“Come on, you piece of junk.” I tap through the new printer set-up menu for the third time. The stupid thing is supposed to connect to Wi-Fi, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out how. I stretch out my arm, reaching for the manual on the edge of my desk while I hold down the reset button. I’m in a full yoga bend, the machine giving me a warning beep as I wiggle the manual closer with my fingers.
I don’t want to be dealing with a malfunctioning printer right now, but I can’t sit still. At this very moment, Ryan and half the Rays are up in Cincinnati confronting Troy on my behalf. I meant what I said: I will never see or speak to him again. Narcissists only understand boundaries when they’re firm. I drew this line in the sand, and I’ll be damned if I cross it again.
Troy Owens is nothing but a memory for me now. Someone I used to know.
The printer makes a high-pitched whirring sound and I slap the top with a curse.
A memory he may be, but the fact remains I need those damn divorce papers signed. I’m giving Troy this one last chance to sign them uncontested. Otherwise, I’m going full-scorched earth. By going after Ryan, Troy woke the dragon. I won’t rest until I’m free, and if he is going to threaten the people I love, I will burn him to ash.
Boundaries, I have them now. Fuck around, and you will find out.
In this case, Ryan and his teammates are bringing two boxes full of “find out” straight to Troy’s office door. I’ve been sitting by my phone, waiting impatiently for an update all morning. Not even this printer can prove a good enough distraction.
The beeping continues, and I curse under my breath, holding the stupid reset button down again. For fuck’s sake, I have a B.A., an MBA, and a J.D. Surely, I can manage to set up one stupid, freaking—
“Good morning, Tess.”
I gasp, nearly toppling out of my warrior pose in my rush to spin around. My heart stops as I see Bea Owens standing in the doorway of my office. She looks as perfect as ever, tall and lithe, with a ballerina’s body, all collarbones and angled hips. She’s draped in a navy sheath dress, pearls at her ears and neck, with an Hermès Kelly on her arm.
“What are you doing here?” I say, heart racing, crossing my arms.
She’s peering around the room, taking in all the improvements I made to the space—two new desks, framed pictures on the wall, stick-on wallpaper to cover the old water stains. It’s a far cry from her cherry wood executive office suite, but it’s mine.
“So…this must be your new office.”
“I’m not coming back,” I say, fighting my nerves.
Dealing with Troy’s drama is one thing. After thirteen years, I’m a master at shoveling his bullshit. But Bea is an entirely different animal. She’s been my weakness for so long, a mentor and mother figure in one. I’ve had her up on a pedestal. Saint Beatrice, patron saint of lost daughters.
Even when she sided with Troy, even when she watched him lie to me and cheat, when she helped him manipulate me…god, even then I worshipped her. But all false idols must eventually fall. I used to look at her and see Jackie Kennedy. Now all I see is Troy’s mother.
Her inspection of the office complete, she holds my gaze. “I’ve missed you these last weeks.”
“I’m not coming back,” I say again. “If you came here to ask me that, you can just go. Cincinnati is done for me, Bea.”
“I know,” she replies.
I suck in a breath, my eyes narrowing on her as the truth hits me. “I’d say you can have my official two-week notice, but we both know you’ve let Troy move forward with firing me. Anything to appease him in his time of grief, right?”
She says nothing, and I know I’m right. I just scoff, shaking my head. I was holding out vain hope that she would prove to me my idolization was worth it. Looking at Bea in her Prada and pearls, I see it was all a mirage.
“You know, I’ve spent the last thirteen years feeling like an imposter,” I say, admitting it to myself more than her. “Poor, underprivileged Tess with her loud opinions and her financial aid scholarships. I didn’t buy my way into your world, Bea. I earned it. I worked hard and got accepted into the Ivy League. Meeting Troy and your family, I felt tapped for greatness. I was finally leaving all the chaos of my old life behind me. I was chosen. I was in. I learned the rules, and I let you all chip pieces of me away so I could fit inside your little boxes.”
“You talk as though we mutilated you,” she says, her face unreadable. “Like it wasn’t you being the driver of your own fate. You’re not a victim, Tess.”
“Oh, I know,” I reply. “I asked for everything I got. I stayed when I should have run. I sat quiet when I should have shouted from the rooftops that everything around me was artifice and bullshit. I fought so hard, Bea. And for what? What did it earn me in the end? What do I have to show for a decade of living in your illustrious shadow? Here at the end of things, I see the truth: I was never really in…was I? Not with him, and certainly not with you.”
“I loved you in my way,” she says. “And Troy tried—”
“Don’t,” I say, raising my hand. “No justifications. We’re past them. I don’t know what you came here for, but I really don’t think you’ll find it, Bea.” I lower my hand back to my side, heart in my throat. “I think you should go,” I whisper. “I need you to go.”
Behind me the printer lets out another alarming beep. A paper jam or a problem with the alignment tray. I spin away from her, flipping the switch to turn the whole machine off. Once my back is turned, I take a deep breath, gripping the sides of the machine.
“I’m not here to cause you any more heartbreak,” she says gently.
I slowly turn back around. “Then why are you here?”
Setting her Hermès Kelly on the desk, she opens it with perfectly manicured nails, her massive, emerald-cut diamond flashing on her finger. She pulls out a blue legal file and hands it out to me. “I came to give you this.”
My eyes lock on the document. “And what is that?”
She sets it down on the corner of the desk between us. “Open it and see.”
Heart in my throat, I snatch up the file and open it. Tears sting my eyes as I read the bold statement along the top: PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE.
“Oh god,” I whisper, my fingers brushing tentatively over the page. It’s signed. “How did you…”
“My son is an imperfect person, Tess,” she admits. “I know this. I have always known this. He is quick to anger and action. He can be obstinate. Lord knows he and I have fought many battles over the long years. You fought your battles too.”
We both know that’s an understatement. “Why now, Bea? What changed?”
She clears her throat. “Troy is a passionate man, Tess. Sometimes that passion overtakes reason. Without reason, we can make poor decisions. We can take actions that are…regrettable.”
I narrow my eyes at her, trying to puzzle out the truth. “What are you trying to say?”
She holds my gaze, her eyes sharpening as she lifts her chin. This is corporate mergers and acquisitions Bea, boardroom Bea, “let’s make a deal” Bea.
“Oh god,” I whisper, letting the truth hit me like a crashing wave. I see the moment her eyes flicker, and she knows I know.
“I need to know it ends here,” she says, gesturing to the papers. “You have your freedom. Now you can go…and leave Troy in peace.”
I hear the words she’s not saying: Now you can go…and don’t press charges.
Indignation hardens in my chest. She’s not here for me, and these papers are no gift. They’re a buyout. A hush payment. She’s protecting her son. She will always only ever protect Troy. Not me. Never me.
“What finally tipped your scales? You ignored the abuse because he was always careful. There was never any proof, no witnesses. It was my word against his—”
“Tess—”
“So, what changed, Bea?” I press. “Did you find out about the stalking and harassment? Maybe someone tipped you off about the photographer he’s had trailing me for weeks.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies, every inch the boardroom tiger protecting her wayward cub.
I narrow my eyes, hooking on the truth. “It was the TRO, wasn’t it?”
Her eyes flash, and I know I’m right.
“He used your name, didn’t he? He roped you in to pull strings with the judge. You’re not just protecting him now. You’re here protecting yourself…aren’t you?”
“You have what you wanted,” she says, pointing to the papers. “The divorce. That’s what you said you wanted, yes? We were generous. It’s an even split, per the laws of the state of Ohio. All assets, all properties—”
“I don’t care about assets and property.” I slap the documents down on the desk. “That’s your obsession. You care about the look of things. I never did.”
“I know,” she replies solemnly. “It’s how I knew this marriage was doomed to fail.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I drop my hand down to the desk, gripping it tight.
“You were always too headstrong, too uncultured,” she goes on. “You fit into our lives like a rusty, broken wheel. I did my best, for Troy’s sake. You were what he wanted at the time, and I can deny him nothing.” She pauses, her gaze tracing my features.
I lean instinctively away, hating her appraising eyes on me.
“And then I saw how broken you were,” she says. “A bird without her feathers, yearning to fly. So, I took you under my wing. I played the part of your doting mother, your business advisor. I taught you to dress and speak and act. All the while I watched as you two pecked at each other. I watched you bring out the worst in my son, and I was helpless to stop it.”
“And his worst carved out the best of me,” I challenge. “I thought it was gone, lost forever. I thought I would never know that wild, happy Tess again. You call me a rusty, broken wheel. Do you know what Ryan calls me?”
She purses her lips, saying nothing.
“Dream girl,” I say, a smile lighting my face. Love for him fills me, lighting me up as I face down my last remaining dragon, sword and shield in hand. “You’re right about me, Bea. All my life, I’ve been a lost bird, looking for a home, somewhere I could feel safe and loved and free to be myself. In my ignorance, I thought maybe money and power could buy those things. I was so wrong. It took me walking away from everything to find that home at last.”
“I assume your new home is Jacksonville?” she asks.
“No. My home is me. It’s been me all along. I am everything I need. I am enough just as I am. I am smart and driven. I’m kind. I’m passionate and funny and sexy as hell.” I square my shoulders, confidence flowing through me. “I came to Jacksonville to be closer to Rachel. I thought she was my home. But I was wrong. She’s just the first person to hold up a mirror and show me that I’m enough.”
“And this new young man?” she presses, one brow raised.
My smile widens. “He’s my mirror ball. His every surface reflects my perfections back at me. He loves me for exactly who I am. I’m not too loud for him or too opinionated. He doesn’t cringe when I tell jokes because he’s worried I’m funnier than him, pulling away his spotlight. He lets my light shine out as brightly as I want, and he shines it all back on me. I have never known a love or an acceptance of self like I have with Ryan.”
“Well,” she says, emotion thick in her throat. “It sounds like you got everything you always wanted, then.”
I nod. “I’m happy now, yes. And I’m free. Even without these,” I add, tapping the divorce papers. “I was already free in my heart. These free me on paper, too, the last chains tying me down to the rotting edifice of the life I thought I wanted.”
“Rotting edifice?” she says with a raised brow. “Hardly flattering.”
“Well, if the Manolo Blahnik leather slingback fits,” I reply with a shrug.
She sighs, glancing around the small office as she shifts her Kelly onto her arm. “I need your word it ends here. I need to know you won’t retaliate against Troy.”
I purse my lips, glancing down at my phone on the desk. No message from Ryan yet. Right now, he’s in Cincinnati going to the PFH office, pressing Troy to sign the papers. My window is closing. If ever I wanted to claim something from Bea Owens, now is my chance.
I square my shoulders at her, hands on my hips. “On the phone, I told you I had a plan for how we all walk away clean. You didn’t believe me. You sided with Troy. And now you’re implicated in his legal malpractice.”
“Tess—”
I raise a hand to silence her. “Let’s not beat around the bush here. All I have to do is say the word, and my lawyer will come down on you both. I’m the one with the leverage now, not you.”
“So, what do you want, Tess?” she says, her words clipped. “How do I make this stop here?”
“You both need to agree to go to therapy,” I say without missing a beat.
Her eyes go wide. “Therapy?”
“Troy needs intervention, Bea. He needs help that you can’t give him. And you need help too. Because the way you love him is hurting him. He needs to be held accountable for his actions. Set boundaries. Enact consequences. A therapist can give you the tools to better engage with him. He needs you, Bea. You’re the only person I think he truly cares about. Help him.”
“So…what? We go to therapy and send you proof of our sessions?”
I nod. “Yeah—well, no. Don’t send the proof to me. After today, I want no contact with either of you. Send it to my lawyer. Biweekly sessions for the next year. Go, learn tools for managing a healthier relationship with your son.”
She arches a brow. “And if I say no?”
“Then I press charges.”
Her frown deepens as her lips purse. “And if I can’t convince him to go as well?”
“Then I press charges,” I repeat. “See? Boundaries and consequences.”
She considers for a moment. “Fine. Consider it done. Anything else?”
I smile, my eyes locked on the framed sea turtle poster behind her head. “Yeah…make a donation to Out of the Net.” I let my gaze slide back to her, soaking in her surprised face. “And whatever the number is in your head right now, double it.”
“Sea turtles?” She gives a sad little shake of her head. “I can see your time with me has truly taught you nothing. You have a knife to my throat, and your only demand is that I go to therapy and donate to this nonprofit?”
Her words settle deep in my chest, and I realize she’s right. Thirteen years in her shadow, and I survived. I’m still me. I wouldn’t say she taught me nothing, but her lessons have left only scars. I will heal. I am healing.
I beam at her, my heart feeling ten times lighter. “Yep. Make the donation, make it truly outrageous, and I’ll even issue a joint statement with Troy that you can share with all your friends and associates. We’ll say we parted in friendship and that our families remain close as I move on to pursue new philanthropic endeavors.”
She considers. “And the fallout? The press?”
“You can tell everyone about the donation,” I reply. “PFH gets the tax break and all the good press, while you avoid the harsh spotlight of a contested divorce. Most importantly for you, Troy avoids disbarment and criminal charges.”
“These are all things we get,” she says, that eyebrow arching in question. “What do you get, Tess?”
I glance down at the signed divorce papers. “I get to be free.” Slowly, I look back up at her, meeting her eyes. “And I get to never see you again.”
