Page 7 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)

It’s been years since I’ve napped, and as I sit up on my bed and look around the room, I realize why. I’m refreshed, rejuvenated, and clear-headed. And it’s ten o’clock. There’s no way I’m going to sleep tonight.

I get up and pad over to the desk below my bedroom window and sit down in the creaky wooden chair. I used to sit here for hours at a time while I drew in my sketchbook.

I open my laptop and review the contract I had Shelley sign.

Then, I pull up the documents she sent over with the current plans.

There’s not a whole lot here. In fact, what she’s sent me is more of a concept for an arts centre, rather than any sort of concrete building plans or design.

I wonder if taking on this project will be worth it in the end, for how much work and turmoil I’m going to have to endure.

My eyes flick down my screen to the blue envelope at the bottom, and the little red dot in the corner indicating I have an unread e-mail.

Clicking it open, my stomach does a sort of flip flop when I see Hudson Landry’s name on my screen, twice. It’s nausea. The sickening dread at the very real reminder that I’ll be working with him all summer. This is just the beginning.

The first e-mail is a response to Shelley, and when I read the thread, my heart clenches.

I really do want everything to be okay with her mom, and I hope whatever is going on isn’t serious.

At the same time, I also need Shelley to be a buffer between Hudson and me—an impartial party and someone to oversee the work, to keep Hudson on his best behaviour.

Hudson’s reply is obviously empathetic, and I soften when I read his words. Let me know if there’s anything I can do . Hudson has always been thoughtful, I can’t deny that. I just wish he had thought about my feelings a little more when he dumped me. Where was his kind and considerate nature then?

I click open his next e-mail, and whatever has softened hardens again, a thick shell reforming around my heart.

Greetings Ms. Miller,

In light of Shelley’s news and her impending absence, we need to discuss how to proceed. It only makes sense for me to take on the lead role, since I have been overseeing work in Heartwood for many years .

I don’t miss the slight dig, him throwing it back in my face that I’ve been gone for so long.

Like I no longer have a claim to my hometown.

I keep reading. There’s no fucking way he’s taking this job from me.

I deserve it. I’ve worked hard for this, I’ve accomplished way more than he ever has. The job is mine.

If you’d like to talk about it more, I’m open to hearing your thoughts.

Bullshit, I think, but okay .

We can meet up this weekend to figure it out, and get a jump on planning. Say, tomorrow night at my place?

Regards,

Hudson Landry

My blood simmers beneath my skin, making every inch of me prickle and burn with rage. There’s no way he wants to meet so we can discuss this. He wants to meet on his turf so he has the upper hand. I can smell the set up from here. He’s trying to be strategic.

I remember why I need this job so badly in the first place. The impending failure of my company, how exponentially more uncomfortable family dinners will be if that happens.

Claire is here for another week until Mom and Dad leave on their extended road trip across the country. I have to endure another six family dinners. Five, if I agree to take this meeting with Hudson .

I rapid fire type out an e-mail response. It’s probably snarkier than it needs to be, but I don’t care. The contract is signed, now I’m going to get what I came for.

Mr. Landry,

Thank you for reaching out. I would love to have a conversation about who would be the best fit for the project lead role in Shelley’s absence. Contrary to what you might think, the rules of shotgun do not apply to this job. It’s not yours because you “called dibs.”

Best,

Wren Miller

I hit send without proofreading it, or second-guessing, or feeling like I should add an exclamation mark where it doesn’t require one to make it seem more polite.

Normally I’m not so direct with my associates, but this is Hudson Landry.

As soon as I hear the swoosh of the e-mail flying off into the ether of the internet, I stand and pace around my room, nervously biting at a stubborn hangnail on my finger.

So much for getting rid of my jitters.

Surprisingly, my computer dings not five minutes later as Hudson’s e-mail response comes in. I stride over to my computer and click it open.

Ms. Miller ,

Sounds great. I have included my address below, come hungry. Also, I attached some links to some quality work boots you may want to think about purchasing for the next time you come on site.

Below the e-mail, he has indeed attached the ugliest pair of steel-toe work boots I have ever seen. Absolutely the fuck not. I’m not wearing those. But then my eyes dart to where he’s signed off his e-mail.

Regards,

Hudson Landry

Mud: 1, Wren: 0

My heart flutters in my chest, another muscle memory response.

It’s that stupid tally thing we used to do, as if this is some type of game to him.

Like he doesn’t take this seriously in the slightest. Who am I kidding?

I don’t know why I’m trying to pretend like I’m surprised by this.

I don’t think Hudson has ever taken anything in his life seriously. That’s why we ended things.

I had drive, ambition, goals, and I have always wondered if Hudson was intimidated by me because he didn’t.

He didn’t care about success or bettering his future.

He was content to stay in the exact same place for the rest of his life, and maybe he ended things because he was afraid I would become more successful than him. Well, look at me now.

If he wants to play it this way, I can play right back. At least this dynamic of turning everything into a competition is something I’m used to with Hudson. It’s all we used to do as kids growing up. Shotgun was like a full-contact sport.

I guess, at the end of the day, I finally beat him.

I went away to university, worked my ass off, and now I’m a successful engineer.

When I left, though, I never found anyone else who wanted to see how many marshmallows they could shove in their mouth, or who could handle playing a board game with me.

I competed against myself with my grades, my academic achievements, I pored my heart and soul into my career and climbing the ladder. And becoming a lead structural engineer as a woman in a male-dominated field was almost more satisfying than winning any of my competitions with Hudson.

So no, I’m not bothered by him coming at me now for this position. I’m not bothered in the slightest. I’ve stepped over men with far more expertise than he has.

And I know exactly how Hudson likes to play.