The Plight Before Christmas(111)

“Could have?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve decided to invest more time outside of the office, an investment I deem worthy, but I assure you I’ll be giving you everything you’ve come to expect during regular business hours.” His face beets red as I cross my arms and lean against my desk. “Stuart set a good precedent for family first, don’t you think?”

“If it’s a matter of—”

“It’s a matter of priorities—and mine have changed. Really, Rich, I’m not vying for more money or a pat on the back. It’s just that recently I’ve been reminded of my worth.”

You can shut the fuck up now, Collins. Pride won’t pay the mortgage.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel valued.”

“Oh, I do.” Just not by you. The insinuation rings clear. “Was there anything else you needed from me?”

Rich clears his throat, indignant about his dismissal. “No.”

He lingers at my office door as I round my desk and take a seat behind my monitor. Out of my peripheral, I can see him stalling as his wheels begin to turn. His unease about me stepping back only confirms that he fully expected me to come back and continue to work the insane hours I have been—including the workload for Stuart and me. Without the title and pay increase.

Asshole.

Rich pokes his head back in my office. “Er-Whitney.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Let’s set a meeting. I’m happy to compensate you for any outside help with the Morton account.”

“Happy to, sir.”





Eleven months and two weeks later…



“One more time,” I say as she bats my hand away from the volume knob.

“No, Jesus, I’m starting to hate it.”

“Your smile says otherwise.” I grin over at her as she sinks a little in her seat, her cheeks pinking but not with embarrassment—with pride. I live for that blush. I live for her.

“It’s just one song.”

“A song you wrote and produced that’s getting a shit load of airplay. My Bee is a songwriter.”

“With a very short resume,” she says with a head shake—not a hint of ego to be found. Fuck how I love and respect her for it. She wrote Lunar Love on one of our weekend trips and managed to get it in the right hands through a contact at her agency. It’s all been uphill since, and I have zero doubts she’ll sell more. Her talent is astounding and is no longer being overlooked.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” I say, taking her hand and kissing the back of it, my other gripping the wheel.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “But I won’t quit my day job just yet.”

“In a year, you’ll be eating those words, mark mine.”

Three months after Christmas, Brenden landed a few accounts that allowed him to expand and open a branch in Nashville. Shortly after—and with my help—he hired capable hands to run the Charlotte office, so he didn’t have to commute so much. A month after that, I moved into Whitney’s condo in Nashville. My fortieth year has been the best year of my life, and from the look of things, it’s only going to get better.

I turn onto the steep driveway and park as Whitney glances over at the cabin where her family waits inside.

“So much has happened since last year,” she says softly. “So much.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Because you made it happen.”

“Because you pushed me to.” Her eyes shine with affection as she looks over to me.

“Uh, hate to break it to you, baby, but there’s not a soul alive that can make you do anything.”

She smirks. “Are you saying I’m still a handful?”

“Fuck yes,” I reply without missing a beat. “But I think it’s time I let you in on a secret.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

I unzip my jacket and start to unbutton my shirt as she laughs nervously and glances back at the cabin.

“Babe, I’m all for getting you naked, but we just pulled up. Think you can make it a few more hours?”

Grinning, I pull back my shirt—revealing my tattoo—and grab her hand, holding it between mine.

“I told you the reason for the two pulses.”

She nods, her eyes softening. “One beat for each of your parents.”

“To keep me going. To remember that they sacrificed so much just to give me a chance of having my own life.” Lifting her hand, I pluck her pointer finger and press it to the start of the ink on my chest. “Have you ever noticed anything about the line in between the pulses?”

She studies the . . . between the two deeply etched beats.

“That it’s dotted, not solid?”

“Yeah, dotted, kind of like the trail a cartoon bee would look like on paper.”

Her lips part as I begin to slowly trace the tattoo on my chest.

“If you feel that what you’ve accomplished this year has anything to do with my love and encouragement—I’m okay with that—as long as you realize I need yours just as much to reach my own potential. I don’t see it as a weakness. I see it as our strength. I think there are certain people that come into our lives capable of doing that for us. I can tell you with the utmost certainty that I’m the man I am because of you, because of your love, because of what you saw in me when I couldn’t see anything but that sick kid in the hospital bed when I looked in the mirror.”