Own Me (The Wolf Hotel, #5)

He twists his lips in thought. “I have a guy. I trust him to get us a good number. I will make the call. But only”—he holds up a finger as if to hit pause—“if you go back to your grandparents, apologize for taking off the way you did, and promise me that you’ll stop causing them stress.”


Violet purses her lips together as her head bobs.

The waitress appears then with our coffees. “Some breakfast for you two today?” she asks, sparing Violet’s mauled plate of food a glance.

“Yes! I’d love an order of French toast, please,” I jump in before Henry can decline, raising my eyebrows expectantly at him. His daughter is sitting across from him. This is a real chance to get to know her while he’s playing the white knight and her defenses are down.

“Make it two. And if she’s done murdering her food, perhaps a fresh plate of something else that she’ll eat?” He refers to Violet in third person, but he’s staring at her.

Violet’s face morphs with a grin as she sets her cutlery down. It’s the first smile we’ve seen touch her face, and it transforms her from pretty to downright beautiful. “I like French toast.”

“Three orders of French toast, comin’ right up!” The waitress whisks Violet’s plate from her and strolls away.

“I have a few phone calls to make. I’ll be back.”

“Okay, cutie pie,” I tease.

He leans in to whisper, “You’ll pay for that one later.” With a quick kiss on my cheek, he slides out of our crammed booth.

Violet watches over her shoulder as Henry strolls toward the door with a graceful stride, digging his phone out of his pocket. “Is he calling my grandparents?”

“He did when we got here. Now he’s calling his real estate guy.” On a Sunday morning, no less, and Henry will expect the man to answer.

“Already?”

That makes me chuckle. “He doesn’t waste time.”

“But he’ll do what he says he’s going to?” There’s doubt in her voice.

I take a long sip of my coffee. “If he says he’s going to do something, he’ll do it.” I can’t believe I’m sitting across from Henry’s child.

She watches me with unabashed curiosity for a long moment. “So you work for … him?” She falters on him, as if she doesn’t know what else to call Henry.

I decide not to push the father thing just yet. “I was Henry’s assistant for a bit while we were in Alaska this past summer, but I don’t work for his company anymore.”

“Did you like working for him?”

I consider my answer. “It had its benefits.” None that I’ll ever admit to. “But it’s better this way.”

She chews on the inside of her cheek, as if holding back questions she’s dying to ask.

So I share information about myself freely. “I’m a few credits away from finishing my college degree, which I’m doing by correspondence, and I’m starting my own soap company.”

“Soap. That’s … cool, maybe?” Her pinched face says otherwise.

I laugh. “I’ve been making soap and oils and things since I was, well … your age, and I love doing it.”

She fidgets with the cuffs on her sweatshirt. “When’s the wedding?”

“Next spring.”

Violet peers at my hand. “Is that your engagement ring?”

“It is.” I hold my hand out, admiring the pearl. “It was Henry’s grandmother’s ring. The gold is from the Wolf mine.” It dawns on me then. “This was your great-grandmother’s ring.”

She nods slowly, as if she’s connecting the dots to this foreign new life of hers. How weird it must be to have an entire side of your family that you know nothing about. “It’s pretty. Not flashy.”

“No, it’s elegant but understated. Henry said that’s what she was like. Marianne Wolf was her name. I don’t know much else about her.”

Henry strolls past us on the sidewalk, his phone pressed to his ear, his expression stern as he makes his demands. He used to intimidate me so much when he was like this, but now my pulse stirs watching him. He’s in charge and he will get what he wants.

“What if it isn’t a good deal?” Violet asks.

“Huh?” Her question catches me off guard.

She trails him with curious eyes. “What if his guy says Barbara’s trying to take advantage of us?”

“Then Barbara will be lucky if she can sell a Barbie house by the time Henry is finished with her.” The woman has no idea who she’s trying to swindle.

A few beats pass and then Violet’s throat bobs with a hard swallow. “Thanks for listening to me when no one else would.” She may not have had kind words for me the last time we met, but at least she doesn’t seem to hate me.

“You’re welcome.” I remember being fifteen. Not yet an adult and yet not a child anymore. Then again, Mama still dismisses my opinions on things now. “But I’m not the only one who listened.” I point toward the brooding man who paces outside, the blustering breeze fanning his hair. Henry is the one getting things done. I only nudged him.

She glances at him but stays quiet. Something tells me she’ll be too stubborn to acknowledge his help, just like she was too stubborn to ask for it in the first place. She needs to see another side of him. Unfortunately, Henry isn’t the easiest person to get to know.

I have a thought. I slide out my phone. “What’s your number?”

She frowns. “Why?”

“So I can send you our contact info, and the next time you want or need to see your father, you can call or text us.” Instead of showing up at the penthouse unannounced, which is what I think she has been debating while mutilating her breakfast.

“I didn’t want to see him,” she mumbles, but her cheeks flush, giving away her intentions.

Sure you didn’t. “You should be able to reach us, Violet,” I say more gently. “Just in case.”

She bites her bottom lip, considering the suggestion until finally, she relents.

I stifle my smile of triumph as she recites her number and I punch the digits into my phone.





CHAPTER 14





“I’m nervous about this,” I admit through a sip of my drink—a frothy cocktail named Beauty and the Beast for the decorative rose petals and bell-shaped glass. “A stranger is picking out my wedding dress for me.”

“No, Emmanuelle is designing the precise dress for you,” Margo purrs, elegantly draped in the teal leather wing chair across from me. She looks prim and regal, gripping her gimlet with a delicate hand. Completely opposite to the scantily clad fortune teller sharing Merrick’s dick with her boyfriend last night. “She has a talent for these things.”

“But what if I hate it?” They never asked me about my likes or dislikes. Puffy sleeves? A crinoline skirt? Lace? Bows?

“Abigail, have I ever led you astray when it comes to fashion?”

“No,” I admit with a hint of reluctance. If I could have Margo dress me every day, I would be relieved. And how does she manage to use her accent to make me feel guilty for questioning her?

“I can already see it now, and it will be magnifique. And Emmanuelle is not a stranger anymore. We spent all afternoon with her so you two could get to know each other!”