Page 75 of The Making of Marnie Jones

“That was his television station…”

“What?”

Olivia shifted from one foot to the other, not quite meeting Marnie’s confused gaze. “That's his station. He must know that horrible man.”

“Your uncle works for that station?” The walls of the room were closing in on her. She’d probably been aware of this, but she was upset. Betrayed. Hurt.

“Jake’s a reporter for them. Usually he's overseas, but he and Jessica trade off foreign assignments.” Olivia gazed quizzically at Marnie. Her brow furrowed as understanding dawned. “You didn't know.”

“No, I didn't.” Not given to violent urges, she reveled in the desire to throttle Jake McGrath.

The front door opened and slammed shut.

“Laura!”

She cringed.Martin Derks.Her father rarely used that voice on her when she was a child. Always terrified of him, that fear kept her behavior in check. She’d never knowingly disobeyed her father, and she wasn't going to now. She turned to Olivia. “Stay here.” Her voice was a whisper as she fought to get the words past a constricted throat.

Head held high, she made her way to the front hall.

Her father handed his briefcase to the housekeeper.

Although Mrs. Grant had always been her staunchest supporter, even she wouldn't cross her employer when he was this angry.

Marnie stepped forward, meeting her father's gaze. Having inherited her height, or lack thereof, from her mother, she was at a disadvantage against her father’s stature.

“Dinner is in ten minutes, so you have nine minutes to explain yourself. You were living in some hick town, staying as far away from the media as you were able. Why did you come back?”

Mission City was hardly a hick town, but she wasn't going to point that out to her father. When she tried to speak, he interrupted her.

“And what is with the black hair?” His disdain was clear. “If I was notified of your impending arrival, I would’ve alerted my public relations department. I pay them to handle crises like this. Unlike you.”

She swallowed, her throat dry.You can do this.“Sir, I came to town to help Olivia Bater. I never planned to get involved with the media. You know what I think of them.”

That seemed to bring her father's anger down a notch. “Is she here?”

“Olivia?”

“Of course Olivia—who else would I be talking about? And while we’re on the subject, why did you come here?” His tone wasn’t as sharp, but just as condescending.

“Privacy.” She figured honesty was the best policy. “I knew we’d be safe here.”

Seemingly appeased, and without another word, he headed toward the dining room.

She hurried to the kitchen.

Olivia stood there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Clearly she’d heard every word of the discussion.

Discussion? Who was Marnie kidding—her father dictated. She meekly agreed. “We’re going to have dinner with my father.” She tried to find confidence but faltered. Her heart rate was again skyrocketing as panic set in.Fight this.For Olivia, she would—somehow. Finally, as she drew in a ragged breath, she continued. “He can intimidate, but he's always congenial to guests. Don't let him scare you.”

Olivia clearly couldn’t speak, and Marnie grieved for the young woman. She’d grown up in this imposing mansion with her cold-and-distant father. Tonight was nothing new—unpleasant though it promised to be.

She grasped Olivia's hand.

“I’m going to throw up.” Olivia whispered the words.

Empathetic nausea rolled through Marnie. Since Olivia was pale and uncomfortable, she was tempted to say to hell with her father and let the younger woman stay in the kitchen where she might be safe. Even better, let her have a tray in her room. Anything to get her away from the inevitable discomfort and stress.

“You can do this.” Was she assuring Olivia or herself? “Together, we can do this.”

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