Undeniable (Cloverleigh Farms #2)(76)

“I had to,” my father went on with a shrug. “After all, it will be Henry who’s short-handed while you work with Oliver—if that’s what you want, of course.” He picked up his wine again. “I won’t force you to agree to this.”

Frowning, I stared at my fork and knife. Then I cut and ate a bite of grilled shrimp, mostly just to have something to do while I mulled things over. My therapist, Ken, had taught me the benefit of taking time before shooting my mouth off, even just two or three seconds. It wasn’t always easy for me, but I was working on it.

“I think it’s a good idea,” said my older sister April, seated to my left. “Why not give the partnership with Oliver a chance?”

Why not? I had a hundred reasons, but here were the top two:

1. Oliver Ford Pemberton could not be trusted.

2. I could not be trusted around Oliver Ford Pemberton.

But I took my time chewing and swallowing. Another thing Ken had taught me was to be more empathetic, to put myself in another person’s shoes. My dad was older, almost seventy, and his health was an issue. All of us—my mother, my four sisters, longtime employees like Mack and Henry—agreed that slowing down would be best for him. Deep down I was really hoping he’d turn over some of the general management of Cloverleigh to me … it only made sense.

I wasn’t the oldest sibling—that was Sylvia—but she lived out in Santa Barbara with her husband and kids. I wasn’t even the second oldest—that was April. She was the event planner here. She was awesome at her job, and I’d never heard a peep from her about wanting to do anything else. Weddings and other corporate events kept her busy, and she was always adapting to new trends. Next in line was Meg, but she lived in D.C., where she was busy fighting injustice and trying to change the world for the better, which had always been her dream.

That left Frannie and me. Frannie was the youngest at twenty-seven, but she’d recently stopped working reception at the inn to run her own little macarons enterprise out of a coffee shop in downtown Traverse City, which was about twenty minutes away. She was also newly engaged to a single dad who had three young girls and had just moved in with them. Between her new business, helping to raise three kids, and planning a wedding, there was no way she could take on more responsibility at Cloverleigh.

So promoting me made sense. I was fully dedicated to the family business. I was thirty-two. I was single and had no prospects or plans to be otherwise in the near future—my romantic history was a road pockmarked with impulsive behavior and regrettable decisions. I had terrible taste in men, and until Ken could explain to me why I always chose assholes over nice guys, I’d sworn off relationships.

But I understood that if I wanted to prove I was a team player, flexible and smart, a big-picture thinker and a cool-headed businesswoman, I had to be willing to make compromises and not let my emotions get the best of me.

I took a deep breath and another sip of wine.

“I like the idea of compromise,” I began. “I’m just … concerned that Oliver and I might not be the best fit as partners.”

To my left, I heard April snicker, which she tried to hide by lifting her wine glass to her lips. No one at the table knew my full history with Oliver Ford Pemberton, but April knew enough to recognize the awkwardness of the situation. I kicked her lightly in the ankle before going on.

“Why not?” my mother asked. “You two were thick as thieves once upon a time.”

“Because I’m a hard worker, and he’s a globe-trotting, yacht-cavorting, devil-may-care, rich, egotistical playboy. That’s why.”

“Now, Chloe. People change. Oliver may have been a bit unruly in his twenties but he’s really settled down over the last few years.”

“We don’t get along, Mom.”

“Oh, posh.” My mother dismissed that idea with a wave of her hand. “You two may have scrapped a bit when you were younger, but that was just because you were so alike—so headstrong and competitive. But you’ve known each other forever. For heaven’s sake, he even took you to his prom.”

I gave her a flat stare. “His mother made him ask me. And you made me say yes.”

“And you were darling together.” She sighed sadly. “Nell and I always thought you’d be perfect for each other. It’s too bad you two never—well, anyway, you’re both so much more mature now.”

I squirmed a bit in my chair. “I suppose, but I still haven’t forgotten the mean things he did to me when we were younger.”

“Like when he convinced you that you had Dutch elm disease?” April teased.

“That wasn’t funny,” I snapped, although the rest of the table burst out laughing.

“I never knew that,” said Frannie. “How did he do it?”

“He told her that freckles on the nose were a sure sign, and if she started to grow hair on her legs, she should definitely cover them with peanut butter,” blurted April, that traitor. “He told her that was the only known cure.”

“Oh, that’s right.” My mother wiped tears from her eyes as she gasped with laughter. “I’d forgotten about that. I found her in the pantry one day just covered with Skippy.”

“We called her Skippy for months after that,” wheezed April.

“All I knew was that she broke her leg after he dared her to jump off the barn roof,” said Frannie, giggling. “And didn’t he break his collarbone jumping after her?”