Unraveled Read online

  I frowned. What part of you’re my go-to equaled not entrusting my company to you? It made about as much sense as building a luxury hotel in the slums.

  “Gloria leaves by six o’clock every night,” I pointed out, beyond biting down on my lip now.

  “To go home to her family. She has balance in her life, like you and I have never had. She works her butt off for ten hours a day and then she goes home to recharge.”

  “You’re punishing me for being hardworking?”

  “Not punishing. Trying to help you in my possibly misguided way. But I’m the boss. I can do that.” Her tone was closer to her usual pre-cancer-diagnosis one. “When was the last time you had a relationship with a man, Chloe?”

  I didn’t bother to reply because she knew the answer. I didn’t do relationships. I did flings, hookups, and a lot of solo nights. By choice. But it was my choice, dammit, and it should be considered a positive attribute, not a weakness.

  “When was the last time you even went on a date?”

  Holden, my friend from childhood, came to mind, because two weeks ago, he’d taken me to his dad’s wedding as his plus-one. We were just friends, regardless of the fact that I’d had a thing for him since high school, but…

  As long as it’s not hurting anyone, sometimes it’s best to tell people what they want to hear and make it true afterward.

  “The guy I went to the wedding with a couple of weeks ago? We’ve been… seeing each other.”

  If you called texting back and forth like we always had seeing each other. But this wasn’t hurting anyone. In fact, Holden never needed to know. Probably. And if he did, well, I’d figure that out when I needed to, but he was a good guy, and he’d likely play along if necessary.

  Angelica narrowed her eyes at me, and it made me want to squirm. Luckily I was also well versed in resisting the squirm urge.

  “What’s the name of this man?”

  “Holden Henry. He lives here in Dragonfly Lake. I’ve known him since grade school, and something just… clicked at the wedding.”

  Not exactly a lie, if clicking could be one-sided and if you overlooked the fact that it’d been years since my initial one-sided “clicking” with Holden.

  She studied me silently for several seconds that stretched out tautly. “Is it serious?”

  “I’ve never felt like this about anyone else.” That was completely true, pathetic or not, but in this moment, it served me well.

  Angelica brought her steepled hands to her face and pressed her index fingers to her lower lip thoughtfully. Assessing. My gaze didn’t waver.

  “You can bring him to the anniversary dinner Friday night.” She frowned. “Likely my last. I’d like to meet this gentleman.”

  Her tone didn’t give me an opening to argue or hedge.

  Holden had said he owed me one for being his wedding date. I hadn’t taken him seriously at the time, but now… it looked like I might take him up on it. I just hoped he was free.

  Telling him about my little mistruth to my boss would be embarrassing, but if I knew him, he’d laugh it off, give me a hard time, then play along if at all possible.

  Please let it be possible.

  Because as much as I’d wanted Holden over the years, I’d always wanted even more to one day take over for Angelica. I’d never once imagined it could be this soon, but I was capable and ready when needed; there wasn’t a doubt in my mind. Contrary to Angelica’s belief, I did care as much as any heir or offspring could. In fact, I cared more. Like she’d said, I lived exactly like her, giving this company my all.

  And since it wasn’t hurting anyone, I would happily pretend Holden and I had a serious relationship if it gave me a better chance of being the one Angelica chose to take her life’s work into the future.

  I just needed to find a way to break it to him.

  Chapter Two

  Holden

  “Last thing on my list,” my brother Seth said as my other brother, Cash, checked his watch.

  I already knew it was ten till eleven and that Cash was itching to get back into the kitchen to make sure everything was under control for lunch. I also knew without checking that it was. His kitchen staff was on top of things. They had to be, otherwise Chef Cash could morph into a stereotypical temperamental tyrant right before their very eyes.

  I raised my brows at Seth to encourage him to get on with it. We all had shit to do.

  As Seth met my gaze, there was a flash of something in his eyes that put me on alert. Told me I wasn’t going to like whatever his “last thing” was.

  “Spit it out,” I said, leaning my elbows on table nineteen of Henry’s Restaurant.

  This was our meeting spot every Monday at ten a.m., strategically located to avoid pissing matches over whose office we met in, Seth’s or Cash’s. My office was the bar, but when we’d tried meeting there, they’d accused me of paying more attention to the behind-the-bar tasks than the agenda.

  “The Bergman lot,” Seth said, tapping the eraser of his mechanical pencil on his handy-dandy notebook.

  My jaw clenched before I could check that reaction.

  “It’s time to do something with it,” Seth continued as my body tensed. “I’m going to call Darius Weber this week to get his take on what we might be able to get out of it.”

  Cash’s response was a single nod.

  I was just opening my mouth to give my opinion on calling the real estate agent when Seth jumped back in.

  “It’s not good business to let a lakefront lot sit there and do nothing for us. You know that.”

  I did know that, but it did nothing to lower my frustration.

  “Another month,” I bit out. “Give Kemp and me another month to reorganize, see what our next move is.”

  “We’re not putting it on the market yet. Just gathering info,” Seth said in that tone intended to make peace and reassure. Shocking to no one who met the three of us, Seth was the middle brother and was often a buffer between Cash and me—and Hayden, our little sister, and me as well.

  “We’ve held on to it for years for this brewery pipe dream,” Cash said. “That’s not paying the bills.”

  I snapped, “You got your pipe dream with your oversized kitchen for your oversized ego—”

  “Guys, reel it in,” Seth broke in. “You can beat the hell out of each other later, but this is a business meeting. Quit provoking him,” he said to Cash. “Stop taking his fucking bait,” he directed at me.

  “Can’t have a restaurant without a functional kitchen,” Cash said.

  “Dammit, Cash. No one’s debating that,” Seth said, his voice entirely under control even though my oldest brother and I knocked skulls regularly and aggravated the hell out of him.

  There was a good possibility Cash and I knocked skulls more than necessary for just that reason. It was amusing to get a rise out of the most even-tempered of all of us.

  This time was for real though. Cash was being a grade-A asshole, which wasn’t at all out of character for him.

  “We have eight minutes until Riley unlocks the doors, and you know Sergio and Marty will be right in for the Monday COMs meeting. Can we finish?” Seth said.

  The Curmudgeonly Old Men convened here every Monday and Friday to discuss books, argue politics, and grump at each other. The two seniors Seth mentioned were always early.

  Cash gestured for him to get on with it while I nodded tightly.

  “Holden, we agreed to give you to the end of last year to see where you and Kemp could get on finding acceptable investors for the brewery idea. It’s been almost three months since then. Last week’s news wasn’t what any of us hoped for, but we can’t sit on the land forever.”

  “I know that,” I said in a low voice. I shook my head, because I really didn’t have much of a leg to stand on when it came to more time.

  We’d been so sure we’d finally found an investor who didn’t insist on gaining too much control over our business. When they’d decided to fund a different project, we’d
been devastated.

  The “brewery idea,” as Seth called it, was my dream, not my brothers’. Mine and Kemp Essex’s, who I’d been friends with for years. We’d always loved beer and had gotten into our share of trouble long before we were legal, in part due to that love of malt and hops. A dozen or so years ago, I’d delved into home brewing, and Kemp had been immediately intrigued. So intrigued that he’d eventually gone to school specifically to become a brewmaster. I’d taken some classes as well, plus had a shit ton of experience home brewing. Between the two of us, we’d be able to run one hell of a brewery, and we hoped to do it in conjunction with the restaurant that had been in my family since the sixties—Henry’s.

  There was just the small matter of start-up money, which, in fact, was anything but small.

  Because we’d taken out a big loan three years ago to remodel and add on to the restaurant, Henry’s was already deep in the hole. We were climbing our way out steadily, maintaining profitability, but banks weren’t lining up to add to our debt.

  Kemp and I had been trying to find private investors, but there were lines we weren’t willing to cross as far as how much control we were willing to give up.

  I’d dreamed of capitalizing on my family’s double lot with over two hundred feet of frontage on Dragonfly Lake. Until the past couple of years, though, my focus hadn’t been spectacular. I’d had my hands full with managing the front of house for Henry’s plus my social life. Yeah, it sounds shallow and stupid now, but I was busy enjoying my twenties. It wasn’t until my grandmother died, leaving the restaurant to my brothers and me—and Hayden if she’d wanted it—that we went all in on the remodeling, revamping, re-everything of Henry’s.

  I still had a lot going on socially, but I liked to think I’d stepped it up and taken on a lot more responsibility as well. I just wasn’t sure I’d convinced my business partner brothers of that. Maybe I never would.

  “I’ll keep you two apprised of everything I learn from Darius,” Seth said, as if that could appease me.

  I wasn’t appeased, but I was out of arguments for the day.

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “That’s all I’ve got,” Seth said.

  “I’ve got a chowder to check on,” Cash said as he shoved back from the table and stood, then sauntered off.

  I headed toward the bar, which I’d had my back to during the meeting, facing, instead, the view of the lake. When I went from the dining area to the bar, the scowl on my face eased as I did a double take of the woman sitting at the bar on the far stool, closest to the main door.

  Her profile was to me, her head buried in her phone, hair cascading down to block her face, but I’d know those glossy coffee-brown locks anywhere.

  I went toward her. “Chloe?”

  Sure enough, her head popped up and she shot me a halfhearted smile as she sat up straighter. She was dressed in tailored business clothes and looked like the badass competent woman she was, except… there was something off. Like she was nervous maybe. She glanced my way but not at me.

  Whenever Chloe was uneasy, it made me wary and ready to handle whatever had her off-kilter. Small towns didn’t tend to be kind to the janitor’s daughter, and she’d taken more than her share of shunning and bullying and being treated as less than. I’d gotten into more than one fistfight in high school on her behalf, and eventually the guys got the message that she was off-limits. A few of the girls, though… High school girls could be something else.

  I glanced around for the source of her uneasiness, but there was no one else in the bar.

  Once I was behind the counter, facing her directly, I raised my brows in question, unable to tamp down on a big, welcoming grin.

  “Hey, EVP,” I said, my nickname for her ever since she’d been promoted to executive vice president.

  “Hi,” she said simply. No explanation for why she was suddenly back in Dragonfly Lake.

  “What the hell are you doing here? Don’t get me wrong; I’m happy, but…?”

  “Hoping to get some lunch at what I’ve heard is the best place in town.” She looked from side to side, sizing up the bar and the adjacent dining area, one of three. “It’s incredible what you guys have done to it.”

  “Which you would know if you’d ever been back in the past however many years. Why now?”

  “I was summoned to meet with my boss at the worksite this morning.”

  “Good ol’ Madame Dictator. She treating you okay?”

  “She treats me well and you know it,” Chloe said, and I could swear her uneasiness increased as she fidgeted.

  “She pays you well,” I corrected. “Not the same. Can I get you a drink?”

  “Got any coffee?”

  “Got something better.” I opened the under-the-counter fridge and took out the growler I’d brought from home. I grabbed a beer-tasting glass and held it up in question.

  “One of your concoctions?” she asked. Of course, if she’d ever come around these parts, she’d know. When I had a good batch of home brew, I didn’t chintz on sharing with friends.

  “It’s a strawberry-lemonade pale ale. Better for summer, but I never know how long it’ll take to get it right.”

  Chloe eyed it with less enthusiasm than I’d hoped.

  “I see how you are,” I said. “You stop in town for a history-making visit, come into my restaurant for the first time since my brothers and I have owned it, but you only want to go halfway.” Teasing dripped from my tone, and I gave her my butt-hurt act.

  “Stop,” she said with a laugh. “If your ego needs me to try it, then pour me a taste. A small taste,” she tacked on as I lifted the growler victoriously to pour. “I have to drive back to the office after lunch. The Nashville office,” she clarified.

  With respect to that, I kept it to half the sampler glass. This was stronger than the average beer.

  After sliding the glass to her, I pulled out a menu and set it in front of her.

  She ignored the menu, taking the small glass—a rounded bowl with a short stem—in her hand. With a tilt of her head, she studied the light blond liquid.

  “Try it already,” I said. “You’re killing me.”

  “Didn’t want to get a-head of myself.” She grinned and waited for me to acknowledge her pun.

  “How much lager are you going to make me wait?” I tossed back.

  With a laugh, she said, “Whatever it takes to make you hoppy.”

  With that, she tipped the glass up and took a dainty, tentative swallow.

  As she lowered the glass and let the liquid roll over her taste buds, her eyes widened. I was suitably gratified when she took another, bigger swig, her reluctance gone.

  “Holden, this is really good.”

  Comments like that never got old. “See what you’ve been missing?”

  “I’m impressed. If I didn’t have to work, I’d order the whole bottle.”

  “You would not, lightweight.”

  As Chloe raised her glass again, Seth came behind the bar and helped himself to a cola from the fountain.

  “Chloe,” he said, showing some of the same surprise I had. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You too,” she said. “What would you recommend for lunch?”

  “Smoked pork sandwich is popular,” Seth said. “Or if you want a salad, the walleye niçoise is my favorite.”

  “Thanks.”

  While she continued to peruse the menu, Seth said in a quieter voice directed at me, “You okay?”

  “Fine,” I said, managing to keep emotions out of it. I wasn’t fine, but I also wasn’t a four-year-old. And I didn’t really blame my brothers for not having a brewery underway. I blamed Cash for being an asshole but nothing more.

  With a nod, Seth left the area and went to do what he did best—hide away in his office.

  “I’m going to take the pork advice,” Chloe said. She studied the menu another few seconds. “A salad for my side, please.”

  As I went to the register to enter her order,
she said, “Why’d he ask if you’re okay?”

  Once I input the order, I sauntered back in front of her, taking in the rest of the place with a quick glance. A forty-something couple I didn’t know had just come in the door and were being greeted by Elijah, the weekday lunch host. Sarai, one of the servers, was at table seventeen rolling silverware in napkins. Sergio and Marty were making their way from the parking lot to the door.

  I let my gaze skim over Chloe sitting there in my bar, with her pretty brown eyes, soft-looking skin, and uncharacteristic unsureness. She was watching me not-so-patiently, so I blew out my breath and filled her in. “That possible investor I told you about at the wedding? Fell through a few days ago. My brothers are ready to sell off the Bergman lot.”

  Her lashes lowered in disappointment that I knew was real—Chloe was always real with me. “That sucks, Holden. I’m sorry.”

  My friendship with Chloe was weird. We’d been friends since grade school, when her mom had been a server at this very restaurant, which was then owned and run by my grandmother. On the nights when both of Chloe’s parents had to work late, my mom let her stay at our house, which was several evenings a week.

  We’d been in the same grade, reluctant buddies at first. She liked to read and I liked to raise hell. The thing that eventually broke the ice, though, was a school library book I brought home one week. It was a book of puns for kids. I liked it because it made me laugh, and she probably liked it because it was a book. We’d spent hours reading them aloud, a section at a time, laughing and making up our own. Puns had been our thing ever since.

  Now I talked to her every few weeks, or more often if a punny mood struck one of us. We’d been known to message back and forth for a stretch of days, exchanging puns. We’d also been known to go weeks without seeing each other, since she lived an hour away in the city, and she refused to set foot back here. Yet whenever we saw each other, usually lunch or dinner when I was in Nashville for something, it was as if we’d talked just yesterday. It was why I’d taken her to my dad’s wedding. I’d wanted to take a plus-one, but I hadn’t wanted a date date because I’d still been a little weird about my dad remarrying. Chloe had been exactly what I needed—supportive and comfortable.