Page 97 of Sugar Coated Secrets

“I know.” I keep my gaze on the closed front door. “She didn’t have to be such a bitch, though.”

Steven packs up his laptop. “In my experience, people with that much wealth and public status are often entitled assholes. The good news is you never have to see them again.”

Finally, I pull my gaze from the door to look at Steven. “Thank you for all your help.”

He nods and clutches the handles to his bag.

To Gregory, I stand and say, “And thank you for your part and being so intimidating.”

He cracks a small smile. “Happy to have helped.”

Easton stands and shakes his hand. “Thanks, Steven.” He walks with him and Gregory to the door.

I follow but stop at the opening to the foyer.

Steven turns to Easton. “I trust the information on Mr. Pritchard was helpful, as well?”

My heart jumps. Mr. Pritchard, as in Dash?

Easton stiffens and shoots a quick glance my way before regaining his composure.

What does he know? What don’t I know? And why didn’t he tell me?

I wait for Steven and Gregory to leave. Easton closes the door behind them and turns to me but keeps his distance.

I cross my arms. “What was that about?”

His eyes close briefly with a sigh. “I wish he wouldn’t have said that.”

“I don’t,” I snap. “What are you keeping from me? And why are you keeping it from me? That’s not a good friend move, Easton.” I stomp off. Not the best way to get him to confess. Forget this. I turn around. “Tell me what you know. It’s about Dash, isn’t it?” What are the odds of him knowing another man with the last name of Pritchard?

“Sadie.” His tone sounds heavy. “I wasn’t keeping anything from you. I was waiting for the right time.” He walks to the bar and pours two glasses of bourbon.

“I don’t want a drink. I want the truth.” I cross my arms again and stare at the back of his head as he downs the glass. He holds the other out to me. “Trust me. You’re going to want this.”

Nothing about his demeanor shows he’s angry or irritated. His morose concern is what chills me to the bone.

“Is it bad?” Obviously, it is. I walk over and take the bourbon. A sip is more than enough. It’s not smooth and sweet like Easton’s pecan bourbon. It’s potent and burns my throat. I set the glass on the counter.

“Let’s sit.”

“I’m tired of sitting.”

He cups my cheeks and plants a gentle, chaste kiss on my lips. “You should sit.”

He’s preparing me for something big, and that scares me most of all. I swallow my fear and ask the first question that comes to mind. “Is he dead?” He hasn’t texted me in the past three days.

“Dead?” Easton’s eyes widen. “No. But say the word, and I’ll make it so.”

My brain struggles to comprehend his statement. He hates Dash? He wants him dead?

“It’s too soon,” Easton murmurs and shakes his head, his features pinched with torment. “I wanted to give you more time.”

Dread curls in my stomach. I down the rest of the bourbon, cough, and walk to the couch to sit in the spot where we were before.

Easton follows and sits beside me. Perched on the edge of the cushion, he turns toward me. “Please know that I’m here for you. Okay?”

“What the hell, Easton?” I whimper, fighting tears because I’m afraid. “Just say it.”

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