“Good morning,” Chloe said, the sentiment subjective.
It wasn’t a good morning at all. Honestly, it was a great one.
Starting her day with a sighting of him, even after ending yesterday with a sighting of him, was precious.
Nothing could ruin it.
“He’s threatening to take you to court. Sue the pants right off you. Says you’re intentionally inflicting emotional pain and anguish.”
Chloe laughed. “Jameson Maine doesn’t have emotions. He’s a robot. There’s not a judge or jury in the state of New York that’ll convict me of that crime.”
“You’re right. I’m kidding about the emotional pain. What he actually told Doug last night—and I’m watering down the language—was that he’ll take you and the high horse you rode in on so far down you won’t get off your knees for the next decade. He’ll bleed you so dry of money, you’ll be on those knees just to make enough cash to buy a sack lunch, never mind pay for a legal team to keep Maine Lane.”
Wendy paused for a reaction, allowing seconds of silence to pass, then added, “Do you want the uncensored version?” in case Chloe was waiting for more.
As Jesus and Jameson Maine knew, there was more coming.
Chloe hadn’t slept a wink last night, knowing he was plotting.
“Don’t you think it’s odd he used the term ‘on your knees’ twice in one threat? And that he specifically said he’d make you pay ‘for a decade’ and that’s the amount of time he’s been gone? It’s awfully specific, not to mention sexual.”
“Nope.” Chloe wasn’t surprised. Jameson was a sexual kind of guy. Looked it. Walked it. Talked it.
And she wasn’t worried he’d been plotting her ruin last night. She was worried he’d been plotting her ruin for the last decade. Exactly why, she didn’t know.
When it came to finger-pointing, he had only the man in the mirror.
“I would’ve given you this information sooner, but Doug didn’t want to repeat the graphic words in front of the kids when he got home last night. Waited until after they went to bed, innocently dreaming of unicorns while their father recounted a true story about a terribly upset man who’s been trained by our government to kill.”
“He’s pissed. I get it.”
“He told Doug you can bend over and shove the deed straight up your ass. Again, very sexual but in a derogatory way. Not in the fun, stress-reducing way you could use these days.”
“Mmm, thanks for your opinion on my sex life. Or lack thereof.” Chloe took a moment to enjoy a brief fantasy featuring herself, Jameson, and stress-reducing sex.
She didn’t hate it.
“As you said, Wendy, he wants to sue me, not screw me.”
Hitting the highway leading out of Riverhead, Chloe headed back to East Hampton and Something Borrowed, her office in the heart of downtown.
“I think he still wants you,” she said, sounding thrown by Chloe’s casual response to the threat of a long, expensive legal battle. “And in a very, um . . . rough way.”
“He wants me out of Maine Lane. That’s as far as his want goes.” Unless you counted him wanting her dead.
Electrocution via a toaster in the tub seemed a severe punishment for setting him free from a life of obligation ten years ago. But in his defense, he’d apparently not been aware of Maine Lane’s imminent foreclosure.
Considering a Maine had owned and resided on that property since the turn of the century, both the big house and the carriage house constructed by his ancestors in the early nineteen hundreds, it was a Maine legacy.
His legacy.
Sure, she wanted to host weddings there. Double dip into the deep pockets of her clients, invoicing them for coordinating services as well as the use of her property as the venue. Her dad agreed it was a sound business decision, and after declining his offer of monetary investment—meaning he’d do what Jameson assumed and purchase the property for her outright, no payback necessary—she liquidated everything she owned to come up with the money.
Her car and the clothes in the carriage house’s tiny closet were the only possessions she held on to. The only way she qualified for the loan.
Something Borrowed was in a commercial space on Main Street, but once her lease was up in six months, she’d move her offices into Maine Lane to save on rent. Again, the only way she could afford it.
Which led right back to her core motivation behind the purchase of a property that stretched her finances so tight she was cutting coupons. That could bankrupt her if a single pipe burst or a termite colony moved in.
Revenge.
Last night was a good start in that direction. Taking the knife she’d pulled out of her own back and, after a good ten years of sharpening the blade, twisting it into the gut of the man who cut first. She should be walking on air.
Feeling like the million bucks she just spent.
Instead, she felt like a piece of shit, despite her detour to Riverhead before heading in to her office, a bittersweet start to her day.
“I’m glad you’re not concerned,” Wendy said. “Doug said he nearly crapped his pants when Jameson stormed into his office at quitting time, demanding answers. The dude’s intimidating.”
“He doesn’t scare me.”
The purchase was legitimate, but she wouldn’t put it past him to make good on his promise of litigation.
“He showed up at Doug’s office again bright and early this morning. Janice sent me a text reporting it. Probably the whole dang town, too.”
Janice—Doug’s catty receptionist—was a clucking hen.
“Uh-oh,” Wendy said, suddenly distracted. “I’m pulling up to the office right now. Are you close by? Because you have a visitor standing at the front door, drawing all kinds of attention.”
Her heart skipped a full beat, anticipating Jameson’s presence. Whether that stutter was from trepidation or exhilaration, Chloe didn’t want to analyze.
“I had an errand to run first thing, but I’m done. I’m fifteen minutes away.”
“What errand? I didn’t see anything on your calendar this morning. Did I overlook a last-minute appointment?”
Chloe offered her clients unlimited access via phone and email, no matter the time of day, knowing brides needed that peace of mind. Available for cake tastings, dress fittings, or general panic sessions when the soon-to-be mother-in-law overstepped, Chloe was basically on call. Her schedule filled up quickly, and as her personal assistant, Wendy was aware of every minute.
“It was nothing,” she said, conjuring a believable lie. “Just a quick tour of the guest suites reserved at Sanctuary Cove for Lucy’s out of state family.”
“Okay. I’ll make small talk with her until you get here. She has such an enjoyably snotty personality.”
Not Jameson then.
Chloe sighed, oddly disappointed there’d be no verbal sparring match with him this morning. But also because that superior attitude could only describe one person. Her latest—and greatest of all time—bridezilla.
“Swear to God, if she throws another hissy fit because I can’t get Ed Sheeran to perform a private concert at her reception, I’m gonna have to fire her, Wendy.”
“No, you’re not. You can’t,” she said simply. “Something Borrowed needs the money.”