Page 30 of Vengeful Secret

“There is a lady here, boss?—"

“It’s me,” a small, shaking voice sounds, and I blink.

I know that voice. I’d know it anywhere.

It can’t be. There’s no way it can be Sutton, coming here as if I’d dreamed her up by being unable to stop thinking about her all week.

What would she be doing here? Has she changed her mind?

“Sutton? Let her through.”

No matter what she’s here for, of course I’ll see her.

When I make it to the front door, it’s her all right, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a crop top that shows off her flat belly.

Her hair is swept back from her face with a headband, and she’s bare-faced, void of any makeup.

My heart aches, seeing her look so natural. It’s how I’ve always preferred her.

Declan turns to look at me in the foyer, his eyebrow raised.

I ignore him, moving to usher Sutton into my office even as Declan tries to peek his head in.

He’s never officially met Sutton, but he knowsofher, and I’m sure he’s dying to know what’s going on.

Too bad. That’s between me and Sutton.

Why is she here? Has she changed her mind? Does she want to reconcile after all?

My heart races as I shut the door.

It takes me a moment to realize that she’s trembling all over.

“Something's wrong." A statement, not a question, and Sutton nods. “Please, let’s sit. We can talk privately here.”

She nods slightly and when I put my hand on her lower back, she sways toward me.

I was taken aback by her beauty at first, but now I realize her hair is a bit frizzy, her clothes in disarray. She looks frazzled and scared, and a wave of protectiveness for her washes over me.

Whatever trouble she’s in, I’m here to help. No matter what.

I lock my office door with a click. Sutton looks around at my bookshelf, running her fingers across the spines.

“Didn’t peg you as much of a reader,” she murmurs.

“You'd be wrong about that,” I say with a slight smile. “I love to read.”

“Mysteries? Horror?”

I shrug. “A little bit of everything. I like biographies and memoir, too.”

Sutton seems to be avoiding the subject of whatever has her so stressed, but I don’t push her, waiting for her to get her thoughts together.

Finally, she takes a seat on my couch, and I walk over to the bar close to my desk.

“Would you like a drink?" I hope it will calm her nerves.

“Yes, please. Anything white.”

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