

“You don’t have to fake being nice. No one is here to see it yet, since my man isn’t here yet.” The smile on her face is venom-filled, like she’s daring me to disagree with her decree.

Ooh, bitch, if I weren’t . . .

Well, there goes my promise to Dad. It’s hard for me to hold my tongue and not tell Sabrina that Lance has been hanging out at the bakery, working oh-so-close and oh-so-late with me, sneaking in kisses here and there. I imagine doing it and the look on her already Botoxed face.

But I’m not going to lay any traps for Lance. I’m here to help him through them. He’ll have enough to traverse tonight without my laying it all out there before he even gets here.

I head into the living room, noting that there are already a few subtle changes to the décor. The artwork over the fireplace is a new, and likely expensive, abstract in swashes of pink and gold, and the pillows on the couch are woven through with metallic threads, giving everything a gilded appearance.

Priscilla doesn’t acknowledge my entrance, but Dad gets up, kissing my cheek. Though it’s more polite manners than affection, it renews my resolve to behave and keep my tongue in check.

Thankfully, it’s only moments later that the doorbell rings again, announcing the Jacobses’ arrival.

Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs come in, looking elegant. Mr. Jacobs wears a finely-tailored suit in a deep charcoal grey, and Mrs. Jacobs is in a knee-length pale grey dress with an architectural portrait collar that makes her collarbones look regal.

After handshakes and air kisses—yes, for real, and prompted by Priscilla, of course—Sabrina can wait no longer.

“Where’s my Lance-y?” Her voice is practically an octave higher than usual, making her sound childish. In my gut, I feel something churn, and I know I’m going to be scarfing an extra cupcake tomorrow to make up for a very lightly eaten dinner tonight.

“Lance and Cody elected to drive over together. I believe Cody said something about showing off his latest modification? Something to do with speakers, I believe, but I’ll admit to being a bit befuddled by his love of loud music. Must be a young man thing. It simply hurts my ears,” Mrs. Jacobs says, laughing lightly at herself. “Likely just an excuse for some brother time. I’m sure you understand.”

She looks from Sabrina to me, and I have to bite back my reply.

Oh, sure. Sabrina and I are the best of buds. A regular Obi-Wan and Anakin, we are.

I blame my geeky metaphors on Mia, the ultimate geek who’s forced me to watch more Sci-Fi, both animated and live-action, over my lifetime than I’ll ever admit.

A house staff member comes in, holding a tray of white wine, which we each take gratefully. I almost drink it as a shot, needing the fortification, but I manage to sip slowly and politely.

“So, what does Cody do?” Dad asks Mr. Jacobs. “I must admit, I’ve heard so much about Lance” —he looks to Sabrina— “but Cody’s a bit of a mystery.”

He looks at me, like he’s giving me permission to go after Cody Jacobs as long as I leave Lance alone.

“As he likes it,” Mrs. Jacobs says, gripping her glass a little tightly. “He’s an executive VP for Jacobs Bio-Tech, began there while still in college, in fact, and has never worked anywhere but the family business. He’s a homegrown exec, you see.”

There’s a bit of pride in her tone, but simultaneously, she makes it sound like Cody only holds his position because of his name. It’s a delicate balance I suspect she’s perfected through many tellings.

It does make me wonder, if Cody is already here, working under Mr. Jacobs and being the good little silver-spoon boy, why they’re so hellfire-bent on bringing Lance back and marrying him off. It seems any desire for grandkids and a legacy could be well fulfilled by the younger of the two Jacobs sons. Probably with a greater degree of ease and control than they seem to have over Lance, who is a man who does whatever the hell he wants.

He hasn’t done you yet, and he definitely wants you. You want him too.

I don’t get a chance to uselessly argue with myself because a fast tap-tap-tap sounds on the door. A moment later, Lance and Cody enter, and the temperature in the room jumps about ten degrees.

Cody, for his part, looks every bit the carefree playboy. His suit is expensive but not fresh-pressed, his jaw has at least a day’s worth of stubble glinting along it, and if I’m not mistaken, his eyes look a little red as he flips his sunglasses up onto the top of his head.

“Sorry we’re late,” he says, not looking the least bit sorry.

Lance has the wherewithal to look sheepish, but he’s the opposite of his brother in other ways too. His scruff is well-kept, trimmed neatly, his hair not compulsively styled but neat and tidy, and his navy suit is pristine, highlighting the blue of his eyes to perfection. “Yes, our apologies.”

“That’s okay, Lance-y, you’re just in time for dinner,” Sabrina says, and I fight to hold back the hip-thrusting victory dance when I see his eyebrows shoot up at the nickname.

Lance doesn’t respond, just makes his way to my dad, shaking his hand, then Priscilla’s, and then Sabrina, who looks disappointed he doesn’t kiss the back of her hand. Suddenly, we’re face to face, his eyes burning into mine.

“Charlotte.” His voice is deep, the timber making all the hairs on my arms stand up.

I try to warn him off with my eyes but probably fail since his hand is still wrapped around mine long after is proper. “Nice to see you again, Lance.”

My voice is purposefully neutral, not hinting that not that long ago, we were this close to making out over a wedding cake. Hell, not even letting on that we’ve seen each other since the gala.

Priscilla notices something, though, and claps, saying sharply, “Dinner.” She plasters a fake smile on and gestures with her hand. “I mean, right this way, please.”

She leads us to the dining room, and oh, my God, there are place cards noting who’s to sit where. Seems Priscilla isn’t leaving anything to chance. Dad and Priscilla take their natural places at the ends of the table, Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs sitting at Dad’s right and left. Lance is sandwiched between his mother and Sabrina, I’m between Mr. Jacobs and Cody, who at least also looks like he doesn’t want to be here.

Lance looks like he’s preparing for the Spanish Inquisition and reaches for his water glass almost immediately. Meanwhile, Cody is looking across the table, blatantly staring at Sabrina’s cleavage. Not that she notices, because as soon as she sits down, she’s practically rubbing her tits against Lance’s arm, damn near climbing into his lap right here at the table.

Dinner is served, something pretty on the plate and likely delicious, but I don’t taste a thing. All my attention is on the conversations going on around the table, both verbal and nonverbal.

“So, Lance . . . what’s it like being a real American hero SEAL?” Priscilla purrs.

Like she was prompted, Sabrina leans into Lance. “Yes, Lance-y. You’re so brave, rushing into danger like that. So strong and powerful,” she simpers, squeezing his biceps.

Okay, so she’s not wrong, exactly. Lance is all those things, but the needy, worshipful way she compliments him rubs me wrong. To help, I glance over, where I’ll give Cody credit, he seems to see through Sabrina’s charade because he’s rolling his eyes so hard they might get stuck that way.

Lance ignores Sabrina’s manicured hand and looks at Priscilla instead. “If you want to know the truth, I spent most of my time in combat, scared out of my wits. ‘Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the assessment that something else is more important than the fear.’ That’s the mission.”

Sabrina interrupts, “Ooh, you’re so smart. That’s brilliant.”

“FDR seemed to think so,” I say under my breath, and Lance looks at me, a smirk on his face that I caught the famous quote that Sabrina seems woefully unfamiliar with.

“Are you a presidential fan, Charlotte?” Lance asks, and four sets of parental eyes turn to me, plus Sabrina’s glare.

“Oh, uh, not particularly. I just bake,” I say, trying to avoid making myself sound small and unfortunately failing. I have more experience with that than I care to admit, and with Priscilla’s narrowed eyes, I revert more easily than I’d like.

“How is the bakery coming, dear?” Mrs. Jacobs asks. “I heard your cupcakes caused quite the stir at the gala.”

I dab at my mouth with my napkin, smiling a little as Priscilla scowls. “Thank you, Mrs. Jacobs. Thomas and Mia really helped me get the word out, and business has been going better than projected. I’ve got quite a few regulars already and a rather large wedding cake custom order going out this weekend.”

“Way to work those connections, dear,” Priscilla quips. “You certainly need them, considering you won’t be getting any real recognition when people can buy a cake at Albertson’s. Not like they give Michelin stars for baked goods, though yours are good, I suppose,” she jokes, laughing lightly like she’s teasing, but the only person who laughs with her is Sabrina.

I’m at my max, the threshold for bullshit about two feet ago, and now I’m swimming through it to wrangle my hands around Priscilla’s neck, not literally, but figuratively, as I respond.

“I don’t use my friends that way and don’t choose them based on what they can do for me like a narcissistic user. Mia has a quote I think you’d be interested in. ‘Don’t beg for it . . . earn it. Do that, and you’ll be rewarded.’ And that’s what I’m doing. Not trying to suck up to people to get my way up the social ladder.”

My emphasized words, combined with my pointed look at Sabrina, sends a very clear message. It isn’t missed as Dad slams his napkin on the table, the sound sharp before he barks. “That’s enough, Charlotte. Once again, despite our conversation, you can’t seem to understand proper decorum. Priscilla put on a lovely dinner so Sabrina and Lance could get to know one another, and all I asked is for you to not interfere. But you sit here and insult them. I’m disappointed in you. Apologize now, young lady.”

I can see the twitch at the corners of Sabrina’s lips, her delight that I’m getting reamed out. I guess this time, she didn’t really do anything to me. It was Priscilla who insulted my bakery, but I threw them both under the bus as fast as I could. It’s deserved time and time over, but I look like the bitch right now.

“My apologies,” I offer the table, my head held high and my tone saying I’m anything but.

I hear Cody murmur beside me, “Best part of the whole night, hands down.”

I’m encouraged by Cody’s words, but it’s the look in Lance’s eye that pleases me the most. His hot gaze bores into me, making me rub my thighs together for relief because I can feel the dark promise in his eyes.

Conversation begins again, pointedly veering away from anything that I can contribute to.

Mrs. Jacobs and Priscilla discuss upcoming events on the social calendar for the season, including the value in going with a staunchly respected designer for gowns instead of gambling on a new uprising hotshot. Priscilla devours every word like they’re gospel, and maybe to her, they are.

Mr. Jacobs and Dad then move to talk about Roseboro and the move of Jacobs Bio-Tech to town. “It’s been an exciting change,” he says, “though I may feel differently when the winter snow hits.”

Dad agrees, sipping his drink. “It takes getting used to, but Roseboro is worth it. The town has changed a lot over the last twenty, thirty years. While we’re not quite in Roseboro, I’ve of course kept my eye on things. It’s quite exciting.”

Their talk turns to Blackwell and the changes he’s brought to town, and then to Thomas Goldstone and the changes he’s bringing along with the partnership with the bio-tech company.

Sabrina interjects. “Mr. Blackwell has done such great things. It’s a pity Charlotte couldn’t keep her job there.” I have intentionally kept my mouth shut, letting all the attention drift away from me, but Sabrina couldn’t resist the opportunity to cut me.

Mr. Jacobs turns to me, lifting an eyebrow. “Oh? You used to work at Blackwell? Why’d you leave?”

I nod, looking at Dad. “I did. I decided to pursue a dream and left.”

I’m leaving off so much to that decision, but I don’t want to push it considering my earlier outburst.

Dad frowns, shaking his head as he explains to Mr. Jacobs, “You remember what it’s like to be young, taking the more difficult path despite every advice to the contrary? I’m afraid she has the best and the worst of both her mother and me, and she refuses to see sense from a voice of reason and experience.”

It’s not the harshest thing he’s ever said and mirrors the way we’d left things the other day, but this feels more patronizing. I can feel myself shrinking in my seat, and I bite my lip to keep from saying anything else.

Lance suffers no such need to keep quiet, standing and tossing his napkin to the table, similarly to how Dad did earlier. “Seriously? Do you hear yourself?” He looks at Dad as if he expects an answer, but Dad merely looks back in total shock. After a moment, Lance expounds. “Charlotte left a job to chase a dream, one that I’ve seen her work hard at and she’s flourishing with. Yet you continue to downplay her success, all the while, playing up a daughter whose sole ‘work experience’ is sitting still for the amount of time it takes to have her extensions attached in the salon chair.”

Sabrina lets out a weak sound of offense, but Priscilla’s is loud. “Why, I never!”

Lance turns to Priscilla, a look of disdain on his face. “You’re right. You never. But I do. I see you. Every snarky comment, every jealous look.”

Priscilla has the gall to look offended, like she doesn’t know exactly what he’s talking about.

“Lance, please!” Mrs. Jacobs exclaims, but he whirls on her next.

“Mom, I understand that you think you have my best interests at heart, but back off. I’m a grown man, and I’m not marrying someone because you’ve deemed them an acceptable match or worked some backroom deal with Priscilla. What you think you’re getting out of this, I don’t know, nor do I care. I’m here and I’m home, but not for this circus.”

He thrashes his hand around, gesturing at the table.

Lance pushes his chair further back, stepping away from the table and taking a few steps toward the doorway.

“Lance, I demand—” Mr. Jacobs starts, but Lance doesn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence.

“You’ll demand nothing of me, Dad. You’re asking me to help with the family company, and I’ve done so, in spite of my own career and despite there being a Jacobs son ready and willing, and from what I see, more than able to take over the company mantle.”

The only people at the table not sputtering are me and Cody. We both have huge shit-eating grins on our faces, and I’m guessing similar wishes that we could’ve said all that ourselves.

I guess he’s said everything he’s had brewing up, because Lance moves to the doorway but pauses to glance back once more. His eyes meet mine again, challenge sparking in his baby blues. “You coming, Red?”

My smile falters, my jaw dropping as I look around the table. Shock, fury, and even Cody’s still-growing smile greet me. I should do as I’m told, sit still and not make a fuss, like I’ve done so many times before.

Fuck that.

I get up, dropping my napkin to my chair. “Yep, let’s go.”