“If I could wave a magic wand,” she says, “I’d do that too.”
“On second thought,” I say, “maybe you should marry Rosalind.”
Bridger guffaws. “Ignore my wife. She’s had a long day.”
“I’ll bet.” Rosalind’s expression softens. “My dad told me your mom was holding control of your trust hostage.”
“That was the original clause,” Bridger says, “which I already satisfied by getting married.” He sends a tender look my way. “Now she claims that if Loren and I stay together, she’ll make it her mission to prove our marriage is a sham.”
“Can she do that?”
“She can try.”
“Wow.” Rosalind exhales. “Diabolical.”
“Stupid napkin,” I mumble.
“Excuse me?” Rosalind blinks.
“Long story,” Bridger says.
For a split second, I consider telling him about his mother’s offer to take care of my dadifI forced the annulment, but that’s a conversation to be had in private. No need to reveal how low his mother is willing to sink in front of Rosalind. And honestly, Margaret’s carrying around some pretty big demons of her own. I wouldn’t wish that pain on anyone.
At least I know I’m loved.
“Hmm.” Rosalind lets out a breath, and her gaze goes distant for a moment. “You know I was just thinking …”
Bridger and I share a glance. Maybe she’s thinking she should leave. We still have a lot to discuss. I sure hope she doesn’t want to spend the night. Still, as Mrs. Adams, I should be a good host. Maybe?—
“What if we collaborated anyway?” Rosalind says, laying her palms on her tailored trousers. “Just not as a couple,” she adds. “As partners.”
Bridger leans forward. “I’m listening.”
“If Margaret insists on turning your life into a battle,” she says, “we’ll simply redirect the energy. My money. Your ideas. We could maybe meet once a month—online—to discuss potential investments in foundations we believe in. Or scholarship funds. Philanthropies. Charities. The causes you’d want to back anyway would get support, just in the Barrington name, not Adams.”
“I couldn’t care less whose name gets credit,” Bridger says. “It’s never been about that for me.”
“He made his donations last year completely anonymous,” I add.
“Nice.” Rosalind’s forehead lifts, and she addresses me. “Would you be comfortable with us working together on projects like that? I promise I have the utmost respect for your role as his wife. So any intellectual contributions you’d want to make would also be welcome.”
“Well, that’s good, because I don't have any cash to give.”
“Hold on.” Bridger frowns. “Won’t your father threaten you, too? I can’t let you suffer Lyle’s wrath just to get some projects funded. That defeats the whole reason behind our giving up the trust.”
Rosalind arches one delicate brow. “That won’t be a problem,” she says. “Margaret may be your trustee, but Lyle isn’t mine.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Bridger
“Hey! There’s the man of the hour,” Dex calls out. “Right on time.”
He’s standing in front of Tequila Mockingbird by himself and grinning like a clown. Loren left without me earlier, offering some flimsy excuse about desperately needing more tampons, which would’ve been believable if I hadn’t bought her a warehouse-size supply two weeks ago.
I figured she was probably picking up a cake or something, so I didn’t offer to run to the store for her. I’m not the guy who ruins a plan.
Especially if it involves cake.