Page 196 of Bridesmaid By Chance
“Stop talking, Stacey. Sloane, did you marry Hudson?”
I nod my head even though he can’t see me and then with a weepy voice, I say, “Yes.”
More silence.
And that’s what kills me.
The silence.
Because he doesn’t need to say anything for me to know how upset he is.
How angry he is.
How hurt he must be.
“I’m sorry, Jude. But?—”
“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t… Do not fucking talk to me.”
Then he hangs up the phone, dropping the line between all three of us.
I toss the phone on the coffee table, cover my eyes, and sob.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
HUDSON
I clench my hands at my side, taking calming breaths as I ride the elevator up to my father’s office.
He’s expecting me.
I made sure of it.
I want him prepared. I want him wondering why I’m coming to talk to him.
I want him possibly shaking a little.
Hardy asked if I wanted him to come with me, but I told him I needed to do this myself. I need to face my father and have this conversation. I know Hardy has some things to work out with him, but that’s on a different level. When it comes to business, that’s between me and my dad.
He’s always seen me as competition, as someone to disparage and insult, but not anymore.
It ends now.
Today.
The elevator doors part, and I lift my head to the ostentatiously decorated space with the wood paneling and gold accents everywhere. It…it feels embarrassing.
There’s no need for such extravagance. My father followed the rule that people will want to work with you based on how you show your wealth, but Hardy and I don’t have that same mindset. Neither do theCane brothers. You simply prove your worth by the way you invest in the projects presented to you.
I move through the space, a few heads popping up, eyes widening when they see me walk by. I nod, offer them a smile, because if anything, I’m not the dick in this building.
When I reach his receptionist, I don’t even recognize her. Not surprised—my dad is unpleasant to work with. I nod my head and say, “Good morning. Hudson Hopper to see Reginald.”
She fumbles with the phone when her eyes meet mine and she says, “Oh, right, um, please head in. He’s expecting you.”
“Thank you,” I say and offer her a smile before I open the heavy door to my dad’s office, dark and something you’d see onMad Men.
My dad isn’t sitting at his desk, twirling his mustache and waiting for me; instead, he’s sitting in one of the chairs in his sitting area, a cup of coffee in hand, looking fresh and relaxed. Unlike me, who’s still struggling to keep his eyes open from the lack of sleep and the stress this entire situation has placed upon me.
