Page 26 of Jolene's Justice

“Any idea who these are from?” he asked, thumbing through the messages again.

She scoffed. “If I knew that, wouldn’t you think I’d do something to put a stop to it?” She winced, realizing her attempt to lighten the mood had instead come off as snarky.

She should have known he wouldn’t take it personally. The slight upward twitch in his lips told her that. “Yeah, you would.” His smile faltered as he continued to read, his expression growing more concerned. “These are escalating. Both in tone and frequency.”

“I know.” Even she could hear that her voice didn’t sound like her. The slight wobble was a dead giveaway, and Finch noticed, too. She bit her lip, trying to keep her emotions in check. She had a feeling if she let it go from between her teeth, it would tremble noticeably.

He moved closer, his steps uncertain and hesitant. She wanted to cry. She’d done that. That tentativeness in him was her fault. All she wanted was to keep her heart from being shattered again. She had learned the hard way that vulnerability only led to heartache.

But things were different now. There was a renewed sense of connection, a rekindled friendship. If she desired, she could walk through the crumbling walls.

She closed the distance and threw herself against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, murmuring her name. “Jolie.” When his arms wrapped around her, the tension inside her eased. She snuggled into his embrace, letting his powerful presence envelop her. His strength and vitality made her feel safe and protected.

“Come on,” he said, loosening his hold, which had her feeling suddenly bereft. “Let’s go sit and talk about this.”

She nodded, and he took her hand, leading her to the couch. In her periphery, she noted he’d done some more cleaning and felt guilty for not doing her part. Just more proof that she needed to give this man a chance.

He sat and pulled her down right next to him, keeping her hand in his as if he was reluctant to let her go. “What can you tell me about what’s going on?”

She drew in a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “I don’t even know what’s going on,” she confessed. “The texts started a few weeks ago. One every couple of days. At first, I thought they were a wrong number. I kind of still thought that until tonight.”

“Okay, I can see how you’d feel that way. The increase in frequency is concerning, though.” He looked down at her phone, which had gone dark in his hand. “The texts mention destroying you, which I can only imagine means physically.” She could feel his hand tighten around hers as he spoke. “But they also suggest destroying everything you’ve built. I heard you on the phone with Ox earlier. Is everything okay at the bar?”

The idea that everything was connected had nagged at her, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. She couldn’t ignore it anymore; it was all front and center now. All the things that had been happening. The messed-up orders. The incorrect invoices. The glitch with payroll. And then today with the weird calls to her vendors.

“Oh shit. You’re right.”

“What’s going on?”

She told him everything that had been happening at the bar since that first text message had come through. Her anger grew. At herself for not seeing what was happening. And at whoever was attempting to destroy everything. It was like they knew how to hit her where it hurt the most. She’d already lost one restaurant through no fault of her own. She couldn’t handle losing another.

Harrison popped into her head. Could he be behind all this? But to what end? He was the one who forced her out of Noitiña. The restaurant was his. The awards stayed with him. The notoriety as one of the best restaurants in New York City remained his.

She was the one who’d lost everything. She was the one who’d had to start over. He’d ruined her. What would be the point of doing it a second time? She hadn’t seen or heard from him since the day she’d walked away with her recipes.

Was that it? Was he angry she’d maintained her ownership of the recipes?

“What was that thought you just had?” Finch asked, breaking into her thoughts.

Could she tell him about New York? Even Emma didn’t know exactly what happened. She’d been too ashamed to tell anyone. Her dad only knew because he’d met Harrison a few times. She had no choice but to tell him about the disgraceful actions done to her by him and his wife. How he’d fooled her. Played her. Ruined her. Then she’d cried in her dad’s comforting arms.

Maybe it was time for her to let go of the shame that had kept her silent for so long. It wasn’t her shame to carry anyway. She wasn’t the asshole who’d done all those things. There could be a sense of justice in disclosing the appalling deeds of Harrison Walker Winston III.

“I was thinking about my ex,” she admitted, and Finch’s body tensed up next to her. “While in culinary school, I met a man. He was older. Refined. Attractive. Everything a naïve, young woman would find appealing in a man. He wooed me over the next few years. And when I graduated, he offered me everything I dreamed of. We opened a restaurant in the heart of New York City together. He was the money. I was the talent. It was my kitchen. My recipes that put Noitiña on the right lists. Our notoriety was growing. The logical next step was getting married.”

“What happened?” Finch asked softly, squeezing her hand.

“His wife happened.”

Finch’s gasp was audible, and she knew he was thinking about what had happened between them. She’d been duped. Twice. And hadn’t seen it coming either time.

Finch sat stiff as a board beside her, but she ignored his anguish in order to continue her story.

“Harrison’s wife was everything I wasn’t. Rich. Beautiful. Refined. And a complete and utter bitch. She confronted me at the restaurant. In my kitchen, in front of all my employees. Harrison stood beside her like some sort of lapdog. There was absolutely no remorse in his expression. He’d led me on for years. Made me complicit in adultery. Then he stole everything away from me as if I’d never meant anything to him.

“He and his wife, who, as it turned out, held the purse strings, fired me that day. Forcing me out of my own restaurant. My dream. They ruined me. I ran home with my tail between my legs. If it wasn’t for my dad’s advice about maintaining ownership of my recipes, I would have lost everything.”

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