“I’m fine where I am,” I say. I need to stand my ground and remember that no matter what, he’s still the one who left.
“Suit yourself.” He opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water. “Did you come all the way down here to beg me for money?”
Something about the way he says this suggests he’s hoping that I have. Will that make him more or less likely to donate to the shelter? Considering that he seems to get off on screwing with me, I’m guessing less.
“I had some business down here. I volunteered to do it.” So, it’s a lie. Sterling has made every move so far. Showing up at my father’s funeral, coming to dinner at my house, attending my crowd’s charity function. He thinks he can invade my world. I’ll show him that I can just as comfortably invade his.
“Business in Nashville?”
“There’s not much business in Valmont,” I say flatly.
“There’s too much business in Valmont. That’s always been its problem,” he tells me.
“My father left me a small press in his will. I decided to visit it.” Why am I telling him this? I’m not friends with him. He doesn’t need to know about my day. It’s just that I can’t stand him thinking I came down here to get my nails done or have lunch with the girls. Maybe it’s his fancy condo or his unexplained mysterious wealth, but I don’t want to feel little in the eyes of Sterling Ford.
“How did that go over?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.
“Good,” I say with some hesitation. Sterling owes me nothing—and I’m pretty sure he hates me—which means he might be the best person to confess the awkward position I’ve put myself in. Poppy will be supportive and tell me whatever she thinks I want to hear. My brother will urge me to sell the publishing house and say I have no business experience. The rest of my friends won’t care. Their own families have dozens of small businesses under the umbrella of their corporations. Who really cares what happens to a small independent publisher? “Except that I didn’t tell them who I was.”
“You just went in there and acted like a creep?” He uncaps his water bottle shaking his head.
“I said I was looking for a job.”
“Did you get one?”
“Not really,” I hedge.
The bottle pauses on the way to his lips, which twitch at my uncertain response. “You sure about that?”
“The publisher gave me a manuscript to read. She wants to see what I’ve got.”
“That sounds like a job interview,” he says. “Why didn’t you tell them who you were? You would definitely have gotten hired.”
He’s teasing but he’s also hit on the uncomfortable truth. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted her to see me for who I am—not for the family name.”
“Or as her new boss,” he guesses.
“Exactly.”
“She might not appreciate it when she finds out that you kept it from her.”
“It’s not like I’m trying to deceive her,” I say defensively. “I just don’t want her to tell me that I’d be a good editor if it’s not true.”
“And you think she won’t be honest if she knows who you are?” he asks.
“Would you be?” It’s a stupid question. Sterling has always kept things from me—always hidden parts of himself away. I never got to see all of him. Now there’s even more he’s keeping from me—where he was for the last four years, why he left.
“Maybe you should have more faith in yourself,” he suggests.
Faith in myself? Like he had faith in me? I can’t keep my disbelief from falling out of my mouth. “Are you serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He blinks like he’s genuinely confused.
I resist the urge to scream at him that he knows exactly why I can’t take it for genuine advice. He’s the one who’s walked back into Tennessee like nothing changed when everything has. He’s the one who left without a goodbye. He’s the one who made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.
“So, will you donate to the shelter or not?” I say bluntly. I need to get out of here. I’m falling into old habits. How, after all this time, can it feel this comfortable to talk to him? He’s made it clear he has an agenda that involves my family’s company. I have no idea how. Maybe some consultant told him it was a good buy. Maybe he did it on purpose. I don’t know, and I can’t trust him to tell me. I asked when he came to dinner—and his answer? Those two little words have been rattling around in my brain ever since.
For you.
I try not to think too hard about what he meant by that. I do my best to ignore his answer, but it’s always there scraping and clawing and trying to get out of my brain and into my heart. I can never allow that.
“Why don’t you support the shelter?” he asks.
“I do.”
“I mean, if they need money, then you must be able to…”
Is he fishing for information? Does he really not know what position our family is in?
“I have a responsibility to several charities.” That’s actually true, which makes it an easy lie. I can’t afford to give more. Not until my inheritance shows up in my ever-dwindling bank account. If there’s even going to be an inheritance. Harding and my brother haven’t been very forthcoming with how much to expect. For now, I think I’m supposed to be grateful that there’s a roof over my head.
“What do I get out of it?” He slides onto the bar stool next to me. Zeus sits between us, looking back and forth at our faces with interest. The woman who loved him and the man who saved him. If only my relationship with Sterling could be so simple.
“Why did my brother invite you to dinner?” I blurt out the question.
His lips flatten though he’s surprised by the change
