Page 14 of Fierce Love (Tucker Billionaires)

Chapter Eleven

Hollyn

A nger surrounds Kinsley like a living, breathing thing. A dragon in the room. But I’m too busy purging my aunt’s history, as though I’m literally on fire, to take much notice.

I cannot stay on this island, and I was a fool to think it was possible, even for a second. Letting myself sink a single toe into the quicksand that is Nate Tucker was a massive mistake.

Last night, I kept dreaming of him, over and over.

Each time I woke up, I’d reassure myself that it couldn’t possibly happen again, only to find myself trapped in some forgotten memory warped by my subconscious.

If the dam of my Bellerive history had cracks in it before, it’s a full-blown crisis now.

The flood is coming, and I need to get to the higher ground of New York before I drown.

Even if Nate still desires me after what I did back then—and I think that’s possible given what pulsed between us last night—our history is so much more complicated than a simple ghosting.

With my aunt gone, one string has been cut in the web, but I don’t know what wrath will fall on my head if I tell Nate everything.

“Shannon said I can stay with her for a few weeks if I want,” Kinsley says.

“Shannon shouldn’t have said that, because Shannon has no legal authority,” I say, dumping one of my aunt’s drawers onto the bed and sorting through the contents. “You need to go back to New York and back to school.”

“As soon as I’m eighteen, I’m taking charge of my own life,” Kinsley says.

“Wonderful.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I, Kin. I’m not being held hostage by your bad attitude.

The job didn’t work out. I have a job in New York.

We have a life there, even if it’s not ideal right now.

If I could have taken this job, I would have, but I can’t.

Your pouting isn’t going to change the facts.

” After last night, I’m more relieved than anything that I can’t take the job, that Nate put down his foot and said he wouldn’t work with me.

From under the pile of mostly clothing, my phone rings. I dig around until I find it, but I don’t recognize the number. It’s likely a telemarketer, but between talking to a pouty Kin or speaking to some stranger trying to scam me, I’ll take the scam.

I click on Accept, and I hit the speakerphone icon.

“Hello?” I pick up a shirt, examine it for stains, refold it and put it in the donation pile.

“Is this Hollyn Davis?” a male voice asks, one with a Bellerivian accent.

“This is she,” I say, a frown creasing my brow, and I try to remember if Aunt Verna had any outstanding bills that I haven’t taken care of yet.

“It’s Felipe Sousa calling. We spoke last night about the television series. I’m one of the producers.”

“Oh, right, yes.” He’s probably called to apologize for how epically bad things went with Nate.

“I wanted to apologize for how things went last night. It was less than ideal.”

“I completely understand Mr. Tucker’s feelings,” I say in my most professional voice. There’s no point in making Felipe feel bad. We put him in an awkward situation last night and then put ourselves in an even more awkward position at The Drunk Raccoon. Best to forget the whole thing.

“Well, it appears that Mr. Tucker’s feelings have changed, actually. He’s now quite happy for us to move ahead with negotiating a contract with you.” Before he finishes his sentence, I’m scrambling for the phone, trying to get it off speakerphone, but I don’t make it until his final word.

Kin appears on the opposite side of the bed, and she’s staring at me, hard. She knows exactly what she heard, and if I turn the job down now, I'm pretty much guaranteed to ruin my relationship with my sister forever.

“He changed his mind?” I manage to squeak out.

“Yes,” Felipe says, a hint of a smile in his voice. “Stewart will be the producer you’ll deal with most often. Nathaniel’s decided to stay involved but take a more hands-off approach to the project.”

“I can hear him,” Kin says, pointing at my phone. “Even without it on speaker.”

I push the volume button with my thumb while I try to process what he’s just said. “Nate—Nathaniel won’t be part of the production?”

“He’ll see cuts of the episodes, might provide some notes, but he won’t be a visible presence.”

“Right,” I say. “Okay.” My brain is stuck on processing , and it can’t seem to move forward.

“Say yes,” Kinsley says in a harsh whisper.

“I know you were hoping to have a lawyer look over your contract last night, and you wanted to speak to Reyes and Cruz about your position there. I can email the contract to you, and you can take that to your lawyer,” Felipe says.

“Say yes ,” Kinsley hisses.

“Please send me the contract,” I say, suppressing a deep sigh. “When do you need an answer?”

“Yesterday,” Felipe says. “We’re already behind with all our timelines. The sooner we can get you signed off, the better I’ll feel.”

“The amendments we discussed—”

“Already added to the contract I’m sending you now,” he says, and my phone vibrates with the arrival of an email.

I took Posey’s advice, and I negotiated hard last night for the things that were important to me.

Firm hours of work. Salary. Bonuses for a second season or if Interflix picks up the series.

Payment of my aunt’s apartment rental for the duration of our stay, which lets me keep our place in New York and take my time cleaning out my aunt’s things.

None of the producers flinched or balked at anything.

Made me wonder if I should have gone after even more.

“Thanks, Felipe,” I say, turning away from Kinsley’s expectant expression. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

“I’m really looking forward to working together,” Felipe says.

My heart sinks at his words. While a part of me wanted to stay last night, after spending time with Nate again, I’ve realized how quickly and easily things between the two of us could get out of control.

“Me too,” I say, and after we say our goodbyes, I hang up the phone.

“If you don’t take this,” Kinsley says, her voice tinged with frustration, “I’m never speaking to you again.”

“If you’re going to make a threat, Kin, at least make it a realistic one.”

She storms out of the room, and from across the hall, my old bedroom door slams. Looks like I’ve come full circle, from being the one to slam the door to the one listening to it shudder on its hinges.

I sink onto the bed, my phone cradled in my hands, and I wonder whether staying in Bellerive will make things between us better or worse.