Chapter 6 - The Other Woman at My Table
Caroline chose a coffee shop two towns away.
When I arrived, she was sitting in the corner with untouched tea and a folder pressed against her chest.
Without the country club lighting, she looked tired.
I sat opposite her.
“What do you want to show me?”
She placed the folder between us.
Inside were printed emails.
Grant discussing the redevelopment.
Grant calling the tenants “manageable.”
Grant referring to me as “the last sentimental obstacle.”
I read until the words stopped looking like words.
Caroline watched my face.
“I found them while looking for a vendor invoice,” she said. “We share a wedding account. He forwarded the wrong attachment.”
“Why bring them to me?”
She looked toward the window.
“Because I asked him about your shop.”
“And?”
“He said your mother had handled you.”
I set the papers down.
Caroline’s mouth trembled.
“I thought you were jealous of me.”
“I was hurt.”
“I know that now.”
I wanted to dislike her cleanly.
It would have been easier.
Instead, she looked like a woman beginning to recognize the room she had walked into.
“There’s something else,” she said.
She took out her phone.
A photograph showed a spreadsheet listing projected tenant settlements.
Beside Bennett Blooms, someone had entered: executed release.
Under a separate column: D. Bennett obligation offset.
My mother’s debt had been assigned a place in the budget.
“What does your father know?” I asked.
Caroline’s father was providing part of the expansion financing.
“I don’t think he’s seen these numbers.”
“Then tell him.”
She looked frightened.
“He’s already paid deposits.”
“For a hotel?”
“For the wedding. Everything.”
I understood suddenly.
Expensive things could become cages too.
“Caroline,” I said, “you’re allowed to leave a bad decision before it becomes a marriage.”
She covered her mouth.
I looked away while she cried.
That evening, Denise reviewed the documents.
“We need originals preserved,” she said. “And your mother needs independent counsel. I represent you.”
“Will the agreement stand?”
“If your account is accurate, we have strong grounds to challenge it. But I won’t promise an outcome before we have sworn statements and the complete file.”
I liked her more every time she refused to make my fear convenient.
At the shop, Wyatt waited beside a bucket of sunflowers.
“Ruby let me in.”
“She’s becoming a security concern.”
He smiled faintly.
Then he saw my face.
I showed him what Caroline had provided.
He read without interrupting.
When he finished, he said, “Our counsel received inconsistent tenant records this afternoon.”
“You already knew something was wrong?”
“We knew enough to suspend review.”
The words should have reassured me.
Instead, one question rose above everything else.
“Did you know the shop had a renewal option before you met me?”
“No.”
“Did your company know?”
“Possibly. I’m finding out.”
I stepped away.
He didn’t reach for me.
“Last night,” I said, “I forgot how big your life is.”
“What does that mean?”
“You can suspend a review. I can lose my business. Those aren’t the same kind of bad day.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
His expression tightened.
“I’m trying to.”
The bell above the door rang.
A courier entered with an envelope bearing the Calloway Hospitality logo.
“For Laurel Bennett.”
I signed automatically.
Inside was a proposal.
A premium floral concession in the lobby of a Calloway hotel.
Guaranteed minimum annual revenue.
Build-out expenses covered.
Relocation assistance included.
My throat closed.
Wyatt saw the first page.
“Who sent that?”
“Your company.”
“I didn’t authorize it.”
“Your name is on the letterhead.”
“Laurel, let me check.”
I dropped the pages on the counter.
“I said no fixing my life.”
“I heard you.”
“Then why does everybody keep handing me a smaller version of it and calling it an opportunity?”
He went still.
I regretted the words immediately.
Not because they were entirely wrong.
Because I had aimed them at every person who had hurt me and let him stand in for the crowd.
But I was too tired to untangle it.
“I need space.”
He nodded once.
After he left, I found a handwritten note tucked beneath the proposal.
It came from his chief operating officer.
Mr. Calloway indicated your welfare was a priority.
I sat down hard.
May you like
Somewhere between concern and control, someone had made a decision.
And I no longer knew whether Wyatt understood the difference.
