you,” she said simply.
“You’re welcome.” A smaller version of his grin appeared, but dang if it wasn’t just as charming.
For a moment, Trinity found herself drifting, wishing she wasn’t Michael’s widow, wasn’t the most talked-about person in New Orleans at the moment, and was simply a woman who could respond to that smile without a worry in the world.
But she wasn’t. Time ticked inside her head, counting off the seconds until someone realized she was missing from the elite crowd.
“I really should be getting back,” she said. Someone had surely noticed she was gone by now. Especially Michael’s aunt and uncle. They didn’t miss a move that she made.
And neither did the press.
Defeat weighed down on her as she remembered reading today’s post and photos on the NOLA Secrets & Scandals blog. She’d never have noticed it on her own. Jenny, her secretary, had pointed it out. The hints about a money-hungry widow threatening the livelihoods of countless families gave her an idea of what information the author had hunted down, but not an idea of when the full story would hit… As if Trinity didn’t have enough to stress her out.
Didn’t anyone understand that she shared the questions—and fears—about how her husband’s death and the lawsuit filed against his estate by his aunt and uncle would affect the business’s 50,000-person global workforce?
She assured herself time and again that she was carrying out Michael’s wishes. But she had to wonder what he’d been thinking to put a global empire and the fate of that many people under the direction of a charity program director like herself. Still, despite her many misgivings, she never let her worries surface in public. There were too many people eager to use them against her.
Though the question haunted her night after night, she was determined to do her very best by all of them…including Michael.
But those worries were nothing compared to the butterflies in her stomach and unfamiliar heat in her core caused by the man walking by her side. “Yes, I definitely need to get back.”
“But we’re just getting to know—”
Trinity sped up, snagging her shoe in her dress in her clumsy attempt to get away. She tripped and flung out her hand to catch herself.
Without warning, she found herself engulfed in musky male scent and heat. Her body froze, but her instincts knew exactly what they wanted. She breathed deep, sucking in the hint of cologne and the savory scent of him, imprinting his essence on her lungs.
Immediately guilt snaked through her. She pushed against his arms, needing to be free. But he didn’t release her until she was once again steady on her feet.
“Please don’t,” she gasped, recognizing her response to him with rising fear. Attraction by itself, let alone to a man she knew nothing about, was the last thing she needed in her life.
Unfazed by her protests, Rhett simply arched a brow as he pulled back. “I assumed from our talk that you didn’t care for a crowd.”
Puzzled, she said, “Yes?”
“Well, if your hand had hit right there—” his gaze turned to the wall where she would have landed, right on the frame of one of the beloved portraits in the rotunda “—then you would have set off the alarm and brought a whole load of people running.”
And caused an epic scene being found in the arms of another man six weeks after her husband’s death. Her cheeks burned as she imagined it. She quickly covered them with her palms. What a nightmare.
“Thank you,” she choked out, unable to look up into Rhett’s gray-green gaze.
But he was having none of that. He tucked firm fingers under her chin and lifted her face, displacing her own hands covering her embarrassment. Then he removed his arm from her, creating a small, intimate space between them.
Then she felt his thumb rub against the fullness of her bottom lip. A jolt of electricity shot through her. His eyelids lowered, and he gave her a slumberous, searching look that sent aftershocks down her spine.
“My pleasure,” he said quietly. Then he was gone.
“So I see you’ve met our little gold digger.”
Something about Richard Hyatt’s voice always hit Rhett like nails on a chalkboard. Suppressing a wince took effort. He turned to find the heavyset man standing behind him, years of self-indulgence stamped on his pale, bloated face. His wife stood beside him, looking like his polar opposite. From the first moment Rhett had met with them, the couple had reminded him of the Jack Sprat nursery rhyme. Patricia Hyatt was pencil thin and her expression remained hard no matter the topic of conversation.
Somehow Rhett couldn’t imagine the pale, vulnerable woman he’d met in the rotunda marrying into a family that included these people, but appearances could be deceiving…as Rhett knew better than most. He’d been on the receiving end of dishonest treachery more times than he could count, personally and professionally, but it was his ability to look beneath the surface of a pretty face and find the hidden ugliness that made him a master at his job.
Well, he preferred to consider it a true calling.
Trinity appeared genuinely innocent, from her wide, doe-brown eyes to the emotions that had flitted through her expression when she’d thought she was alone. There was a purity to her beauty that drew him in, urged him to let his guard down and believe that she’d been a true bride to Richard’s deceased nephew, not a grifter. There was also something about her that woke sensations that weren’t usually a part of his investigations.
But crying in public when there was any chance she might get caught? That had his Spidey senses tingling.
Was she simply a great actress? Had she taken advantage of Michael Hyatt and caught an unexpected win when he died so suddenly? Had she wormed her way into his bed, then into his will? From what he’d been told, that seductive innocence was a lie…and it was Rhett’s responsibility to prove it.
Still, something about the whole scenario didn’t quite fit. Rhett’s instincts were usually spot-on from the moment he met someone. But with Trinity, the signal seemed to be intermittent. Not that he would be voicing that suspicion to his new client.
“Do you think it’s wise to be speaking with me tonight?” he asked before indulging in a miniscule sip from his whiskey glass. Normally, he didn’t drink on a job, but he did need to look the part in tonight’s crowd. And blending in, playing the part, was something at which Rhett was extremely skilled. He glanced around, noting that Trinity hadn’t returned to mingle in the crowd yet. But if she did, he wanted this meeting to look as casual as possible.
“Just a brief chat,” Richard said, his gaze shifting back and forth over the surrounding crowd in a way that was blatantly suspicious. He extended a meaty hand. “You know how to make it look like a first meeting, don’t you?”
Rhett smothered a sigh before shaking the other man’s hand. Working with amateurs who thought they knew everything was such a pain in the ass.
“Of course,” he said, his tone smooth and his voice pitched low. “It’s
