Page 8 of Denying Davis
But most of all, I recalled the cold, unfeeling way my grandfather had spoken about Samantha and her mother, Robin, the next day, when he informed me that Robin had been replaced as the estate’s housekeeper. She’d been terminated for “unknown” reasons, and I was told to never ask about her again.
Never.
“I emailed you after your mother left our employment,” I said in a low voice. “Sent you several texts. Reached out on Facebook…every day for like three months.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Never heard back.”
I wanted to add how much this had devasted and upset me, but I decided against it. If she knew me a sliver of the way I thought she did, she’d hear the pain and confusion in my voice.
“I didn’t get the messages,” she said. “I shut down my old email address around that time. Changed my number too.”
“Why?”
“Scammers.” She looked away from me and at the rest of the crowd. “Hackers. My address got stolen in one of those phishing scams, so I got a new one.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
She cocked her head and returned her gaze to me. “You’re not accusing me of lying, are you?”
“What if I am?”
She narrowed her eyes and studied me for a moment. “We haven’t seen each other for what—ten years? That’s almost a lifetime.”
“Hardly.”
“It’s long enough.”
I frowned. “But why didn’t you respond to my messages on Facebook? Why did you shut me out?”
She sighed. “You don’t know me at all, Davis. I don’t lie. Now, please excuse me.”
A small part of the knot inside my stomach untied as I realized she had just called me by my first name, but whatever hope it sprouted died instantly as she jerked herself away from me and stalked toward the catering kitchen at the mansion.
Stunned, I followed her, but when I reached the edged of the garden, a man in a dark suit with gold buttons and a nametag stopped me. “I’m sorry, sir, but this section of the property is off limits to everyone except staff.”
“But I’m—” I stepped forward, straining to get a glimpse of Sam’s disappearing figure. “I just needed to speak with someone.”
He moved to the side and blocked me further. “Anything I can help you with, sir? I’d be more than happy to accommodate any request.”
“No, I”—I shoved my hands in my trousers—“it’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“Mr. Phillips has strict instructions about events on his estate. I’m sure you can understand why we limit guests to certain areas. Security reasons.” The guard’s voice remained firm, his eyes cold and unfeeling. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to ask you to return to the reception.” He motioned toward the large crowd with a sweep of his big hand.
“Of course,” I said, knowing that causing a scene was the last thing I should do. “It was my mistake. Good evening.”
“Good evening.”
I turned and headed back to the party just as the fireworks burst overhead, lighting up the sky and the Intracoastal Waterway with bright white light. The partygoers let out collective gasps and intermittent applause as the display entertained them.
I hardly noticed any of it. All I could think of waswhy?Why did she leave? Why did she walk away tonight?
Seeing Davis again after a decade shook me up more than I wanted to admit. By the time I walked into the catering kitchen, my breath pushed in and out of my chest in hard gasps, and goosebumps checked my arms. I threw down my tray, wrapped a hand around the steel beam of the food prep station, and tried to steady my feet.
Didn’t work.
“Samantha, are you okay?” Nicole, the co-owner of Haute Holidays, the catering company Ainsley and Trevor had hired for their wedding, asked. She wiped her hands on her black apron. “You look paler than normal.”
“I’m—I just…”
I’m falling apart inside, that’s all.
