Page 193 of The Re-Proposal

“Promises?” Her eyes are sharp. “Mr. Bolton, your promise means nothing to me. I know your type. You’re a rich man who preys on the weak to feed your ego. You don’t have the capacity to love anything but money. And if my daughter weren’t so blinded by nostalgia and herideaof you, she would see that too.”

I flinch.

“What you did to Clarissa left a deep and pulsing wound. Honestly, I’m not surprised that you were able to lure her in again. She never got over you. Never got over what you did to her. But that girl is my heart and soul. Everything I do is for her. I won’t just sit by and watch you break her again.”

“That’s the last thing I want to do.”

Liandra glares into the back of the headrest. “I’m opening a women’s shelter in our hometown.” She pauses. “And I’ll ask Clarissa to come with me.”

The declaration stops me cold.

“I know she has a life here. Friends. A mission. I can see her influence all over the Do More Project, but they can manage without her.”

“Are you suggesting that she leave to help you or to get away from me?”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“Ms. Maura—”

My phone rings, cutting me short.

“Excuse me.”

The moment I put the phone to my ear, Vargas’ frantic voice rushes forward.

“Cody, bad news.”

“Is it Joel?” My heart lurches to my throat.

“No. At least, not that I’m aware of.”

I breathe out.

“It’s Clarissa.”

My shoulders go tense again.

“Check the links I just sent you,” Vargas says.

My eyebrows furrowing, I tap on my assistant’s message.

Instantly, a picture of Clarissa pops up.

WHO IS THE BACHELOR OF THE YEAR’S SECRET LOVER?

A MODERN DAY CINDERALLA

Horror gnaws at my chest when I skim the article. There are pictures of me and Clarissa at the gala together. Us dancing. Us holding hands.

But that’s not the bad part.

The article blasts personal details about Clarissa’s life, including references to her family’s struggle with money and homelessness.

I exhale shakily. “Liandra, did you speak to any reporters recently?”

“I did a small interview when I got the funding for the new shelter.” She folds her arms over her chest, looking suspiciously at me.

“Was that reporter local? Did you know them?”

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