Page 97 of The Holiday Clause
Greyson pulled out his phone, the device warm in his palm.
“Now, you’re texting her?”
“It’s weird she’s not answering.”
“She’s probably in the shower or something. Don’t text her.”
Did Soren fear she’d answer Greyson first?
The coffee machine steamed and whistled like a countertop locomotive, filling the kitchen with rich, dark aromas that made his mouth water. He handed a fancy cup to Greyson. “Drink your coffee and chill the fuck out.”
He had to admit, it was better than the bitter swill they served at the hardware shop in town. “Wow.”
“Yup. Welcome to thebougieside.”
Yeah right. Greyson could never be as high maintenance as Soren, but goddamn. “Why is it so good?”
“It’s a more nuanced coffee. The brewing process is cleaner with a crisper extraction.”
Greyson laughed, the sound rough but genuine. “Could you be anymore pretentious?”
“I could try.” Soren sipped from his mug and sighed like a man tasting heaven. “Nothing like that brown piss you drink.”
He was finished with the small talk and his dainty coffee. Setting the glass mug in the sink with a sharp clink, he leveled with his brother. “Look, she’s gonna get back to you eventually. And you know how this is going to play out. Can we cut the crap?”
“We don’t know anything. You’re not the expert you think you are on Wren anymore.”
Maybe he was right, but Greyson didn’t want this to go any further than it had to. Every cell in his body rebelled against the thought that Soren or anyone else might touch what he now considered his.
“This is different, Soren. I’m not backing down.”
“Yeah, well, until I hear otherwise from Wren, neither am I.”
“You’ll lose.”
His younger brother laughed. “It would be so easy if you could convince me of that, Grey. But you and I both know I have a chance here. That’s why you’re panicking.”
His hands balled into fists. “You don’t have a chance. I’m trying to save you from?—”
“I don’t need a fucking savior.” His scowl darkened. “What’s the endgame for you, Grey? Are you really prepared to love her? Because I actually could. I’m willing to. With everything I’ve got.”
“She’s not a means to an end.”
“Of course she’s not. But with everything going on with Dad and the will, I’d be doing all of us a favor. There’s no burden in winning a girl like Wren. She’s the cherry on top.”
His knuckles popped like gunshots. She washisfucking cherry. “She’s not your prize.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. She’ll always be a prize. We were all fools to wait this long. I’m not waiting anymore.”
His jaw locked tight, tension coiling around his neck like a vise. The air in his lungs turned heavy and thick, as his mind flashed with vivid images of their future—not his and Wren’s, but Soren’s and Wren’s—and damn it, it made sense in a way that made him sick.
“I’m calling her.” Greyson pulled out his phone, his patience finally snapping.
Soren scoffed and paced away from the counter. “Unbelievable. You just can’t leave it to chance.”
“Fuck chance.” He hit send with more force than necessary.
“This is Wren. I’m unavailable. Leave a message.”
