Page 2 of Hate the One You're With
That can’t be right. And if by some miracle Caleb hasn’t signed anything . . . Well, how on earth am I supposed to approach him?
We haven’t spoken in years—not since we went our separate ways after our disastrous marriage and breakup, which, inconveniently, didn’t include a divorce. He didn’t have the time, and I was too afraid of losing control of my trust. Now that I’m older, I regret letting my grandmother manipulate me into that situation. If I could do it all over again . . .
Focus on the now, Emmersyn Mara Langley.
I rub my temples, trying to fend off the headache that’s beginning to creep in. This has to be a mistake—a cruel joke from beyond the grave, courtesy of my eccentric grandmother. I’ll just call her lawyer, Percival Harrington III, and ask him to hand over the real letter. The joke’s over . . . if not . . .
What am I supposed to do? Rescind my right to own and run this company? And it’s not just because I inherited it—I worked my butt off to become the CEO. I started in the mailroom and clawed my way up, showing everyone that I indeed deserve that position.
I glance around my office, taking in the sleek, modern space that’s as much a reflection of who I am as the clothes I wear. Floor-to-ceiling windows flood the room with light, offering a breathtaking view of the city I love. My desk is a perfect picture of order, with everything in its place—except for this damn letter, which now sits in the middle of it all, taunting me with its ridiculous demands.
But it’s not ridiculous.
It’s real.
And I have to deal with it.
I read the letter again, slower this time, as if the words might rearrange themselves if I’m just careful enough.
Sweet Em,
If you’re reading this, I’m finally resting and having a party in heaven with your mother and grandfather. It might be a sad moment, but know that I’m in a better place.
I fought for as long as I could because I hated leaving you alone. But in the end, we all have to leave, don’t we?
Please tell me the funeral was everything we hoped for and that you used the right shade of pink on those carnation tips. You handmade them as we planned, right? How about the little crochet pins that looked like cute mushrooms? Did people talk about them as I expected them to?
Nancy must’ve been mortified and embarrassed. I hope I was there in spirit to see her face. She was always too much of a prude. I hope you took lots of pictures for future generations to remember me by. Oh, and my ashes . . . Well, I’ll leave instructions with Percy on how you should care for them, but that’s a problem for future you.
Now, let’s talk business. You’ve always been brilliant, my dear Emmersyn, and I’m confident you’ll keep the company running like a well-oiled machine. But here’s the thing—work isn’t everything. I know, I know, you’re probably rolling your eyes right now, but humor an old woman, will you?
I don’t want you ending up like your grandfather, who I loved dearly. But he paid more attention to his job and single-handedly kept his media empire afloat. He forgot about life, love, and the things that really matter until it was too late. So, I’ve decided to give you a little push. Remember that lovely little marriage you entered into when you were young? The one you both thought you could just forget about?
Somehow, I feel like you didn’t take your vows seriously enough and you let your husband go before it could amount to something more. Marriages are about hard work, loving each other through the ups and downs, and caring for one another even when it’s difficult. They’re about standing by someone’s side, even when life throws curveballs your way.
Look at me—I stayed by my husband’s side through everything, and you . . . Well, you just gave up.
So, as a favor to you (because you’re my favorite granddaughter),
I take a deep breath, glaring at the framed photo of her next to my monitor. “I was your only grandchild, you shrew,” I mutter, my voice a mix of annoyance and affection. “Also you hated that I married him—and him.” Despite all the schemes and the madness she brought into my life, I can’t help but miss her. She had a way of making me want to pull my hair out and hug her at the same time.
I have one stipulation: if you want to keep Langley Media (and I know you do), you and your charming husband need to live together for six months. Six whole months. In the same apartment. No sneaking off to hotels—by yourself—or living on separate floors. That’s why you need to move to the old apartment in Brooklyn. That place should do nicely—it’s cozy, right?
And finally, there’s at least one thing I can fight. The apartment in Brooklyn was sold a few months ago. Some realtor bought the entire building to tear it down and create some kind of monstrosity to gentrify the area. I wasn’t keen on selling but since that was the only apartment left I couldn’t just keep it.
Still, I won’t have to live in a one-bedroom, tiny bathroom, and small kitchen apartment with anyone. Maybe since the place isn’t available, we can . ..
Somehow the hope I have doesn’t feel right. Like the savvy businessperson I became, I go back to read the letter to find more loopholes.
Now, I know you’re probably cursing my name right now, but think of this as an opportunity. Who knows, maybe you and your handsome husband will rekindle something . . . or at the very least, you’ll finally figure out that you need more than just work in your life. More than just the little dog you keep in your purse—and let’s be honest, it’s made out of felt.
If you choose not to fulfill this condition, the company will be sold off, and the proceeds will go to charity. All of it. Your choice, Em, but remember—Grandma knows best, and she always wins.
With all my love and hoping you finally learn something from life,
Gertrude Langley
I swallow hard,trying to wrap my head around the idea of living with Caleb again. He’s everything I’m not—stubborn, gruff, with zero patience for the world I thrive in. The thought of sharing space with him, of having to navigate whatever weird dynamic we had years ago, makes me want to scream. But if I don’t do this, I lose everything I’ve worked for. My company, my legacy—gone.
