Page 48 of Homecoming Heartbreaker

She knew he liked to tease but this was, well, hurtful and...cruel.

Mack was impatient and a hard ass, sometimes ruthless; she’d never thought him to be cruel.

“Mack, that’s not funny!” Molly stated, her voice trembling with rage.

“I. Am. Not. Joking.” Mack elucidated every word, his voice deep and hard and so very intimidating.

Molly closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them this would be a bad dream. Forcing herself to look at him, she wrapped her arms around herself, hoping to melt the icy core that was growing inside her. “God, you really aren’t. How much?”

“I’m not sure yet. We need a forensic accountant to get an accurate figure. But at least tens of thousands of dollars.”

“God.”Molly lifted her hands to her lips as if she was praying. “But how?”

Mack stared at her, his expression resolute. “Shouldn’t you be asking who, Molly?”

Of course, but she didn’t want to go there. The people who were in the position to steal money were her friends, people she’d worked with for years and years.

“Look, Beth has horrible taste in men but she pushes paper, she doesn’t sign any checks or anything. Fern, our exec chef has worked here for more than two decades. Harry has been here forever. Ross doesn’t have a long history with us but Jameson and I both trust him. Our staff is loyal, Mack. They wouldn’t have done this.”

“You left someone out, Molly.”

“Who?” Molly demanded, running over her list. No, she hadn’t; not really. Those were the only people who dealt with paperwork, who could pull off some illicit scheme.

“You, Molly.”

At his two-word sentence, her world as she knew, cracked and crumbled.

“You, Molly.”

Mack kept his eyes on hers, watched as shock consumed her features and her knees wobbled. Her irises dilated and he could hear the harsh sounds of her irregular breathing. He knew that if he put his hands on her skin, she would be clammy and cold and her hand pressing into her stomach suggested that she was feeling nauseated.

As if she’d heard his silent thought, Molly’s eyes darted around the room. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Mack bent down to pick up the trash basket and thrust it under her nose. Molly bent over the basket, heaved and he winced when she expelled her coffee into the trash receptacle.

It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t nice—some would even call him cruel—but yeah, he needed to get her immediate response...

Mack glanced at the small camera within his state-of-the-art laptop, which he’d angled to point in her direction. Its flashing light told him it was still recording.

He’d spent another few hours in this office last night, running through what he did and didn’t know, what he suspected and what he could prove. Despite his earlier, and brief doubts, he absolutely knew Molly wasn’t the thief but what he knew and could prove were very different.

And the real thief had done, on the surface at least, a damn fine job at pointing the finger at her...

He needed to control the situation but more than that, he needed to protect her. It was, after all, what he did.

Moonlight Ridge was an Asheville institution and Jameson was one of the city’s favorite citizens. He’d also been a source of good copy—starting with inheriting the place from the billionaire Tip O’Sullivan when he was in his early thirties. He’d been regarded as an extremely eligible bachelor and speculation was rife as to who would wear his ring. Instead of producing a wife, he fostered, then adopted, three boys, raising eyebrows. Molly’s father’s embezzlement caused an uproar, and Jameson’s recent ill health made headlines again.

Jameson was interesting and the reporters would be all over this new drama. When news of the theft became common knowledge, and he had no doubt it would, fingers would be pointed in Molly’s direction. She had access to the inn’s bank account; she was in the position to steal from him; she was her father’s daughter.

And, because the Haskell family couldn’t keep their damn mouths shut—Grant’s pillow talk with Beth was a great example—the world would soon know Molly stole money from his dad when she was a scared teen.

The press would eviscerate her unless he protected her. He could shout it from the rooftops that Molly was innocent but everyone at Moonlight Ridge knew they were sleeping together and his defense of her would mean nothing. No, Molly was her own best defense.

If it became necessary—when the reporters started circling, or the police came calling—he could show them a video of her unfiltered, instinctive response.

No one who saw her reaction, her shock and physical reaction to being accused, would doubt her innocence. Protecting and loving Molly was what he was put on this earth to do and this, unfortunately, was the best way he could.

It was a temporary pain for a long-term solution. This way he’d be in control of the narrative...

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