Page 11 of Beauty and the Beach

“She has, hasn’t she,” I say in a grim voice. It’s not a question.

“And you must admit,” he goes on, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “that her frustrations are somewhat warranted.”

“If she doesn’t want to be treated like a child, she shouldn’t act like one.” But even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re not quite right. I let out a tired breath. “No. I just—want her to make smart decisions. I want her to take care of herself so thatIdon’t have to take care of her. And then someday when I’ve died, probably of a Holland-induced heart attack, I can look Trev in the eye and tell him his little sister grew up well. And then”—my voice is louder now—“I can tell him not to dump responsibilities like this on his best friend who’s already stressed enough as it is, dealing with succession wars and insane family members.”

“Speaking of insane family members,” Wyatt says, “your mother called.”

“I bet she did.” I rub my temples as a wave of exhaustion hits me.

“Indeed,” he says, and one corner of his mouth quirks as he looks at me again. “She asked me to pass along her message.”

“Let’s hear it, then,” I say with a sigh.

He ducks his chin. “She wishes you to stop ignoring her calls, and she would like you to know that she’s hurt you’re avoiding her. She would also like to tell you that she knows many young women?—”

“There it is,” I mutter.

“Any of whom would make excellent partners in matrimony,” Wyatt continues. “She would like to remind you that your grandmother is very serious about the company being inherited by someone who’s married, and she would also like to remind you that your cousin Lawrence has been dating someone for the last year, so you can feel reasonably assured that he’ll propose to her soon in hopes of inheriting.”

I pity the woman who shackles herself to Lawrence.

“Anything else?” I say.

“Yes,” Wyatt says, and I’m not surprised, because Marshana Butterfield-Park is neither brief nor succinct. “She made a rather tearful plea for you to remember that she loves you and wants you to be happy, and for that, you need to get married and inherit the company.”

What she actually wants is to be supported financially and never work another day in her life. She doesn’t need to convince me to do whatever I can to succeed Mavis; that’s always been my plan.

I’m not sure she’d agree with therestof my plans if she knew what they were, though.

Butterfield is doing well. We’re creating products that do their job for consumers as well as for the environment. But we could be doing so much more, and that’s the direction I’d love to take the company. I want to set up a humanitarianbranch of operations, one that provides sanitary paper products to communities in need. Shelters, homes, entire cities—whatever it is, I want to help. I want to do something good.

Ineedto do something good.

“Mmm,” I say, narrowing my eyes as I turn my attention back to Wyatt. “A tearful plea?”

He nods.

“Fake tears or real tears?”

“Very definitely fake.”

“Right. Well,” I say, taking a deep breath and then letting it out, “I’m going to ignore all of that for now. I’ll call her”—I wave my hand—“I don’t know. Sometime. I can’t really focus on her right now.”

“Well, as for Miss Blakely—the only person responsible for her future is herself,” Wyatt says firmly, closing his folder with asnap.He hesitates; then, in a gentler voice, he says, “However, I understand your feelings, and I understand why you feel you need to watch out for her.”

Something faintly warm tries to blossom in my chest; I push it down and clear my throat. “I don’t need someone to understand my feelings,” I say. My family has never understood me or even tried—only Wyatt. “I just need to figure out what to do. She wouldn’t hear me out when I offered her a job.”

“I think that may have something to do with the tone in which you offered it.” He pauses briefly and then says, “Which job might this be? I wasn’t aware you were hiring.”

“I’m not,” I say, rubbing my hand down my face. “But I could. She could work for me. I’d pay her well. Plus insurance and benefits—she needs those.”

“And…the marriage?”

The word I would use to describe my vague noise of response isdisgruntled.“I suppose—it’s possible,” I say,because while the personal side of me abhors the idea, the business side of me can grudgingly acknowledge the merits. “I refuse to wed a perfect stranger, and I refuse to pretend to love someone in order to marry. That leaves few options.”

Wyatt ducks his head slowly.

“Except if she wouldn’t listen about a job, there’s no way she’d listen about—” But I break off, because no matter how I try, I can’t make myself say the words.

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