Page 47 of Bourbon and Lies

She lets out a laugh. “I knew one of them would sink their teeth into you.”

“That’s not?—”

“Laney, I couldn’t give a rat's ass what you do with the Foxx boys. They’re good men. They only know whatever you told them. So unless I need to come into town because of trouble, it’ll stay that way. Like I said, the less people who know the truth, the better. Safer that way. For everyone. Especially now.”

Closing my eyes, I focus on the way I’m almost out of breath. My adrenaline pumps in a chaotic rhythm. I exhale shakily as she says her clipped goodbye.

It takes me a second to remember where I am. In a bathroom, in the middle of a book club. I need to pull it together and slow my breathing down before I leave this room. There’s so much pink as I look around Prue’s gaudy bathroom. The soft pink tiled walls to the deeper mauve pink toilet and tub basin. Even the tissue box has a bubblegum pink knitted cover with white lace trim, and the hand towels match. There’s a vase of baby’s breath on the shelf above the toilet with a pink antique perfume bottle. I don’t realize I’m smiling until I look up at myself in the mirror. Finally calmer than just a moment ago, I run the cold water and dip my wrists. I’m drying my hands when I hear my name outside the bathroom.

I stop moving and lean slightly closer to the door.

“I don’t know. She must have left. I’m just going to say it. She’s not some sweetheart she’s pretending to be. Like, what was that patriarchal crap?”

Another voice says, “Do you think it’s true? About her and Ace?”

The first voice says, “Definitely. He likes to slum it all the time. She’s kind of fat too, right? I mean, she’s not the usual for him.”

My stomach lurches at being talked about and judged. I didn’t do a damn thing to these women. I remember again why I painted my nails the pale shade of pink that I didn’t particularly like and wore brands that were too expensive for my wallet. Why I worked too much, even though it didn’t make me happy. I thought feeling seen meant I needed attention from people who signed my checks and rewarded me with more responsibility. It was why I couldn’t recognize the things I wanted or truly liked. I didn’t allow myself the space to figure it out. I had felt like anoutsider, unwelcomed. And I let myself believe it. Maybe if I had family or a close friend, I wouldn’t have given a shit. But I did. At least back then.

But then I hear them mention Grant’s name, and I know I’m not going to be able to just stay here and listen. “I heard she was with Grant too.”

Another person says, “No way. I would have believed it with Ace, but Grant?”

The first voice, who I’m guessing is my curly-haired brunette friend, says, “There’s no way they would keep around someone like that. Grant has barely looked at anyone since Fiona. He was such a hot mess for a while, but he’s looking good again. I did catch him smiling at me last week.”

Doubtful.

“I’m not about to ask for forever from a Foxx, obviously, but I wouldn’t mind a ride.”

That’s enough. I allowed these feelings time and time again in my old life. The bride who didn’t think I was qualified to help her with her seating charts or the Maid of Honor who wanted to remind me that I was only the hired help. Even the groom who thought it was okay to treat me like I was nothing more than an expendable distraction. Racking up the negatives and unworthy feelings isn’t something I have any interest in collecting anymore.

When I open the door, all three women stop with their drinks mid-sip and eyes wide. “Are you girls talking about me?” I don’t have a plan here, but now that I’m looking at them, I wonder how uncomfortable I can make this. So, I smile. “You didn’t have to be these women. The cliché villains. Women who feel the need to badmouth someone they don’t know in order to make sense of their boring and basic lives.” I look down the hallway, and I can see a few people eavesdropping in on this, but I keep going.“I would have liked some new friends here, but thank you for allowing me to bypass the wrong ones.”

As I look at each of the three women, not a single one seems willing to respond with an apology. Might as well make this memorable.

“Fiasco is my home now too. And if you want to spread rumors about me, then let me make sure you’ve got them right. My name is Laney Young, and I’m from Colorado. The Foxx family are my friends. Except for Grant—you were right about that. He’s...” I sigh because, really, he’s sigh worthy. “Let’s just say, the mouth on that man is quite delicious.”

The three jaws dropping just enough let me know I’ve made an impression.

I turn on my heel, trying my hardest to keep my emotions in check. I can let my eyes water when I’m out the door.

I hear one of them whisper, “Did that just happen?”

“Oh! I forgot.” I turn back around. “You can go ahead and fuck off for that fat comment.” Tilting my head to the side, I point at her when I say, “Do better.”

I swallow down the way I’d like to fall apart, and instead, I thank Prue for the hospitality and wave at Griz with a big, fake smile as I rush out the door. I’ll wait until I’m back in my cottage before I overthink the news from Bea and rehash the day’s shitstorm.

I had never been invited to a book club before today, and as much as I would have liked to fit in, I like it better that I don’t.

Chapter 22

Grant

“I think we do a tasting,and then we bottle everything on site, right there, as people are touring,” Lincoln says. He wants to make the 100-year anniversary party as memorable as possible.

So, I back him up. “I’d remember that.”

“Not if you’ve been drinking and celebrating all day. It’s going to be time-consuming and take up way too much manpower to make happen. And for what? Some social media shit we can do ourselves?” Ace says with his feet kicked up on his desk.

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