More Than Anything (Broken Pieces 1)

Still, it didn’t solve her immediate dilemma of being the unofficially official spokesperson for the restaurant. But she’d figure it out eventually.

She had to.

She was still making stilted small talk when the door opened and Greyson and Harris walked in. She ignored Harris for the moment in favor of glaring at Greyson, who strode in like he owned the place. Looking much more like his arrogant self in a three-piece Armani suit. Three piece! Like he needed the formality of a vest in Riversend. His hair was slicked back urbanely and side parted. He looked like he’d just stepped off the cover of GQ magazine.

“Martine,” he said smoothly when he saw her, and her glare intensified. He didn’t smile at her—then again, he rarely smiled—but soberly tilted his head in greeting.

Tina nodded at the elderly lady with whom she had been having a very uncomfortable chat and excused herself. She tried not to notice the relief in the woman’s faded gray eyes.

She clamped her hand onto Greyson’s strong forearm and led him away.

“Try not to kill him, Tina,” Harris advised calmly, and she shot him a glare over her shoulder before plastering a fake smile to her lips for the benefit of the other patrons as she practically dragged the tall man toward her office.

“I’ll just stay here and order for us,” Harris called from behind them, and Tina ignored him.

“What do you want, Greyson?” she asked, turning to face him, hands planted on hips, once they were in the privacy of the office.

“Lunch. But I suppose we’re doing this instead,” he said, his voice even and revealing little emotion. Tina was struck by how very different he was from Harris. Greyson was on permanent lockdown, whereas his brother smiled often and wasn’t afraid to show emotion, good or bad. In fact, Tina doubted the man actually had emotions.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked on a furious whisper.

“I’m here for Olivia.” He swallowed, the first sign of anything resembling uncertainty she’d ever seen from him, before adding, “And Clara.”

“You don’t deserve them.”

She suddenly noticed that his left hand was bandaged and was about to ask him about it when he spoke again. And sent all other thoughts fleeing from her mind.

“And you don’t have the right to an opinion in this matter, Martine. It’s between my wife and I.”

Oh no, he did not! Tina clenched her fists and fixed a deathly glare on him. It was time to set this bastard straight once and for all.

Harris had briefly considered intervening but in the end decided that Greyson was a big boy. He could take care of himself. Besides, Tina needed to have this conversation with him, and far be it from Harris to deprive her of that. He was perusing the menu, trying to figure out what he was in the mood for, when he heard Libby’s voice coming from behind him.

“Harris? I heard you were here . . . with a look-alike.” She cast her eyes around the room. “Where is he?”

“He was accosted by a pissed-off little redhead and dragged away into the back office,” Harris supplied and watched his friend bristle quite magnificently. Even her hair seemed to stand on end.

“She has no right,” Libby practically growled before turning to stomp off in the direction Tina and Greyson had gone, but Harris jumped up and grabbed her hand to stop her.

“Sit with me for a moment, Bug,” he invited quietly, and she tried to tug her hand out of his. But his grip was gentle and unrelenting. “C’mon, Libby, sit. Please.”

The wind seemed to leave her sails, and her shoulders slumped before she turned and plonked herself into a chair at his table. Harris joined her and smiled at her.

“Maybe he should hear what Tina has to say,” Harris suggested, and Libby shook her head.

“I don’t even know what Tina has to say. She has been so weird since we’ve moved here. She hasn’t been honest about how this place is doing, I know that. She’s been borderline bitchy to the nicest people. She went home in the middle of the brunch service on Saturday.” She shook her head in disgust at that. “Ostensibly to work. Because apparently she can’t work around a crying baby. She can barely look at a noncrying baby, by the way. She has been awful, and part of me wishes I’d never agreed to run this business with her. I’m not sure our friendship can survive it. And now this? She has no right to interfere in my marriage.”

“What marriage?” He silenced her with the question, and Libby sucked in a shuddering breath and wiped at her eyes. But she couldn’t keep the tears at bay, and they seeped slowly down her cheeks.

“Forget about what Greyson and Tina are talking about for a moment and answer me this. How many friends do you have?”