Page 22 of Wilde Sanctuary

He laughed, the sound twisting her stomach. “Oh no. I was nearby and offered.”

“Out of the kindness of your heart, I suppose,” she muttered, not believing a second of it. “I have work to do here, so you’ll just have to go back without me.”

“Work? On that pathetic little joint venture idea? Why did you think it had been approved?”

What? She’d spoken to her father’s 2IC herself, which was normally as good as speaking to her father, and he’d promised to call her if there was anything to clarify. She’d thought they’d trusted her finally. What was going on? Something wasn’t right.

She felt sick. What would Rhett say? She’d all but promised him—no. She had to sort this out. “Prescott, what exactly did my father say?”

She could hear the smile in his voice, and narrowed her eyes. Regrettably, she’d dated Prescott briefly during college. They’d both been studying law, and he’d been attentive to her, taking her out to dinner and listening when she spoke. To her shame, it had taken her six months to realize all he wanted was to get closer to her father. Prescott hadn’t loved her. He’d loved the idea of her and everything she represented.

Besides, his name wasn’t even Prescott. It was Paul. He was as fake as the Rolex he wore in college. She shuddered. She’d considered him a bullet dodged, until he’d wormed his way into Sinclair Properties.

“He wants you to return to discuss this in more detail.”

Prescott was a scheming ladder climber. She didn’t trust him, but there was too much at stake to dismiss what he said.

“Really? Why didn’t he just call me himself?” Her brow wrinkled.

“Oh, you know what he’s like.”

She did, and far better than Prescott, but she let him talk.

“Happy to let you have your fun, but the final decision always goes to him. Hmm?”

He wasn’t wrong. She shifted from foot to foot. She didn’t want to go back to New York, least of all with Prescott, but with her car stuck behind a felled tree and no rental available, she had little choice.

Oh goodie.

She told Prescott where to meet her and hung up, dropping her phone to the counter and staring off into space. Her stomach twisted, and she winced as she imaged what Rhett would think about her leaving so quickly.

He’d understand, wouldn’t he? She chewed on her bottom lip. They hardly knew each other. Would he trust her? He had plenty of reason not to, but she’d just have to make him listen.

The sound of Rhett’s truck pulling up alongside the house had her pulse quickening. The rumble of the engine quietened, his booted feet on the steps to the front porch seeming to echo in the quiet house. She turned to face the front door, twisting the hem of her tee shirt in her hands.

Rhett stepped into the house, not bothering to take off his boots.

“Rhett? Oh good, you’re home. I?—”

“You need to leave.”

His words landed like bombs, her chest constricting as she blinked at him in confusion.

“What?”

He paced slowly towards her. “I should have known this would happen.”

“What would happen? Rhett, you’re not making any sense.”

“No, what doesn’t make any sense is why Sinclair’s beautiful daughter would want to move to a small town like Cape Wilde and go into a partnership with me.”

She paled. “Rhett, I told you?—”

He kept talking, not paying attention to her. His mind was already made up. “How many college degrees do you have, Charlie? Or should I call you Charlotte, like Prescott does?”

Oh. Well, that explained things a little better. Not only was her ex here, but he’d taken the time to stick his nose into her business.

“Why?” She faced him down, her arms crossed over her chest. “Are you judging me now? Why does my education matter?”

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