Page 92 of A Bossy Proposal

It rings once, twice... then he picks up.

“West!” His voice is taut with tension. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Trying to find Amelia,” I reply, keeping my tone steady despite the chaos swirling inside me. “She’s missing.”

“What do you mean, missing?” His voice sharpens.

“Look, I don’t have the time to go over everything right now. But can you find out if Amelia Morelli took an international flight anywhere?”

“Morelli?” East replies after a pause that stretches uncomfortably long. “Is that your Amelia?”

“It is. I was stupid. I only checked Amelia Ross and there were no flights, so I assumed she was still in the US.”

“Where are you?” East asks.

“In South Carolina. I thought she needed to be close to her parents.” I sigh. “This is where they died in a boat—” Then reality dawns on me. “Fuck! I know where she is.”

“Then go and get her. I take it she’s more important than ousting dad,” East says but there’s no malice in his tone.

“Sorry bro, but she is.”

“Lucky bastard.”

I chuckle as I hang up and lean back against the seat, staring out the window, and say, “Go to the beach.”

Ten minutes later, the beach comes into view. White sand glistens under the sun like diamonds scattered across the canvas.

“Take us closer,” I order.

Jackson drives down toward a quiet stretch where people stroll by the water’s edge.

I glance around at the beach goers, trying to see if one person stands out, but nobody does.

“Pull over here,” I tell Jackson. I can’t leave without at least trying to find her.

As he parks, I roll up my shirt sleeves until the cuffs are at my elbows. I lean forward. “Keep an eye out for her.”

“And you?” Jackson asks.

“Just stay here but have my back.”

I trudge through the sand, each step heavier than the last.

My heart pounds in my ears and gets louder with every shift of the hot grains beneath my feet.

My lips are dry, and I lick the saltiness that the breeze brings as it tugs at my shirt.

The sun burns my eyes. I cover them with my hand at my brows and scan the area again. I feel I have searched every person at the beach as I shift through the sand, then stop and turn.

But I can’t see her.

I run my hand through my hair as desperation twists in my gut as I turn in all directions.

The pier stretches out before me, an old wooden structure jutting into the sea with a few boats attached. But it’s the figure sitting at the end of the pier, silhouetted against the sunset’s glow, that takes my breath.

“Amelia,” I breathe as relief washes over me for a moment, but then it crashes just as quickly when I realize it’s not her.

With a heavy heart, I turn away, ready to retrace my steps, when something catches my eye at the bottom of the pier. The figure is just underneath. But as a flash of brunette hair dances in the wind, my heart leaps and I rush ahead.

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