Page 21 of The Best Wild Idea
“Time to take it over,” I tell him.
Chapter 7
Juliet
Thirty minutes after I get off the phone with Monica, there’s another knock on my door. Normally, I’d ignore it, but since this evening is going everywhere but according to plan, I decide that I’d better check to make sure it’s not another letter or bomb or something else I’d never expect waiting for me on the other side.
A second guy I’ve never seen is standing on my porch when I crack the door open, leaving the thick security chain pulled tight across the gap. I’ve about had it with surprises today, but there are eight enormous roller bags lined up behind him, all matching cream with tan leather trim and the letters LV scattered across the surface of each one.
My eyes wander over the dreamy set before it dawns on me who’s behind it.
“Are you Juliet Hart?” the man asks.
“Yes, but I definitely did not order those,” I tell him, secretly wishing that I could have. The bags are gorgeous. However, I don’t need to hear another word to know that Silas is behind this ridiculous pile of them on my porch.
“Delivery from Silas Davenport,” the man confirms, holding out a clipboard. “Please sign here to confirm receipt.”
Instead of giving in to the temptation, I shake my head.
“Nope. I already have perfectly adequate suitcases, thank you.” I silently say goodbye to the luggage before pushing the door shut, then pull it open to add, “Please let him know that I don’t need these or needanything else. Mmm k?”
“These aren’t just suitcases, Ms. Hart.” The man smiles, raising his brows while motioning for me to keep the door open. It feels a bit awkward that he’s addressed me asMs. Hart. “And I’m not really supposed to let you refuse them. Sorry.”
He twists a toe into the vinyl doormat, like he was hoping that I wasn’t going to be difficult. I close the door to slide off the chain then swing it wide open.
“Not supposed tolet merefuse them?” I ask, fully aware that I’m taking the bait. “Oh, is that right? Is that what Silas told you?”
His neck grows a few red splotches.
“Sorry. I just have to deliver them. Don’t shoot the messenger, and all that.” He smiles weakly.
I remind myself that I’m annoyed at Silas, but not at this innocent young man standing here on my porch. The second one of the evening, as it turns out.
“If they’re notjustsuitcases, then what are they?” I ask, pressing him gently.
“Oh shit —shoot— here, there’s a note.” He digs into his back pocket, looking even more apologetic, then holds out a small white envelope. “Sorry, I should have just started with this but I forgot.”
My stomach jumps at the sight of another envelope and I grab it immediately, ripping it open, praying it’s another letter from Grant.
Instead, the handwriting is totally different from Grant’s letter, but it’s still vaguely recognizable.
Silas.
My heart constricts. This is the first concrete evidence I’ve gotten today that he’s orchestrating all this, besides the phone call earlier with Monica in which she insisted we have to travel together instead of apart.
My brows nearly touch while I force myself to read it.
Jules,
Grant asked that I take care of this since you wouldn’t be prepared to take off on a trip likethis tomorrow otherwise. There are three sets of identical clothing in various sizes that I’ve had picked out for you. I haven’t seen you in a while, so we had to guess on sizes. I’ve included a packing list of what you’ll need.
Take whatever fits.
Leave the rest, and I’ll have Ryan pick it up tomorrow after we head to the airport.
Looking forward to catching up.
See you in the morning,
