Page 129 of Muddy Messy Love

I should walk away. Clearly, this isn’t a good time, but as I turn to go, a sardonic laugh erupts, and curiosity wins out. Sheepishly, I peek left and right to ensure no one’s here to witness me snoop. Then I brace myself against the aluminium architrave and hover in close, careful to avoid the see-through letters on the door.

“And then some,” a deep voice spits. “No one said to hire her. That you took upon yourself for some godforsaken reason.”

“And it’s proved wise,” Cole says. “Now you have advanced warning—time to prepare your family.”

“I’m not preparing anyone.” The man’s voice drops to a formidable octave. “This isn’t going to happen, you hear me? Bury it.”

“Bury it?” Cole says, exasperated. “Everything was done to prepare in case this happened.”

“As a very last resort. But as you said, we’ve been forewarned, and it hasn’t yet leaked to the press. If you think I’m going to roll over so easily in the final hour—cause my family unnecessary upheaval—then you’re sadly mistaken. Money’s worked to date. I assume the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Talk to her. Name her price.”

Silence ensues, and my heart jackhammers in my ears. Sheesh, this is intense. I wrongly assumed the arguments only occurred in court.

Cole’s chair squeaks, and then I hear him sigh. “She’s beautiful, you know. Inside and out. Talented and bright. Not knowing her will be your loss.” The intimate way Cole cradles those words strikes a chord within my soul, but dread coils around my ribs too.

Is he…talking aboutme?

God, Avery Lee, you think everything is about you.

Ain’t that the truth. I shrug away the notion.

“She’s a mistake, plain and simple. Don’t risk everything your uncle built, boy. Do your damn job. Fix this shit and let me know when it’s done. I fly home Sunday night.”

Footsteps charge towards me, but I don’t have time to move. The door flies open, and I stumble back to hit the wall, my face flushing hot.

Busted.

The man stops dead in his tracks, and familiar pale-blue eyes lock on mine, causing the flustered apology I had ready to die on the tip of my tongue. My brows furrow. “T…Thomas? Thomas Nilsen?”

There’s no ember of doubt I’m right. He has the same white hair, cherry chin, round, shiny cheeks, and pale complexion that graced every photo online. The only things amiss are the friendly sparkle and easy smile. He’s taller than I imagined. On the grasshopper side of thin too.

Thomas narrows his cold eyes to match the sharp lines of his pinstripe suit as he scans me up and down. “Good Lord, the resemblance is uncanny. You’re practically your mother.”

So he does know about me.

I square my shoulders and lengthen my spine. “I am nothing like my mother,” I say, nudging my chin high in the air. Just like my mother.

God, kill me.

One side of Thomas’s mouth curls up. “Is that so?”

“Aves?” Cole appears in the doorway behind Thomas, his face drained of colour. “You’re meant to be at home. What are you doing here?”

“Eavesdropping, it seems,” Thomas snarks, sliding his knobbly hands into his pant pockets.

Denial springs to my lips, but I mash them shut. I’m not the one who should be explaining myself. “What’s going on?” I ask Cole, cautiously—reluctantly—acutely aware I may not want or like the answer.

Thomas scoffs. “Do all the minions question you like that?” His gaze darts from Cole to the ceiling. “Gerard would roll in his grave.”

Cole clenches his jaw but doesn’t respond, and my limbs tingle like I’m drowning in effervescent slime. The conversation I overheard screams through the goo, fighting to replay in my head, but I block it out.

Not. Everything. Is. About. Me.

I grip that truth like a tree in a tornado and hang on for dear life.

Thomas nods his chin towards Cole’s office. “Do come in, then, Avery. Since you’re here, we can end this now.” Thomas saunters back inside with cocky nonchalance, deliberately shouldering Cole on the way past. Cole recovers quickly, raking fingers through his mussed hair, but the act of dominance doesn’t go unnoticed. Thomas is top dog here.

My stupid visions of ever being welcomed or loved by this man and his family deflate like a hot-air balloon. Counter to the pristine public image created online, the guy’s a dick. Or maybe I have that effect on people. I’m the common denominator, after all.

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