Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
I held up my hands in surrender and laughed.
“How did it happen? Tell the truth this time. If you even can,” she said, but her tone was teasing, like we’d moved beyond her annoyance over feeling tricked. I was glad of that. Grateful to be on this side of the evening. Especially when she dropped her hand to my wrist and ran a finger along the scar.
Her touch unlocked me. I no longer wanted to hide who I was from her for self-protection. I wanted her to know me.
I shook my head. “Knife fight in London. Couple of lowlifes who stole a priceless antique.”
“Did it hurt?” she asked.
“At the time, yes.”
“And now?” she asked, running her finger along the line of raised white flesh.
My breath hitched. “No,” I whispered, taking her hand in mine. “Truth or dare?”
She flashed me a grin. “Dare.”
“I dare you to go for a walk on the beach with me.”
“I thought we were trying to focus on just work.”
“You mean a walk on the beach isn’t work?” I asked playfully.
“Not with you,” she said.
I couldn’t argue. Truthfully, I wanted to get to know her better. “Let’s talk more.”
I toed off my sneakers and left them on the entrance to the beach next to her flip-flops as we headed along the sand, the ocean waves gently lapping against the shore in a peaceful night rhythm. “You said you appointed yourself as a private detective for your mom. What made you want to do it?”
“Eli screwed around on her for years.”
I burned. “There’s a special place in hell for people who do that.”
“Maybe there is. The hard part is I kind of had a feeling.” She sounded a touch guilty.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“He had so many friends who were women. Maybe they were colleagues. I didn’t want to think he was cheating, that he’d hurt our family like that. I sort of hid from the truth at first myself, but even when it was clear what was going on, I wasn’t sure if I should say something or not. Was it my place to tap my mom’s shoulder and say, ‘Mom, do you think your husband’s screwing the assistant?’ But she learned about it on her own, and he groveled, and she tried again. But it didn’t work.”
“She’d had enough of him?”
“Yes. At that point, my brother and I were both out of the house and living on our own, so she no longer felt that obligation that I think was the biggest driving factor for her in staying with him when I was younger. They got divorced, but he’s a very shrewd man and knows how to manipulate. He was able to get away with pretty much everything and leave her with very little.”
I scoffed. Guys like that were the worst. “That’s just shitty.”
“Yup,” she said with a resigned sigh, then she stopped and ran her finger over the pendant of the silver necklace she wore. “My mom is great though. We’re really close. I basically adore her. She’s incredibly supportive of me and my business. She made this for me. That’s what she does—makes jewelry.”
Gently, I brushed my thumb across the miniature treasure chest, grazing the soft skin of her chest. “This is lovely,” I said. I wasn’t just talking about the necklace.
She swallowed and breathed a quiet thank you. “And look, it’s not like she’s destitute. But he took everything, and it just seems so wrong. She helped him start his business with money she earned from selling jewelry at craft fairs,” she said, a righteous anger edging her voice.
“It’s completely wrong. Completely unfair. Especially when she made his business and livelihood possible,” I said, agreeing.
“She’s very giving and very generous, and that’s one of the things I love about her. That’s why I came here early to try to figure out what happened with the money. Like I’m Robin Hood or something. And that’s why I want to help—” Then she stopped talking. Like she’d simply sliced off the end of the sentence.
“Are you okay?” I placed a hand on her elbow. I was unable to stop touching her.
“Why am I telling you this?” she asked, but the small smile forming on her lips gave her away. She wanted to trust me.
“Because I’m easy to talk to,” I said, hoping she believed that too. Then I turned more serious. “You haven’t mentioned your dad. Is he gone?”
“He died of a heart attack when I was three. Never really knew him.”
I squeezed her hand. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, then took a deep breath, as if the air were refueling her. “What about you? Why do you do this?”
“This is just a job for me,” I said, trying to keep my tone even as we started walking once more.
She gave me an I call bullshit face. “Right.”