Page 14 of The One You Want

I took a breath, mentally counting to three before I answered. “You know I always wanted to figure out my career path before I settleddown.”

She scoffed at that. “Career path? Please, dear. That shouldn’t even be a consideration foryou.”

My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms that I was sure they’d leave a mark. This was something we had discussed, many times. I didn’t need to work. My trust fund provided more than enough for me to live on for the rest of mylife.

But I didn’t want to be that person—the directionless, flighty, spoiled heiress I had spent so long trying to distance myself from. I wanted to have a career, a job that provided for me and allowed me to be independent. Something that I was good at, that I could dedicate myself to, the way Riley was with her television job or Cora was with her bar. I wanted apassion. Acalling.

The only problem was, I still had no idea what that calling mightbe.

And the longer I waffled around trying to figure it out, the more ammunition I gave my grandmother. In her mind, it was simple. I would get married, just as she had done, preferably to someone who could be groomed to run the hotel someday. At the very least, my husband would need to be someone they approved of, someone who they felt could support me and move in the same circles they wanted me in. Someone who could guide me someday when I took my seat on the hotel’s board, ensuring the Ottawa stayed in thefamily.

The whole thing made me want to throw up. I mean, what century did she think this was? We weren’t in a Jane Austen novel, for God’s sake. I was a grown woman. College educated. Perfectly capable of taking care ofmyself.

But I had a feeling that no matter what I did, I’d never be able to convince her ofthat.

“Jennifer,” she said sternly, leaning towards me. “I understand you felt a need to…” she winced in distaste, “find yourselfby attending college and attempting to live on your own. I think we have been very patient thusfar.”

It was really hard not to laugh at that. Patient. Yeah. Not quite the word I would use to describeher.

“But my dear.” She reached over the table and covered my hand with hers. “It is time to get your life inorder.”

This was the thing that made talking with my grandmother so frustrating—she was completely right. Ididneed to get my life in order. I couldn’t continue to live off my trust fund for the rest of my life. I certainly didn’t wantto.

But her version of an ordered life and mine were vastlydifferent.

“Now, now, Caroline,” a deep, rumbling voice behind us said. “Can’t my girl get through a meal before you start naggingher?”

I spun in my seat, a grin already breaking on my face at the sight of my approaching grandfather. He wore a huge smile on his ruddy face, his familiar blue eyes twinkling at me as he held out hisarms.

“Hey-a, peanut,” he murmured when I threw myself into his arms. “It’s good to seeyou.”

“Good to see you too, Grandpa,” I murmured into his suitjacket.

He pulled away, holding onto my shoulders as he appraised me, his expression the polar opposite of what my grandmother’s had been. “Lovely as ever,” he declared, smacking a loud kiss onto my forehead. “Isn’t she lovely,Caroline?”

My grandmother was chewing on her lip in agitation—never a good sign. “You spoil her,Walter.”

He made a dismissive noise, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Of course I do. I’m her grandfather, that’s myjob.”

I had to grin at that. It was a line I had been hearing my entire life. My grandfather seemed to love nothing more than to dote on me. When I was little, he always kept sweets in his pocket, even in his fancy boardroom suits, just in case I came tovisit.

As I got older, small envelopes filled with cash would appear in my purse any time I saw him, even to this day, and he delighted in playing dumb when I questioned him. “My girl should have some spending money,” he would say. As if my trust fund didn’t provide more thanenough.

It drove my grandmother crazy. She was of the opinion that children learn best from the steady influences in their lives, not from someone showering them withaffection.

“We were trying to have a very important discussion about herfuture.”

“Now, don’t you worry about that,” he said, pulling out a chair to join us. “I have it all figuredout.”

A small spark of worry lit in my stomach. Here was the thing about my grandfather—he loved me to pieces. He coddled me and spoiled me and made sure I got my fair share of hugs andcompliments.

But he didn’trespectme.

Walter Hillman still saw me as the little girl he would bounce on his knee out on the Ottawa’s front porch. Even now that I was older, he indulged me the same way he would a child. When it came to making decisions about my life, my grandfather, for all his kindness, had the same view as my grandmother—little Jenny didn’t know what was good forher.

I was almost too afraid to ask. “What do you mean you have it all figuredout?”

He patted my hand. “I found a very nice young man for you,sweetheart.”