what he could give her that could help.
“I guess I thought that I could fill the hole inside with the excitement of meaningless afternoon liaisons, and then come home to the perfect life.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
“You want the truth?”
“Yes.” She’d asked. And she braced herself.
“For the first several years, it worked out just fine. Better than I’d imagined.”
She’d asked. Struggled to breathe. “Y... Y...” Her throat was dry. “Years?” Marie glanced at her newly cleaned pots, wishing for a sip of water. Standing, she steadied herself with a hand on the small brown wood pedestal table and then pushed off toward the counter.
“You asked.”
All those years, when he was swearing his fidelity, begging to be let back into the family, he’d been...
“What made it not work anymore?” She was an observer of a tragic accident now. Watching with horror, but needing to see.
“I got caught.”
Thank goodness she was close enough to the counter. It caught her as she swayed backward. She leaned there. Letting it take her weight. “You mean you were unfaithful for years before Mom knew?”
“From before you were born.”
She wanted to die. To cry. To pull the covers over her head and stay unaware forever.
But she couldn’t.
If Liam Connelly turned out to be anything like what she feared he was... He’d once told her and Gabi that he’d never been in a relationship for more than a few months before he started to feel attraction to other women...
Other women like his editor? Was it too late already? Her parents had only been married a year before she came along.
But Liam adored Gabi. And...
Some men were just seemingly born to cheat.
Or her perceptions were too skewed to see reality.
Whatever. One thing was for sure. She was going to stand up. Be strong.
She was going to be ready if Gabi needed her.
AT 1:22 A.M., Miss Sailor Harcourt, twenty-five-year-old heiress to a $2.3 billion fortune, texted him.
Sorry I’m keeping you so late.
His job didn’t entail a response to Sailor’s comment. He was being paid to keep her safe. Not happy.
When he heard his phone buzz again, every nerve in his body went on alert.
Something was going on. Sailor, who obviously found him a nuisance, usually ignored him.
The man I’m with doesn’t know I have a bodyguard. He doesn’t know I’m related to Rod Harcourt or that I’m rich enough to need protection.
He didn’t need a blow-by-blow of her evening. He’d prefer if she’d get her butt outside, into his car and let him take her home. He had to be back to get her in a matter of hours to take her to the airport.
He’s asked me out to breakfast. I’ve agreed to go.
The third text had him out of his car, gaze glued to the door of the club. And then, ready to move, he texted her back.
You ride with me.
No.
This isn’t my deal. You made the deal with your father. You go out only if I drive you. I’m just doing my job.
His fingers might be overly large, but they could text as fast as any kid’s. Came from a lot of hours on surveillance, sitting in his car with only his phone for company.
His phone buzzed again.
I know. I’m an adult. My father can’t make me get in a car with anyone. Or prevent me from doing so, either.
He can take away your allowance.
This wasn’t Elliott’s first time chaperoning the spoiled heiress.
I’m twenty-five. I have access to my trust. And I’m a working girl now.
Daddy had hired her to manage the production of a fashion magazine he’d inherited in a buyout the previous fall. According to him she’d found her niche, but Elliott figured there were probably highly experienced professionals doing a lot of the work.
How many drinks have you had?
He didn’t expect an accurate account. But he needed to know how bad the situation was going to be.
None.
It was going to be bad.
I’m a working stiff who needs to get paid for this job. Please come out and get in the car.
Even drunk she’d know he meant business.
He felt for the revolver he was wearing under his black sweater. And another text came through.
I understand what you think you’re dealing with here. I admit on other occasions I’ve given you reason to treat me like a recalcitrant child. But I’m different now, Elliott. I’ve found my own purpose in life, separate and apart from my father. I’ve also, just tonight, met a man who has somehow enticed me to spend the entire night sitting in a corner talking. We didn’t drink. Didn’t dance. Just talked. And now he’s invited me out for breakfast. I intend to go with him.
Even someone who texted as a primary means of communication shouldn’t be able to string that many letters together, that quickly, on a QWERTY keyboard, without a single mistake. Most particularly if they’d been drinking.
Could she be telling the truth? She’d met someone without trying to impress him with Daddy’s money? And hadn’t had a thing to drink?
Before he formulated a response, she’d sent him another text.
You can follow if you’d like. I’m an adult. Legally, you can’t force me into that car with you.
She was right. He had several certifications and licenses, but not one of them allowed him to get away with kidnapping.
So he’d follow. Glue himself to them. And make certain that he didn’t let the two of them get out of his sight.
But first...
I’ll make a deal with you. He typed fast. Not wanting her to think he’d given in. You sit tight long enough for me to check his credentials and then I’ll concede to following you on your breakfast date.
He
