Chase’s business card in hand, she rubbed her thumb over his phone number.
One glass of wine was all it took to weaken her resolve. That and the smell of sweet potato pie in the air.
“Damn him.”
She swiped the screen of her phone, dialed the first eight digits of the phone number, then paused.
Why should she care if her ex-boyfriend ate alone on Thanksgiving? Shouldn’t she embrace the idea of the jerk who broke her heart spending the holiday alone in a way-too-big-for-one mansion? Except she’d always been horrible at holding grudges, and even the blurry, faded memories of her broken heart couldn’t keep her from completing the task.
She dialed the remaining digits and waited patiently while the phone rang once, twice and then a third time. When she was about to give up, a silken voice made love to her ear canal.
“Chase Ferguson.”
“Chase. Hi. Um, hi. It’s Miriam.”
“Miriam?”
“Andrix,” she said through clenched teeth. Was it that he’d had so many other women in his life over the last decade that he couldn’t keep track of them? Or was it that he’d forgotten her already even though she’d bumped into him yesterday afternoon?
“I know. I think of you as Mimi.”
That husky voice curled around her like a hug. He’d always called her Mimi, and to date had been the only person who had, save her best friend in the third grade. Her family either called her Miriam or Meems.
“Is everything all right?” If that was concern in his voice, she couldn’t place it. His tone was even. His words measured.
“Everything is fine. I, um.” She cleared her throat, took a fortifying sip of her wine and continued. “My mother lives about twenty minutes north of Bigfork. We make enough for Thanksgiving dinner to feed ten extra people. You’re welcome to join us tomorrow night.”
She pressed her lips together before she rattled off what would be served and how she’d baked two pies that were presumably his favorite. She wasn’t begging him to show up, simply extending an invitation as an old acquaintance.
Silence greeted her from the other end of the phone.
“Chase?”
“No. Thank you.”
She waited for an explanation. None came. Not even a lame excuse about having to work like she’d used tonight. Though she truly did have to work. She scowled at her laptop and his handsome mug before snapping the lid shut.
“Will there be anything else?” he asked. Tersely.
At his formal tone, ire slipped into her bloodstream as stealthily as a drug. Her back went ramrod straight; her eyebrows crashed down.
“No,” she snapped. “That concludes my business with you.”
“Very well.”
She waited for goodbye but he didn’t offer one. So she hung up on him.
“Jerk.” She tossed the phone on the coffee table and rose to refill her glass. She’d called out of the kindness of her heart and he’d made her feel foolish and desperate.
Just like ten years ago.
“This is who he is, Miriam,” she told herself as she poured more wine. “A man who owns a sixteen-million-dollar mansion he rarely visits. A man whose only interest is to increase his bank statement and buy up beautiful bits of land because he can.”
She swallowed a mouthful of wine and considered that, as much disdain as she’d had for Chase’s mother then and still, Eleanor Ferguson had been right.
Miriam and Chase were better off apart.