Semua Bab The Holidate Pact: Bab 21 - Bab 30

JACKSON Peter's name flashed on my phone screen Tuesday morning. I stared at it through two more rings before answering. "Jackson. Got time for lunch today?" My stomach dropped. "Sure. When?" "Noon. Morton's on State Street. Just us." The line went dead. I sat on the edge of my bed, phone still pressed to my ear, listening to silence. Just us. Nothing good ever came from those two words. I showed up ten minutes early. The steakhouse smelled like charred meat and money. Dark wood everywhere. White tablecloths. The kind of place where business deals got made and enemies got buried. Peter was already there. Navy suit. No tie. Glass of amber liquid in front of him. Whiskey. At noon on a Tuesday. I slid into the booth across from him. "Thanks for coming." He didn't smile. "Of course." A waiter appeared. I ordered water. My mouth was too dry for anything else. Peter took a long drink. Set the glass down carefully. "My father almost died last week." "I know. I was there." "

SLOANE Jackson's apartment looked like a crime scene investigation. I stood in the doorway, staring. Photos of my family members covered one wall, each with names and key details written underneath in neat block letters. A poster board leaned against the couch, our entire relationship timeline mapped out in blue marker. Flash cards littered the coffee table. "You're insane," I said. He looked up from where he was organizing more cards on the floor. "I'm thorough. Charlotte's going to be watching. We can't afford mistakes." I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. The April sun streamed through his windows, making the whole setup look even more absurd. "This is excessive." "This is survival." He stood, gestured to the wall. "Aunt Carol. Married to Uncle Mike. Two kids, both boys. Lives in Naperville. Asks inappropriate questions about your reproductive timeline." "I know my own family." "Do you know mine?" He pointed to a different section. "Mum's sister, Aunt Helen. Divor

SLOANE The table for four felt like a courtroom. Jackson and I sat on one side, backs to the terrace. Peter and Charlotte across from us. White tablecloth between us like a battlefield. A waiter poured champagne. My hand shook when I reached for the glass. Charlotte smiled. Sharp. Predatory. "So Jackson, tell me. How's the golf season going?" "Fine. Good actually." "Still working with that club in the suburbs? What's it called?" "Meadowbrook." "Right. Meadowbrook." She sipped her champagne. "Remember when you taught at Royal Sydney? Those were the days." "That was a long time ago." "Not that long. Three years? Four?" She laughed, light and airy. "Remember that tournament in Brisbane? When you got so drunk you tried to swim in the hotel fountain?" My stomach tightened. Jackson's jaw clenched. "I don't think Sloane needs to hear about that." "Why not? It's a good story. You were so funny that night." Her eyes found mine. "He gets very affectionate when he's drunk. Very hand

**SLOANE** The knock came at nine PM. Three sharp raps. I opened the door to Maya holding two bottles of wine and wearing her most serious expression. "Spill. All of it. Now." She pushed past me into the apartment. Set the wine on my counter. Grabbed two glasses from the cabinet like she lived here. "Maya, I'm fine." "You're a terrible liar and you look like you've been crying." She poured. Generous amounts. "Sit. Talk." I sat. The words came tumbling out. Charlotte's threats. Jackson's debt. Peter's knowing looks at Easter. The fight in the car. The part where Jackson said it became something real and I couldn't breathe. By the end, my voice was shaking. Tears running down my face I didn't remember starting. Maya listened. Didn't interrupt once. Just refilled my glass when it got low. "Okay," she said when I finally stopped. "Let me make sure I have this right." I nodded. Wiped my face with my sleeve. "You told me you were fake-dating Jackson to get your family off your b

**SLOANE** My phone buzzed at seven AM. **JACKSON: Mum wants to have tea with you. Just you two. I'm terrified.** I stared at the screen, still half asleep. **ME: What did you tell her?** **JACKSON: That you're busy.** **ME: And?** **JACKSON: She said 'nonsense' and gave me a look that could melt steel.** **ME: What time?** **JACKSON: Noon. I'm sorry.** **ME: Don't be. I got this.** I did not, in fact, got this. Caroline had chosen a quiet café in Lincoln Park. White tablecloths. Tiny sandwiches. The kind of place where people whispered. She was already there, wrist in a cast, smiling when I walked in. "Sloane! Thank you for coming." "Of course. How are you feeling?" "Like I'm sixty and fell in a hotel bathroom. Mortifying." She gestured to the seat across from her. "Please. Sit." I did. A server appeared immediately. Caroline ordered tea and pastries neither of us would eat. "Tell me about your work," she said. "Jackson mentioned you're a copywriter?" "I am. It's no