Holly versus Mr. Ivy by Amanda P. Jones

Chapter 18

Rhett

Istood at table fourteen in the dining room, checking in with our customers on their experience at The Boardwalk. “That’s good to hear,” I said after the patrons exclaimed that the food and service were fantastic. “Thanks for coming in tonight. We appreciate your business and hope you’ll come back soon.”

Walking away, my stomach dropped to the floor as Uncle Anthony strode into the dining room, a scowl on his face. I greeted him by the bar, where every leather stool was occupied.

“Uncle Anthony.” I faked excitement at seeing him, even though my heart thrashed around my chest. “Hi. We weren’t expecting you.”

“Get Chef Holly and meet me in your office.” He stormed off, heading toward the hallway to the right of the bar, where my office was located.

I swallowed back the bile burning my throat. Had Darby contacted him already? Or was this regarding the report I’d sent him showing our current numbers? Racing down the hall, I peeked my head into Aaron’s office. “Anthony Ivy is here requesting a meeting with me and Chef Dewhurst. Will you wander the dining room until I’m done?”

Aaron pushed his chair back and stood. “Of course.”

“Thanks.” I left his office and went to the kitchen. The sound of voices amid the sizzles and banging was music to my ears. Today’s activities had worked better than I’d thought. Scanning the room, I found Holly stirring a pot on the stove.

I stepped to the side of her, keeping my voice low. “Anthony is here requesting to speak to us.”

Holly’s face went white. She dropped the large spoon she held. “Darby?” she squeaked.

I frowned. “Most likely.” I wasn’t ready to give up without a fight. We hadn’t kissed. We weren’t dating. We hadn’t broken any rules. Regardless of what Darby had reported, we technically hadn’t done anything wrong. “But we’ll be fine.”

She rubbed her hands down her sides. “I hope you’re right. Let me tell Nico I’m stepping out.”

I bent my head in the direction of the hallway. “I’ll wait for you outside the door.”

Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I worked on what I’d say to Uncle Anthony that might allow both of us to keep our jobs. I liked Holly and wouldn’t mind kissing her—when we were no longer coworkers—but I wouldn’t do anything else to jeopardize our careers regardless of how much I cared for her. How much she made me want to try a relationship again.

A minute later, Holly joined me in the hallway. I wanted to squeeze her arm to reassure her we would be fine, but kept my hand glued to my side. Me touching her had gotten us in trouble in the first place. “Ready?”

“No.” She rubbed her hand along her forehead. “I’m terrified.”

“Whatever happens, we’re in this together.” For better or worse.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

I walked the few steps down the hall and entered my office. Uncle Anthony sat behind my desk, his elbows on the armrests, hands steepled under his chin. Scooting over, I took the farthest chair, letting Holly take the one next to the door.

The moment we sat, Uncle Anthony spoke. “I received a phone call this afternoon.”

Darby had definitely caused this impromptu meeting. A litany of curse words ran through

my mind. “Okay,” I hedged.

Anthony glared at me, then Holly, then me again. “What is my number one rule about coworkers, Chef Holly?”

Holly’s clenched hands turned her knuckles white. “No dating.”

“No. Dating.” Uncle Anthony dropped his hands to my desk. “Enlighten me, dear nephew,” he growled, “why someone was let go today because she caught you kissing? Did you think by firing her that I wouldn’t find out?”

That’s what Darby had said? What a liar. “First and foremost, Chef Dewhurst and I were not kissing. We are not in a relationship outside of being coworkers and friends. Which, for the record, is not against the rules. Second, Darby was terminated because of her attitude. She’s belligerent, immature, and disrespectful. The way she undermined Chef Dewhurst caused others to believe they could behave the same way. Everything I have done so far has been in an effort to reach our goals.”

“I’d like to believe you, Rhett, but Darby was quite insistent she was wrongfully terminated and swore she’d caught you in a compromising position.” He raised his brows. Wrinkles, like waves, covered his forehead. “You are family, but that doesn’t mean you’re above my rules.”

“I can attest Darby was let go for valid reasons,” Holly said. “It was my idea to begin with, not Rhett’s. She also wasn’t the only one who was fired today, so the explanation she gave for why we terminated her is incorrect. You can view her employee file if you’d like. It notes dates and times of her infractions and that we requested she come in early today over a week ago.”

Uncle Anthony stewed on the information, drumming his fingers on top of my desk. Holly and I sat quietly, awaiting his response. Sweat covered my palms as each second ticked by as slowly as a three-toed sloth.

Finally, he spoke. “I’m only going to ask this one more time, and I want a truthful answer. You both are aware of what is at stake if I find out you lied. Were you kissing? Are you romantically involved in any way?”

Holly gulped but met my uncle’s gaze head-on. “We were not kissing, Mr. Ivy.”

But we would have if not for Darby’s interruption.

“And we are not involved as anything other than coworkers,” Holly said, leaving friends completely off the table.

I would take offense if we weren’t fighting for our jobs.

Uncle Anthony’s heavy stare turned to me. We hadn’t kissed, so we weren’t lying, but why did it feel like we were? “I promise you, we were not kissing. I have not kissed Chef Dewhurst and have no plans to in the near future.” That story would change once I opened my own business.

“Fine. I’ll chalk it up to a desperate ex-employee trying to seek revenge. Now, Rhett. These numbers you sent me are rubbish. Profits haven’t increased more than half a percent since you’ve been here. You two are going to make my goal, correct?”

I sure hoped so. “Yes. My projections show the holidays will increase business, and with all the other plans we’ve implemented, we’re on track.”

Uncle Anthony narrowed his eyes. “I want details of what these plans entail.”

Had I done enough? Projections didn’t always result in facts. What if we failed? “I’d be happy to show you.” I turned to face Holly. “Chef Dewhurst, you should return to the kitchen. I can handle things here.”

Holly’s face said, Are you sure?

I appreciated her not wanting to leave me with my fiendish uncle, but she’d be better off in the kitchen, ensuring our customers stayed happy. I nodded and offered her a small smile.

Turning my attention back to my uncle, I gestured to my laptop. “If you’ll slide that over, I’ll show you what we’ve done and what our next steps are.”

Holly slipped out while I updated Uncle Anthony on everything we’d accomplished in the name of reaching our goal. He grunted, asked questions, and drilled me about every decision. As the hours passed, my head throbbed and my gut turned over.

Regardless that I’d proven myself in previous positions, it was like this was my first day on the job with my boss who didn’t believe in me. Having every little decision I’d made scrutinized took its emotional toll. I couldn’t give Uncle Anthony what he wanted. Why had I tried? What had made me think I had it in me to work a miracle? Why did I do this to myself when I was already certain of the outcome?

After Uncle Anthony left at eleven, three hours after he’d arrived, I dropped my head onto my desk, letting the darkness swirling inside my brain overtake me.

“Rhett?” Holly’s worried tone whispered by my side, where I sat with my head buried in my arms resting on the desk, blocking out the world. “Hey, are you okay?”

No. I was scolded, ashamed, not good enough. Like I’d made a huge mistake but hadn’t even known it until after the fact. Just like the time when I was seven and found a basketball in my parents’ closet.

I took the ball out to the driveway and practiced shooting hoops with it. When Dad got home from work and saw what basketball I had in my hands, he ripped me a new one for going into his room without permission and taking one of his most prized possessions and ruining it.

I didn’t realize the black marks all over the ball were signatures from Boston Celtics players. Dad grounded me with a severe tongue-lashing that lasted way longer than my seven-year-old self needed.

Uncle Anthony’s interrogation had brought all those feelings back and sent me into a dark place. I grunted in response to Holly, physically unable to respond.

Holly gently shook my shoulder. “Talk to me. What happened after I left?”

The fact that Holly was witnessing me in this state should have embarrassed me. The problem was that I couldn’t drum up enough energy to care. Later I’d regret it, but I just…couldn’t right now.

Chair legs scraped against the wood floor. Then Holly’s hand was rubbing circles on my back. “I’m really sorry for my part in what happened earlier today. Our banter went too far, and that was on me. I should have pulled back, and then Darby wouldn’t have called your uncle and sent him here after you.”

Yes, that had sucked, but we’d never crossed the line. That wasn’t what had me wishing for a black hole to swallow me up. The energy to form sentences and speak was beyond reach.

“It’s fine, Holly. Let’s just move on. Like it never happened.”

Holly’s hand on my back slowed. “Still.”

“That’s not—” Move, tongue. “Later. Can…we…talk…tomorrow?” My words came out slow and muted, spent from the limited talking I’d done already.

“Of course. Are you sick? Is that what’s wrong? Do you need medicine?” Her hand found my cheek, checking for a fever. I wished the answer were that easy.

“Come on. I’m taking you home.” Holly pulled on my arm, trying to get me to move.

“Drive. Later.”

“Everett whatever-your-middle-name-is Ivy,” she scolded, “you are in no condition to drive.” When I didn’t respond, she did, in a softer tone, almost a plea. “Please let me do this for you. After everything that’s happened today, lean on me. You said we worked better as a team. This is me saying it’s my turn to help you, for once.”

But if she took me home, how would I get my truck tomorrow? “Truck.”

“I’ll drop it off to you in the morning at your house, or I can pick you up on the way to work.”

If we arrived together, more people would think we were dating. We couldn’t do that. I’d have Jack help me or hire a car to pick me up. “Fine.”

Holly gave up on trying to help me stand. “Is there anything I need to grab for you before we go?”

“Jacket.” I’d draped my suit coat over the back of my chair when Uncle Anthony had drilled me earlier. My body had overheated the longer he stayed, and my jacket had felt like an oven, burning and strangling me.

“I’ve got it. I need to grab my things from my office, and then I’ll be right back. Okay?”

I grunted.

Holly’s footsteps faded as I stayed in my arm-cocoon. My back hurt from leaning forward so long, but I didn’t move. What was a little discomfort in the grand scheme of things?

“Rhett.” Holly tapped my back. “Let’s go.”

With every last ounce of willpower I possessed, I pushed myself to stand. Holly wrapped her arm around my waist, guiding me out to the parking lot. The cool fall air licked my exposed skin. The salty breeze coming off the ocean teased my nostrils. As if underwater, I registered the rhythmic crash of waves on the boulders next to us, a sound I normally found soothing.

Holly guided me to the ground, or what felt like it, with how low her car was. I barely fit. In normal circumstances, my six-foot-one frame crammed into the passenger seat of a sports car, complete with knees up to my ears, would have made for a good laugh.

I didn’t protest a single thing. In fact, I didn’t speak at all, just rested my head against the headrest and closed my eyes.

Holly kept her words low and smooth, as if she sensed I needed the quiet. “If you’ll give me your address, my phone can give me directions so you can keep resting.”

I mumbled out the information she requested. Before I knew it, Holly was nudging my arm. “We’re here.”

I blinked rapidly, trying to get my heavy eyelids to function properly. Giving up, I squinted at the front of my white Cape Cod home. I’d picked this house before meeting Lexi, back when I’d wanted a family. A dream that, thanks to Holly, wasn’t as dead as I’d believed, but not one I had any ability to think or do anything about. “Thank you.” I unclicked my seatbelt and tried to get out.

Holly took pity on me and came to my rescue. I swung my legs to the side, both feet planted on the sidewalk.

Holly gripped my hands in hers. “On the count of three, okay?”

I think I nodded.

“One. Two. Three.” Holly pulled as hard as she could. I stumbled into her, but she caught me around the waist. “Let’s get you inside.” She led me to my porch. I was grateful she was here, supporting me. If she hadn’t offered to bring me home, I’d most likely have spent the night at the restaurant. Fumbling for my keys, I tried to find the right one.

Holly gently took the keyring out of my hand. “Which one is it?”

“The gold one.” I leaned against the railing, waiting on Holly to open my door. If I hadn’t been in this place before, I would seriously question if I wasn’t coming down with a severe case of the flu since my limbs shook with the effort of standing upright.

The door swung inward. Holly pulled out the key, then came back to my side, wrapping an arm around my waist. “All right. Which way to your room?”

That question reminded me of the time I’d joked with Deidre about taking her to her room. Internally, I smiled at the memory. “Down the hall on the left.”

Holly got me to my room, and I dropped onto my bed, face down. My shoes were tugged off my feet and a blanket draped over me. Holly rubbed my back. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Medicine. Food. A listening ear. You’re not alone, Rhett. Remember that.”

Holly was a caretaker, through and through. I’d never meant for her to see me like this. To have to add to her burden of helping another sick person. “Thank you.”

She squeezed my shoulder. “I’m happy to help. I’ll call you in the morning.” I swear she placed the softest kiss, barely a brush of her lips, against my temple, but it was too gentle and quick for me to be certain. “Sleep well, Rhett.”

Sleep wasn’t the issue.

It was wanting to wake up again.