42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

Alex

The goddamn phone pierced my skull like a jackhammer. Most of the liquid surrounding my brain was probably alcohol, creating the neural equivalent of a pickle. And pickles were fucking disgusting.

For the first time ever, I was disappointed to see my brother's name. The previous day came flooding back: the partnership contingent on Nick's Hollywood connections, drowning my sorrows with Victoria, then indulging in a trip to the late-night taco truck for carnitas burritos and …

Victoria and I did shots of tequila with the line cook, didn't we?

And I scream-sang ‘Feliz Fucking Navidad' until the neighbors yelled out their windows to shut up because it sounded like a cat was dying, didn't I?!

Well, if I had to suffer through this miserable hangover, I might as well drag Nick down with me. My greeting emerged as a guttural croak.

"Oh shit, you look like garbage." Second time I'd been told that this month.

I grunted, desperately wanting to empty my bladder but unsure my muscles would function. I sat up in bed as the room spun. The contents of my gut sloshed, demanding escape. I raced to the bathroom, giving in to my stomach's plea. When I'd wiped my face with a wet towel and sat down on the floor, I lifted the phone.

Nick's expression shifted to genuine concern. "What was that?"

"Uhhhhh … MacAllen, Chilean sea bass, Dom Perignon, crème br?lée, street tacos, and your precious Elysian tequila."

He winced. "Sounds like one hell of a night."

"Mallory would use the term hot mess ," I ran a hand down my face before locking eyes with my brother. "They offered me partnership … running their new Entertainment Division."

"Next time I'm in LA, you can fly down and —"

"That's the problem," I interrupted, growing angrier with each word. My voice rasped like sandpaper. "They expect me to use you. They don't care about the years I've dedicated or the quality of my work. They'll exploit you to line their pockets. They don't give a damn about me, or you, or Victoria."

After a moment of restraint, Nick asked, "What happened to Victoria?"

"They aren't promoting her, ever. Say she isn't partner material," I made mocking air quotes, "even though she's their best lawyer. They think that all women backslide when they have a family, even though she's never taken a sick day, while I disappeared for a month." My shoulders slumped. "And they expect her to put her career aside for mine."

Just like I expected of Grace .

The weight of my hangover brought my guard down enough to see the truth. Hamilton and Houghton belittled Victoria's ambition … and I had done the same to Grace. I had dismissed the life she had built, the jobs she loved, and the family she found. My family.

I'd been miserable before her and was miserable without her.

I would have dragged her down, a weight around her ankle.

The realization sent me back to my knees to empty my stomach.

"Fuuuuuck me," I groaned, head still dangling over the toilet. The foul stench made me gag, but I deserved to retch. "I tried to buy her happiness, like her life was replaceable."

"We're not talking about Victoria, are we?" The bathroom acoustics made Nick's kind voice echo inside the porcelain. "Do you want to tell me what happened with Grace?"

I started to snap that I'd figure it out, but when I saw Nick's empathetic gaze, I asked, "How much time do you have? "

Grace

"That's the last time we talked," I said, feeling the weight of the whole story — the weight of Alex's love — crashing into me again.

They'd sat enrapt as I recounted Bruce's heart attack and Alex dressing up like Santa and the pinkie promise and baking apple pies and cutting down the tree myself — Isaac offered that it could be my job from now on — and Christmas morning with Ruby and seeing Mama and New Year's Eve.

The retelling had torn me apart, dabbing the tears with tissues that Isaac had distributed. Rachel started crying when I got to the tree farm — she blamed her pregnancy hormones, but Isaac shot a look at Elijah that told me this was normal. My tears didn't begin until Christmas, and Elijah held strong until the the sidewalk dance on New Year's Eve. Even Isaac got misty-eyed when I'd searched for them while skiing.

"But what was your counteroffer?" Rachel asked.

My whole body stilled.

"He said that the first person should make a huge offer," Isaac reminded me, "then the second person counters with a reasonable alternative. And if they don't, the first person has to walk away."

Holy heck. I'd been propositioned by a world class negotiator. He'd anchored high and I'd balked, offering no concessions. I'd said no, full stop.

I dropped my head into shaking hands as I realized how I might have reacted if I hadn't gone into fight-or-flight. How differently things could have ended. Or not ended.

My breathing hitched. Elijah steadied my arm. Isaac brought me water.

"But, how can I, what could I even, how could we —?"

"A man like that," Rachel said, then corrected, "A love like that … it doesn't come along every day. You've got to grab it when you find it."

"Call him, sis," Isaac said. "It's not too late."

"Go to California before the paperwork clears for Ruby," Rachel suggested.

"I can be right with you, if you want backup when you call," Elijah said.

I looked around, panic wracking me. "But what would I say?"

Isaac smiled. "Tell him you're ready to negotiate. "

Alex

"I broke her brother's nose," I confessed sheepishly.

My soft-spoken brother's laugh was nearly a howl. "Quite the impression on your future in-laws."

That sobered me more than the vomiting. "It's over. She told me to leave."

"No, you idiot," Nick said. "She told you she wouldn't go with you."

"Same difference. They finally offered me partner, I can't just leave."

"And why do you want to be a partner so badly?"

"Fuck, I don't know," I growled.After nearly a decade of working nonstop, he asked me this now ?

"Why do you want it, Alex?" he repeated firmly, pressing on a bruise.

"To prove I could get it," I snapped.

"So the pursuit was more about the title than desire to lead."

I groaned in annoyance. "Why do you have to be so goddamn insightful?"

"Guess playing the God of Truth is rubbing off," he said, the cocky bastard. "Making partner is a Pyrrhic victory. The sacrifice is worth more than the win."

"So what do I do now, genius?" I sneered.

He ignored my attitude. "Redefine your victory conditions. Right now, what would winning be?"

"Grace," I answered emphatically, clearly, without reservations.

"Then go get your girl," he said. "She'll be worth the discomfort of the call you know you need to make next."

Oh shit.

After hanging up with Nick, I stared at the bathroom wall for almost an hour.

Did I really need to call her? Couldn't I do this without her?

Maybe I could ask without saying it aloud. I'd send a fruit basket, or a trophy with a tongue sticking out and an engraved plaque: ‘Yep, you told me so.'

But those took time. And I didn't want to waste another day without having Grace in my life. Recounting the story to Nick reminded me of all the ways I'd messed up, all the reasons I'd have to grovel … and planted a kernel of hope that since she was the most generous woman on the planet, she'd find a way to forgive me and give me another chance.

But I had to figure out how to make it up to Grace before I called her.

Which meant I had to make this uncomfortable call, now.

My fingers shook as I pressed the green button.

"Lex?" her normally peppy voice answered cautiously.

Knowing she would gloat about this for the rest of our lives, I blurted out: "You were right and I was wrong."

"What else is new?" my sister said dryly. "You've finally come to your senses?"

"Yes, and I need …" my voice cracked as my mouth went dry. Grace , I reminded myself. I was doing this for Grace. Gripping the bathroom counter for strength, I gritted out, "I need your help."

"It's about fucking time."

I unlocked my phone to put it in airplane mode when Grace's name showed up on the screen for the first time in weeks. The only name I wanted to see … at the worst possible time.

When I fumbled to answer, it fell and slid down the aisle. I unbuckled and crawled for the phone as it skidded under the flight attendant's shoe. She glared as I half-fondled her pumps. "You need to turn that off, sir."

I scrambled to retrieve it, clutching it to my chest. "It's a really important call."

She restrained her ‘everyone says it's an important call' eye roll.

"I'll make it quick," I promised. She tapped her wrist and looked away. First class perks.

The ringing had stopped. Fuck.

Grace answered on the second ring.

"Hey," she said. Such a simple sound, but god, I missed her .

"Hey," I said, almost breathless. "It's so good to hear your voice."

"Listen, I've been thinking about your offer, and if you're open to it? I'm ready to negotiate."

My heart, which had been on life support since my last flight in the opposite direction, stumbled into an irregular beat.

"Sir, you really need to turn that off," the flight attendant said again.

"That's not going to happen," I growled at the flight attendant.

"Oh," Grace said, her voice meek. "Well maybe I should —"

"No, Grace, not you," my voice emerged frustrated.

"So if the offer still stands, maybe I could visit San Francisco, and we could —"

"Not San Francisco." She took a quick inhale as if I'd slapped her, and I backtracked. "I mean, I … I'm not even there. I want to see you, I really do, but I'm traveling." Shit, I wanted to talk to her so badly, but the people in nearby seats shifted in annoyance. "The cabin doors are closing, so I can't —"

"What's the problem?" An unfamiliar male voice asked, clearly close enough to her for me to hear.

"Something about a cabin," she answered, her voice muffled.

"Who is that?" I snapped in frustration.

"You won't believe it, Alex, but it's —"

"Ladies and gentleman, welcome to flight 365, nonstop to Miami."

"Grace," I said, my voice pleading. "I'm so sorry, I can't hear you."

"Oh." She sounded withdrawn. "Are you on a plane? Where are you going?"

"Um … nowhere important."

The flight attendant glared. I considered flipping her the bird, but an Air Marshall escorting me off the plane would ruin my timeline. I would be traveling for the next six hours, then in negotiations all day tomorrow I couldn't discuss, then another five hour flight before I could even — "Friday. Could we talk on Friday? Is 9 Eastern too late? I know that's after your bedtime."

I heard the smile in her voice when she said, "It's a date."