Page 125 of Peppermint Bark

Right. As the studio manager and her ‘work wife,’ I manage the paperwork. Maybe that’s why he asked me to stay for the terms, given that he hadn’t talked to me and had barely looked at me.

But just as bitterness began leaking in, his gaze traveled to me. His expression softened, and my stomach flipped in confused hope.

“What’s the third part?” Victoria asked, pulling him back into his pitch.

The screen showed a photo of Alex, Victoria and … oh my gosh, was that Nick? They looked young and happy, unencumbered by the weight of the world.

Mallory exclaimed, “Holy shit.”

Victoria released an audible gasp and whispered, “I — I haven’t seen this in …”

“Houghton threw it in my face when he offered me the partnership,” Alex’s voice was a sneer, “He said they didn’t notice back when he was a ‘nobody.’ But when I looked at this picture, all I saw was the answer to Mallory’s question.”

Mallory tilted her head like a confused puppy.

“Right here, in this office, you asked me the last time I was happy.”

“Goddamn, I’m insightful,” she murmured and nudged my bicep.

He pointed to the screen. “There it is. Before we finished law school, or started at Hamilton & Houghton. The last time I was happy … until last month.”

He leaned his palm on the table.

“You told me I was chained to my desk, that my self-worth came from my billable hours. When I saw that picture, I realized I’d never been happy in that job … and I compared that with how happy the studio makes you. How much fun the two of you have together,” he gestured loosely, but kept his eyes on his sister like it hurt to look at me, “and I envied that.”

With pleading eyes, he said to Victoria, “We’ve been miserable for a decade because we let somebody else dictate our success.”

Her face was implacable, but her hands gripped the chair seat. Her lip quivered and she bit it tightly as her gaze dropped to the table. I felt like I was watching something off-limits. They had a decade of history, and I walked into this … what exactly was this: a negotiation or an olive branch? A job offer or a lifeline?

“Victoria,” he said softly, like he was talking to a scared cat. “If we do this, we become our own bosses, set our own hours and make our own rules. I think …” he took a deep breath. “I think we could have fun.”

She lifted her head slowly to meet his gaze. They stared at each other for about thirty seconds of tense silence. Even though neither was paying attention to me, I held my breath in case an errant cough broke their nonverbal standoff.

Even Mallory stopped fidgeting for once.

Victoria broke the silence in a rapid-fire deliberation. “Six months.”

“Twelve.”

“Nine.”

“End of the year, and I pay for a headhunter if you hate it.”

She nodded once, decisively, and stood with her hand outstretched. He grabbed it and pulled her close into a hug. She let out a surprised squeal and smacked his chest. The gesture made my chest tighten.

When she stepped back, she ran her palm over her silk blouse as he wagged his finger at her. “We max out at sixty hours a week.”

He slid the spiral-bound notebook over to Victoria. She lifted a paper small enough to be a business card, and her mouth curved from a tight line into a mischievous smile.

After another tense pause, the silence got to me. “I’ll send over the studio’s financial details so you can get started.”

Confusion furrowed his brow. “Is that why you think you’re here?”

I kept my eyes on the empty table.

“Shit, Grace, no,” he said sharply, running his hand down his face. “No, I wanted this figured out before I — I need to tell you that —”

He stopped, expression pained. Slowly, his head tilted across the table, where his sister and his ex-girlfriend-slash-business-partner sat wide-eyed. “Can you excuse us?”

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