Page 7 of Tangled Trust

"Welcome, Ella. I’m Carter Moore."

Mrs. Digby gave me the rundown on the billionaire Real Estate Mogul, but she omitted to tell me how gorgeous he is. I feel as if I’ve been ambushed.

"It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Moore."

For God’s sake, don’t curtsy, you fool!

The voice snaps me out of my funk.

"Please," he says as he smiles and shakes my hand, "call me Carter."

Carter smells heavenly. His hand is warm and strong, and I could have sworn I felt a slight quiver in the old sweet spot as he held my hand for all but three seconds.

"Was that little Jagger?" I ask, employing a new topic to distract me from the fireworks going off in my body.

"That’s him. He isn’t usually in such a mad rush, but his new puppy Dash has him all crazy."

"Ah, man’s best friend," I smile.

"Please, come inside."

I follow the handsome man into the house and marvel at the decor in the foyer. The house is magnificent. High ceilings, plenty of California sunlight streaming through the large windows, and large openings in the walls that hide fold-away doors.

"Your home is lovely," I say, grasping for content.

"Thank you."

Carter leads me through the house to a gazebo area outside adjacent to a large swimming pool, filled with pool toys any child would go nuts for.

"Can I offer you a refreshment, Ella?"

"No, thank you," I say as I make myself comfortable in a leather-upholstered outdoor chair.

"Where in England are you from?"

His question throws me off momentarily. Do I tell the truth? Do I lie? Is he the sort of person who will do a thorough background check on me, or does he trust Mrs. Digby’s integrity?

I have to be careful now as to how I proceed.

3

CARTER MOORE

TWO WEEKS EARLIER

"Idon’t understand how this can be, Greg. Sales are at an all-time high, yet the branch is struggling. Something else is going on. I’m heading out there tomorrow."

Is it my imagination, or is Greg acting squirrely? My instincts tell me that he has his fingers in the till, but I can’t afford to make that kind of accusation without concrete proof. But I didn’t get to where I am by allowing people to pull the wool over my eyes either, so I have to keep digging.

"Mr. Moore," Sandy says as she enters my office. "Here are your flight confirmation details. I’ve arranged accommodation for you at your usual hotel."

"Thank you, Sandy. Would you ask Thomas to pop by before he leaves?"

"Of course. Have a pleasant flight. And, congratulations, again, on the award."

"Thanks, Sandy. We’re a great team, aren’t we?"

"The best."

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