be as displeased as he wanted, and it wouldn’t affect her.
“Call him off, Brandon.”
“Jenna,” he sighed, and his tone turned patronizing. “Let’s not start this out by arguing.”
“I’m not arguing. I’m stating a fact.”
“You need to calm down and listen, Jenny-Penny.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I don’t know what Candice told you—”
“This isn’t about what Candice did or did not tell me.”
“I always knew she was a bad influence.”
Jenna’s voice rose, and she paced in a little half circle on the cool floor. “Give me some credit, Brandon. I can make up my own mind. I can make my own choices—”
“Is it about the surgery?”
“Yes!” She spun back to face Candice. The plastic surgery, and so much more.
“It’s already cancelled.”
“You bet your life it’s cancelled. So are my hair appointments and my spa membership. You might want me to have a perfect nose and sculpted abs, but that doesn’t mean I—”
Candice’s eyes went wide. She made a frantic calm down motion with her hand.
Jenna paused for a breath, raking her hand once more through her hair. Her auburn hair—a little bright, a little gaudy, but her own natural color.
“Jenna, honey, you just had to say so.”
Yeah. Right. Jenna scoffed silently and shook her head. Like her opinion about her body or anything else had ever counted.
“Brandon,” she began again, calmer this time. Resolute. “I am not the right person for you. And you are not the right person for me. Can we please leave it at that?”
Candice nodded, admiration in her eyes.
“So, that’s it?” asked Brandon, voice hardening. “You finally call and it’s to break up?”
“We broke up four months ago.”
“You had a tantrum four months ago.”
Jenna clenched her jaw. She would not rise to the bait. She was calm, in control. “Call it whatever you like. We’re through.”
“So, you think that’s it? You expect me to tell my colleagues that my little fiancée up and left me? Pawn the ring? Eat the ballroom deposit?”
“You can tell your colleagues any damn thing you want.” Jenna pressed two fingers tight against her forehead. She wondered how he’d explained her absence for the past four months. But she sure wasn’t going to ask him.
Brandon snorted derisively into the phone. He hated it when she swore. It wasn’t ladylike.
“And call off the damn P.I.,” she added for good measure.
The phone cracked as Brandon hung up, and she jerked it away from her ear.
Candice flinched, and they stared at each other in silence for a moment.
“Shall we take that as a yes?” asked Candice.
“I’m assuming so.” A sheepish grin pulled up the corners of Jenna’s mouth. Gosh, that had felt good.
“SAY IT ISN’T SO.” Tyler Reeve’s older brother Derek filled the doorway of his office. Derek’s chin was tipped up, and his arms were folded across his broad chest.
Tyler swore under his breath, following Derek’s gaze to the duffel and the damning sleeping bag, which he’d carelessly dropped on the couch an hour ago. “It isn’t so,” he deadpanned, turning his attention back to his computer monitor.
“Striker said things were bad, but jeez…” Derek took a step into Tyler’s outer office and kicked the door shut behind him.
“Striker should mind his own business,” said Tyler, referring to the middle Reeves brother. He punched in the password to his personal bank account on the receptionist’s computer, hoping to see that the lawyer’s escrow deposit had added a few zeros to his balance.
“At least come out and stay in the guest house,” said Derek.
“No thanks.”
“This is stubborn even for you.”
“I got myself into this mess. I’ll get myself out.” The deposit hadn’t cleared. Tyler closed his eyes for a second.
He needed that money. Needed it today. He’d already cleaned out his savings account.
He’d taken a chance in writing Mrs. Cliff a check last night for her car, but it was either that or admit to the whole world that the IPS Detective Agency was broke—admit to the world that he’d been stupid enough to trust a partner who’d defrauded the company along with several of their clients.
Tyler would just as soon get shot.
Again.
In a place far more painful than his shoulder.
“Why does ‘getting yourself out of this mess’ have to involve eating cheap takeout food and sleeping on a short couch?” Derek crossed the room and picked up the corner of Tyler’s old Boy Scout sleeping bag.
“Because I sold the beach house.” Giving up on the bank balance for now, Tyler pushed back the chair and stood up. He preferred to look Derek in the eye for this conversation.
Derek might be six foot two, but Tyler had caught up to him on his eighteenth birthday, and even managed to beat him by half an inch. Not that it mattered. He was now and always would be the little brother.
And linebacker Derek could still take him out without even breaking a sweat.
“Because you were too stubborn to ask the family for help,” corrected Derek.
“A thirty-year-old man does not go running to his daddy for help just because his business hits a little snag.”
“A little snag?” Derek’s voice was incredulous.
“A little snag,” Tyler echoed.
“Your partner skipped with your clients’ money.”
Tyler gritted his teeth. “I’m handling it.”
“I can accept that you didn’t want to go to Dad. But why didn’t you come to me or Striker?”
Tyler folded his arms across his chest, imitating his brother’s pose. “I needed money, Derek. And I needed it fast.”
It had been forty-eight hours since he discovered Reggie’s duplicity, but saying it out loud
