Chapter 7

My phone buzzed just as my team and I returned from lunch to the sleek conference room. The large table's surface gleamed in the sun slanting through the wide wall of windows. An expansive view of the city stretched from end to end. Macau had an interesting history and a unique skyline, but this time, I was finding it difficult to appreciate any of it.

I was tired. Tired of traveling. Tired of working. Tired of feeling restless in a way that no amount of busy-ness or excitement seemed to cure. But this meeting was a critical part of determining the operational strategy of a new investment. Even though several leaders from my investment team were on the project, it was important for me to be present.

I pulled my phone out, ready to decline the call and put the phone back into Focus mode for the duration of the afternoon, when I saw who was calling.

Hugh.

If he was calling instead of texting, it meant something was wrong, especially since Macau was thirteen hours ahead of New York, making it around two in the morning where he was. My heart rate skyrocketed in fear as I stepped out into the quiet hallway without even muttering an explanation, shocking my team and leaving a table full of wide eyes and dropped jaws.

"Hugh? What's going on?"

The slurring voice on the other end was unexpected. "Am I just unlovable? You'll tell it to me straight. I know you will. Am I? Because…" A deep, shaky sigh came through the phone and curled around my heart. "Maybe I need to accept that this just isn't going to happen for me."

"What happened with Louis?" I demanded, imagining what it would feel like to wrap my hands around that pissant's ungrateful throat.

"S'just that he… he tried to tell some of my Real Life HEAs people to get divorced. On the sly. Which was really, really mean." I could tell now that he was drunk. I wished like hell I wasn't half a world away so I could turn up at his apartment and comfort him.

"Where's Rafa?" I knew Rafa was a good guy who cared about Hugh. He could be trusted to give Hugh the support he clearly needed.

"Puking probs. We had some drinks. You probably can't tell, but I'm a little…" His voice drifted off.

I couldn't stop my grin or the way my voice lowered. "Drunk. Yeah, baby. I can tell. Did you take some Advil and drink some water?"

"No."

I settled in the hallway with my back against the wall, the beige plaster cool against my shoulder blades. "Go do that now. I'll wait."

"Okay." Sounds of fumbling and muffled footsteps came through the phone, followed by the tap running and turning off. After a few minutes, he came back on. "I did it."

"Good. Now, go lie in bed and tell me what exactly happened with Louis."

"You can't kill him. It's against the law." Instead of a smile in his voice, I heard a thread of unease. "Promise me, Oscar."

"Not going to kill him." Only because I wasn't on the same continent as the prick. "Just fantasize about it a little."

Now the smile came into his voice. "Fantasizing is okay. I do it a lot. Mostly not about killing though. Mostly about being with you… er, not you. Hugh. Um… Mostly about being with myself… in various places. Like…" He blew out a defeated breath. "How are things in Macaw?"

"Macau," I corrected, biting back a grin at how fucking adorable he was drunk. "And they're fine. Stop changing the subject."

He proceeded to tell me about the weaselly divorce attorney trolling Hugh's HEA couples for business. It was disgusting and despicable, not to mention completely sleazy.

"Well, I think that's fantastic, actually," I said, trying to sound upbeat.

Hugh was beginning to sound a little less drunk and a little more adorably tipsy. "Fantastic? That he messed with my professional reputation?"

"No, that he made it easy to see who he really is before things got too serious. This way, you don't have to spend two years living with the guy before realizing he's a douche."

Hugh let out a mournful sound. "He was good in bed."

I gritted my teeth until they felt like they might crack. "Plenty of other men in New York who are good in bed."

The sound became a whiny wail. "I feel like I've already tried them all! And… and…" He exhaled. "I forgot what I was going to say. And anyway… I should probably hang up now. I know we're not supposed to call. I didn't… didn't mean to hit the Call button. I pulled out my phone to text and accidentally hit the Call button… which is really a lie. Because I meant to hit the Call button. I really hope you don't remember that when you sober up."

I slid down to sit on the floor, grinning stupidly. "I won't, I promise."

"Can we change the subject? How's your business whatever?"

"Strategy sessions are productive. So far, so good."

"Are you supposed to be meeting now? It's daytime there, right? I should probably let you go."

I glanced over my shoulder and saw through the glass conference room door to the table full of executives. One of my VPs shot me a concerned look. I gave him a thumbs-up and gestured for them to continue without me.

"It's daytime, but there's no rush. Did you get your edits done on the Patrick wedding?"

"Yeah." Hugh's defeated tone disappeared as he began to tell me about the pictures he'd captured at last weekend's wedding job. "There's a shot of the bride with her family that came out perfect," he added.

"Such a perfectionist," I said fondly.

"Sometimes, yeah. But I'm particularly proud of myself for that one because one of the adult sons was a total pain in the ass. Didn't want to be in the pictures."

"Mm. Maybe he didn't want to be at the wedding at all."

Hugh hesitated, as if the thought had never occurred to him. "Don't be ridiculous. Who wouldn't want to be at their sister's wedding?"

I made a low dismissive noise, but Hugh must have sobered up enough to catch it. "Oscar? What was that for?"

I sighed. Normally, I didn't talk about my family, even with Hugh. It was an old habit that was ingrained too deeply to break. But it had gotten harder to keep that part of myself from him. Plus, he was so drunk he'd probably forget everything by morning. "My stepsister is getting married at the end of the year, that's all. And I definitely don't want to be there for it."

Another hesitation, only this time, the silence felt heavy and full of judgment. When he finally spoke, Hugh's voice was dangerously understanding. "But… why? And how did I not know you had a sibling?"

"Stepsibling," I corrected automatically. "And there's not just one. I have eight stepsiblings in total. It's a little much to explain, so I usually just… don't."

"You have eight siblings and I never knew about them? How? Who?… and how? When?"

"Stepsiblings," I said again, more forcefully this time. I took a deep breath. It wasn't that I minded him knowing about my mother's family, exactly; it was just that no one seemed to understand why I kept them at arm's length. I was sure Hugh, who adored his sister beyond reason, wouldn't be any different.

"My mom remarried when I was in my twenties," I explained. "At the time, I lived in a shitty shoebox in Harlem—remember, this is pre-gentrification—and my across-the-hall neighbor was a widower with eight kids. Nice guy. Working really hard to raise his family, but it was damned near impossible with nine of them living in a two-bedroom apartment."

"You helped him." Hugh sounded sure of himself. Smug.

"Well, yes. Someone had to. And I didn't know anyone else in town at the time. So it benefitted me too, obviously."

"Obviously," Hugh said wryly. "So you became friends and then set your mom up with him."

I shifted on the floor until my knees were pulled up in front of my chest. "Not exactly. I helped him with the kids—the little ones, I mean. The older ones were my age and just as busy working as Birch was—and over time, I realized that he was really good at being a busy dad. He had all these… hacks, we'd call them now. Single dad hacks." I picked at an irregular thread in the fabric of my suit pants. "I thought if he helped other single parents like himself, maybe he could monetize it somehow. So I helped him start a dad blog. Got him set up on a cheap computer and wrote most of the posts. Took pictures and video and figured out how to post them too. Eventually, we were able to get him some big sponsorships. Paid for extracurriculars for some of the kids and college for some of the others. Then he got a book deal?—"

"Holy shit, Oscar. Are you kidding?"

"No. It was really cool. He was one of the first micro-investments I made. I paid a marketing firm to set up a brand around the blog and book deal. I paid for the attorney to make sure he was protected in the agreements he made. And then he paid me a cut like an agent. I reinvested the money for us in some branded products and hired a kid to figure out how to sell them on his website. Birch was quickly able to move to a nicer place. That's when he finally met my mom. When I decided to spend a little money to fly her out from Texas."

"Birch… wait." I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. I knew it was only a matter of time before he put it together. "Your stepfather is Daddy Birch? Of Daddy Birch's Tots, Teens, and Tips? Seriously?"

I felt the familiar burst of pride. "You've heard of him? I thought it was mostly parents who knew about him."

"Wait… didn't all his kids have like… plant names or something? Something cornball…"

"Yeah. He made those up to protect their privacy online. He referred to them by flower names instead of their real names, but over time, pretty much all of them got more used to being called their flower names than their real names. So it stuck. When he met my mom, he roped her into the crazy. Her name is Gloria, but… well, he calls her Gladiolus. Ridiculous, I know. Sappy as fuck."

"Sweet," he said, sounding like the love-drunk person he was on any other day. "I'd love to have a nickname like that. Something meaningful or sexy or… Anyway. Doesn't matter. I'm just saying, it's not sappy. It's sweet."

"I guess." I blew out a breath. "Anyway, the Flower Family, as Lesya refers to them, is a bit… much. And the thing is…"

I wanted to tell him that marrying Birch and being the mother figure to a gigantic, happy family had been my mom's dream. That I'd never wanted to horn in and risk fucking up the perfect happiness she'd finally found with them the way I'd ruined things for her with my dad. That the best way to avoid worrying about fitting in was to simply… stand out. But it all sounded sort of gross and pitiful, more like the young Oscar I'd been back in Texas than the man I was now. The last thing I wanted was his pity.

I cleared my throat. "…I don't really want to add yet another wedding to my calendar," I said instead. "So, maybe your annoyed family member in the Patrick wedding party was simply overwhelmed by too many command performances by his family."

The joking tone I attempted fell flat.

"How could I have known you for a year and not heard about your giant family?" Hugh said softly, almost like he was talking to himself. "You've never once even mentioned?—"

"We're not close," I said, stretching my neck along with the truth. "I don't see them often."

"Where do they live?"

Thankfully, I was saved by the opening of the conference room door. One of my assistants, a man named Deming, popped his head out and met my eyes. I covered the phone with my hand. "I need to take this. Can you tell Olivia to take over for me? Thanks."

He knew better than to ask anything further, but the surprise on his face didn't go unnoticed. I removed my hand from the phone and murmured an apology before trying to change the subject.

"So what are you doing this weekend? I'm assuming you have another wedding job?"

The sound of bedsheets whooshing across one another came through the phone. I tried not to imagine Hugh's nearly naked body sliding between the cool cotton. "'Course. It's summertime. Where else would I be on the weekends?" he asked with a laugh. "You?"

"Same. I'm considering tattooing my best man speech on my forearm to keep it handy for how frequently I need it."

His laugh loosened something in my chest. "Nah. You should have it memorized by now. No need for the tattoo. All you have to remember is the riveting bit about ‘better them than me.' Gets 'em every time."

I chuckled. "Nothing hits you right in the feels more than good, hard truth. I have a rare talent for it… Much the same way I have a natural aptitude for delivering pickup lines, really."

"You do not. In fact?—"

"Hey, Hugh? How about I call you Google, because you've got everything I'm searching for?" I laced my voice with over-the-top flirtation.

Hugh was silent for a single, horrified moment before he let out an epic retching noise. I buried my face in my elbow to hide my laughter, lest the people in the conference room think I'd completely lost my mind.

"If you were a vegetable, I'd call you a cute-cumber," I told him.

"No. No. Stop right now. I'm not drunk enough for this."

"How about I call you Wi-Fi, because I'm definitely feeling a connection…" I continued relentlessly.

"Oh dear god," he cried. "Negative twelve out of ten. Negative two hundred out of ten! I think… I think my ears are bleeding. Frank is ashamed of you right now, Oscar Overton."

"You said you wanted a nickname, so I thought…"

"You're the worst. The actual, absolute worst." But the smile in his voice told a different story and made me grin like a fool. "Stop being outrageous and tell me about Macau. What's it like there?"

I began to tell him about the skyline. About the casinos and the nightlife. About the Portuguese and Malaysian influences on the culture and especially the food.

"They have several fusion restaurants that I wish you could experience, but the local dish the tourists usually want to try is called minchi. Regardless of where you get it, it's like this savory comfort food. Fried potatoes, minced pork or beef… mm. Super good but definitely filling. Too much for the hot weather right now. But I've enjoyed some good curry and dim sum. And there's a Chinese veggie dish I can't get enough of."

Hugh asked about the sightseeing, which made me realize I rarely took time for pleasure on trips for work. "I've heard the cathedral ruins are a good place to visit here, but I haven't been yet. What's on your travel bucket list?"

He hummed while he thought. "There are several places I wish I could go for my HEA stuff. Santorini… Bali… the Ponte Vecchio in Florence. Hell, for that matter, any place where there's a bridge with love locks on it. It would be like catnip for the kind of people I enjoy interviewing."

I thought of a bridge like that I'd seen in Tampere. "They're taking those locks off of a lot of bridges now, but in Finland, they melted them down and made an art installation out of them. It's called something like ‘One Love' or… I can't remember exactly. You'd really like it."

We continued to share travel stories, places we'd seen and places we hadn't. I closed my eyes and let his voice wash over me. Because our relationship was text only, this opportunity to actually hear him being adorable and funny was unexpected and precious.

"Tell me how your sister's doing," I said after he told a story about a trip they'd gone on with their parents when they were kids.

"Fine. In fact, she—oh." He let out a sigh, back to sounding defeated. "Ugh."

"What? What's wrong?"

"I was going to say Abby's been busy making plans for her wedding. I was kind of counting on being able to take Louis as my date to all her wedding stuff—you know, because of Jared—and now I realized I can't."

After hearing about Hugh's ex from Abby, I hadn't been able to keep from fishing for more information from Hugh himself. What I'd heard had been… upsetting, though Hugh had tried to play it off. Jared said he loved me but that I wanted more than he could give, he'd written, as though he wasn't quoting the tritest line of bullshit any asshole had ever delivered to the beautiful, lovable human they hadn't deserved. He just couldn't see himself ever being tied to one person permanently. We wanted different things, I guess.

The fact that I'd given Hugh a similar rationale for why I didn't do relationships anymore wasn't lost on me, but at least I'd had the decency to make my feelings clear from the very outset. The idea that Jared had been involved with Hugh—living with Hugh—for two years before saying these things made the situations entirely different.

I'dnever break Hugh's heart.

Knowing that Hugh would soon be related to this heart-stomping, idiotic "Prince Charming" made me feel like a human volcano, ready to spew a river of vicarious molten rage lava hot enough to burn entire cities.

"You'll find someone else," I assured him. "And if not…" I cleared my throat. "If not, I can always go with you."

Was this a terrible idea? Almost certainly. Offering to go with him to a family event was the absolute last thing I should be doing. But I couldn't stand hearing him sound upset and nervous. Less-than. As if Jared was anything special.

He wasn't.

He couldn't possibly be.

Only an imbecile would have given Hugh up.

"You'd go with me? In person? In violation of Oscar Overton's Text Friendship Rules?" he teased. "Huh… maybe I'm still drunk."

I could hear the grin in his voice. "Maybe so. But Jared needs to be put in his place, and at the risk of sounding arrogant, having a rich playboy on your arm might do the job. Hell, we could even tell him we're a thing."

My mouth snapped shut as my brain caught up with it. What the actual fuck? The idea of being on Hugh's arm had felt so good, so natural, the suggestion had rolled right off my tongue… which scared me enough to jolt me back to reality. The "Text Friendship Rules," as Hugh called them, existed for a reason. Because I was not strong enough to resist this sweet, sexy man on my own…

And despite my incredible track record at picking winners in business, when it came to love, I'd never learned how to invest wisely.

I had no reason to believe that a relationship with Hugh would end any differently than my relationships with Boone, and James, and Roman, and all of the other wonderful men I'd dated over the years, and I didn't want to imagine a world where Hugh and I tried to be a couple and didn't work out. Where we lost the perfect, simple closeness of our current friendship. Where I'd have to—Jesus Christ—give a best man speech at his wedding.

I didn't want to watch Hugh find his after-Oscar love while I became just a footnote in his dating history.

Which meant the rules needed to stay in place. It was safer for both of us.

"Fake dating to make the ex jealous?" Hugh said thoughtfully. "Hm… not a bad idea, but I would never ask you to do that. Besides, with all the travel you've been doing, you're probably going to be out of the country or something. It's a good reason to try and get back on the horse though. With dating, I mean."

That wasn't what I wanted. Not at all. I wanted Hugh to take a break from dating, take a break from exposing himself to the caprice of strange men who would never care for him the way he deserved. But… he was right. If he wanted his own HEA, he needed to keep looking. Keep putting himself out there. Even if it hurt me.

I meant him.

Even if it hurt me to see him hurt, was what I'd meant.

Shit.

"Absolutely." I spoke the word with a confidence I didn't feel, ignoring the sick twist in my stomach. "In fact, this weekend, when you're working the wedding, would be the perfect time to find someone?—"

"Not at the wedding," Hugh argued. "You know I avoid wedding hookups." He hesitated. "Usually."

Memories of the night I'd been his exception flashed through my brain, and want flooded my bloodstream. "You need to blow the Louis cobwebs out of your brain, Hugh," I said, my voice rough but firm. "So here's what you're going to do. You're going to find the hottest guy at that wedding?—"

"It's unprofessional," he squawked. "It's not?—"

"You're gonna give him a seductive smile and lure him back to your hotel room?—"

"Oscar."

"And by the time Monday comes around, you'll be like, ‘Louis, who? Don't know her.'"

"Oscar."

"Trust me, okay? You need to get back on the dating horse, so I'm manifesting you a damn horse," I vowed. "And you're gonna ride him all weekend."

Hugh made a noncommittal noise. "We'll see. But what about you?" he demanded. "Are you, uh… Will you… I mean, do you think there'll be a horse at the wedding you're going to?"

"As a matter of fact…" I laughed, though I knew Hugh wouldn't understand the joke. "I know there will be."

"Oh."

I glanced over at the conference room door in time to catch the nervous glance of my executive VP.

"We've been on the phone for a couple of hours," I said gently. "I should probably let you get to sleep."

"Oh, yeah… yeah, I guess. And I'm sure your meeting's starting soon."

"Mmhm. So…"

He let out a little nervous laugh. "So, I guess… I guess I'll text you later?"

I gripped the fingers of my free hand into a tight ball and tried to keep my voice light. "Absolutely. I'll be looking forward to horse updates all weekend too." In much the same way I looked forward to dental work. "Get some sleep."

"Yeah, you too. I mean, not sleep. Not in your meeting. But later. Later, get some sleep."

I closed my eyes and let myself smile. "Will do."

When the call ended, I stared at my phone for a little while longer. My skin felt tight and strange, ill-fitting and wrong, and the restlessness that had dogged me for months settled into my gut with a vengeance.

I was too far from home, I realized. Too far from… people I cared about.

Going to the wedding this weekend and seeing my friends would be just what I needed to ground myself. And if seeing them laugh and coo with their happily ever afters also reinforced for me why certain rules should not be broken… that was all for the best.

I stood up and dusted myself off, straightening my clothes and taking a few deep breaths to resettle into business mode.

That was what I was good at, after all.