Page 27 of Best Kept Vows (Savannah’s Best #6)

Sebastian

I looked at my phone as I walked down Bull Street, where Nigel Ivanir’s office was, and smiled. Lia had replied to my ‘ good morning ’ message.

On instinct, I called her. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” She paused. “Where are you?”

“Nigel Ivanir’s office.”

She knew who Nigel was and didn’t ask further questions.

“Baby, can we meet for dinner? I need to discuss a few things with you.”

Silence.

“Lia?”

“I…yes. We can.”

“When?”

Silence.

“Next week? Ah…Monday night. ”

I stood outside Nigel’s building, not liking how distant Lia sounded. “Where? Should I bring takeout home or?—”

“How about Collins Quarter at Forsyth?”

“Sounds good. Should we say six?”

“Seven. I…I have a Pilates class until six.”

My wife was working out? What the fuck? Isn’t that what women did after a divorce?

“I have to go, Sebastian.”

“Bye, baby.”

I stared at my phone, a sense of unease creeping in. Things weren’t right with my wife, and I didn’t like it at all. She’d been gone for six weeks now, and I was hoping we could finally talk about her coming back home.

We had our first counseling session with Dr. Ryan set up for this coming Friday afternoon, and I was hoping that was going to be a magic wand that could save our marriage—though I knew enough about therapy to know that was not how it worked.

But I’d see her Friday, and then I’d see her on Monday for dinner. That was two definitive meetings planned. This was progress. I had to believe that.

Like the rest of the business district, Bull Street was a mix of old and new. Polished corporate spaces were tucked inside renovated historic structures, and wrought-iron balconies and towering oaks gave the area its signature Southern charm.

Nigel’s office was on the top floor of one such building. It had large windows overlooking the city below; the spires of Savannah’s old churches visible in the distance .

An assistant led me into Nigel’s office—an efficient, no-frills space. A massive mahogany desk dominated one end, flanked by shelves neatly stacked with files. At the long conference table, Nigel sat with his laptop open, its screen mirrored on the large monitor mounted on the wall in front of him.

We shook hands. I declined his offer of coffee since I’d already had two cups.

“Alright, then. It looks like Abraham has talked to you.” Nigel wasn’t one for small talk, which suited me fine, even if sometimes I had to prod him to get the information I needed to have a fruitful discussion.

“Depends upon what it is you think he’s talked to me about.”

“He told you he wants to sell Boone Metals.”

“That he did.”

“Alright.” He presented what looked like my father’s portfolio on the large screen. “Let’s go through this.”

Nigel had been handling Boone-family money for decades, and his efficiency showed in everything he did.

“This is bleaker than I thought it would be,” I stated, now regretting not having asked for coffee.

Dad hadn’t just left a cluster-fucked company to me; now I was finding out his personal finances weren’t doing any better, and my mother was living like it was the old days, when she could do whatever she wanted.

“Yeah. They’ll have to sell the house,” he said emphatically, adjusting his glasses as he turned a page. “It’s too big for two people and too expensive to keep up. ”

I let out a slow breath. The Boone estate was massive—a sprawling property that had once been a symbol of old-money prestige, but now it was a money pit.

My mother treated it like her personal Versailles, hosting fundraisers and luncheons to keep up appearances, while my father had been reduced to occupying a single suite of the house with his nurse.

“Mama will fight that,” I warned flatly.

Nigel snorted. “Dolly doesn’t have a choice. She’s been living off your father’s investments, but the monthly income isn’t covering expenses anymore. The estate, the staff, her personal account—it’s all draining faster than the investments can replenish—it’s eating the capital, Sebastian.”

I sat back, rubbing my jaw.

“Your mother needs to get her bearings now . Look, I know you know that Abraham doesn’t have a lot of time left. He wants things settled before he goes; make sure your mama isn’t gonna starve.”

I’d known Dad’s time was coming, but I hadn’t let myself believe it would be soon. Or maybe I had—I just refused to face it.

Abraham Boone had always seemed indestructible, larger than life. And then the stroke had reduced him to someone smaller, quieter…less. Now, he was slipping away entirely, and I couldn’t ignore the bitter truth: I’d spent my life trying to impress a man who was about to become a memory.

What a fucking waste!

“Mama isn’t going to starve.” I’d take care of her if I had to. “She’s just not going to be able to afford any more Dior tennis bracelets.”

“Yeah, I saw the new one come through. Three hundred grand. Seriously? That woman has been told time and again to be careful, and she’s behaving like I have a personal problem with her spending money.” The corners of Nigel’s eyes twitched in silent exasperation.

I leveled him with a stare that screamed, Are you serious? “I thought Dad was smart with his investments.”

“He was, but five years ago, when the shit hit the fan, he began to shift money to cover shortfalls at Boone Metals.”

I sucked in a breath and let it out in frustration. “That’s what I thought when I saw an influx of funds in the yearly earnings reports.”

“I honestly believe that stroke was the result of that man dyin’ for his job.”

Like I was?

“Tell me what you recommend as the next steps.”

“Sell Boone Metals.”

My stomach twisted. The Boone name had once been untouchable—a dynasty of wealth, legacy, and influence. But it was all an illusion now, a grand facade propped up by money that was quickly running out.

“You agree with Dad,” I remarked slowly. “We need to sell Boone Metals.”

“I told him to sell eight years ago and again three years ago, but he wouldn’t,” Nigel admitted.

“The longer you wait, the less control you’ll have over the sale.

If creditors start getting involved, you’ll be negotiating from a position of weakness.

Selling now gives you the best chance to salvage something. ”

“At the current burn rate, when does the shit hit the fan?”

Nigel flipped through spreadsheets on the screen. “I’d say six to eight months. That’s just looking at the money. I know you’ve been busting your ass there, Sebastian, but it’s not worth it. Let it go. Get what you can out of it.”

I let that sink in. Less than a year. I wasn’t sure what would last longer, my father or the company.

Assuming that my not saying anything meant I needed a push, he continued, “This continues, the estate will default on payments, the staff won’t get paid, and your mother will either have to start selling assets or seriously adjust her spending.”

I nodded, absorbing the brutal truth. “What about my father’s medical costs?”

“That’s a priority,” Nigel confirmed. “We have a separate account for his medical expenses, but once the company sells, we can allocate a portion to ensure he’s taken care of for the rest of his life. But, honestly, he has less time than the company does, which is why he wants this done.”

Well, that answered one of my questions.

“This isn’t a used Toyota, Nigel. It’s a freaking company with customers and a factory and?—”

“You need to find a buyer as quickly as possible.”

No shit, Sherlock .

I looked away from the screen that told the sad story of my family’s finances, and stared out the window. If we sold Boone Metals, we’d each walk away with a small share—Coco, Mama, and me. If we didn’t, and the company went under, none of us would get a thing.

Coco still relied on family money, at least in part—I knew what Bryce earned. We were just another old-money Savannah family stuck in the past, clinging to a legacy that hadn’t adapted or evolved. And the truth was, old money didn’t turn into new money unless you worked for it.

Honestly, I didn’t care.

This company had taken everything from me: my marriage, my time with my kids, and my peace of mind. And for what? To try to save a legacy that had already been lost?

“I’ll talk to the company lawyer, and we’ll get this rolling.”

“I know it’s not easy, but?—”

“It’s not that hard, Nigel.” I stood up and held out my hand.

He shook it. “You’re more practical than your father, Sebastian, and I appreciate that.”

I scoffed. I was three years too late to claim the trophy for practicality and sensible living.

Jane came into my office before I had time to even pull out my laptop from my bag. “We have a meeting.”

“Yes.” I looked at my watch. “Marek is joining us.”

Jane closed the door and settled on a client chair. “No, he’s not. He has a call with a customer.”

I’d been avoiding being alone with Jane ever since she got drunk and propositioned me. I reported the incident to Stacy Thunes, our head of HR, and she agreed that a formal warning was appropriate, given it was the first time anything like this had happened.

She assured me that if it happened again, we’d be in our rights to let Jane go. Until now, I hadn’t wanted to do that. Clingy, she may be, but she was a damn good COO, which was irrelevant now that we were selling the company.

I had talked to Jane and addressed her behavior—she’d been flippant.

“Jane, this is a workplace,” I reminded her.

She sighed. “What is it with men like you? When you come on to a woman, it’s fine, but if a woman even insinuates interest, it’s inappropriate?”

That told me this wasn’t the first time she’d pulled this nonsense. Now, I wondered why it had been so easy to get her over to Boone Metals from her high-profile company.

“Jane, this is not a discussion. I’m telling you that if you behave in that manner again, we’re going to have a major issue.”

“Fine.” She let out an exasperated breath. “Can we get to work now?”