Page 53 of The Wicked

Wait a second… SaraBaldwin? As in Kayleigh and Lillian Baldwin? Was there a connection? I fought to keep my expression neutral, something I’d luckily had plenty of experience with.

“That’s right. I got the impression she’s feeling slightly fragile today, so I told her to take as much time as she needed.”

“Fragile? Well, I’m not surprised after what those cousins of hers did. Firing her from her own company—it just wasn’t right. A meeting, you say? Is it about an event you want planned?”

Little pieces of the puzzle began to click into place. Last night, Sara had said asswipe number three cheated on her at a party she’d organised. Had that been her job? Event planning? If so, it would also explain her presence at Hadley’s party. She’d been there to spy and to sabotage. No wonder she’d wanted to keep a low profile.

“A corporate team-building day. Sara’s services come highly recommended.”

“She’ll do a wonderful job, but take my advice and stay away from LKB Events. With the Baldwin twins running the show, nothing will ever get done, and I can’t imagine they’d be easy to work with either.”

“I’ll take that on board. Could I get a box of your cookies to go? Say, two dozen? The folks at the office would go crazy for those.”

Mary beamed at me. “Of course, of course. I’ll pack them up right away.”

Sara, Sara, my pretty Cinderella. As soon as Mary was back behind the counter, I began searching on my phone. Sara didn’t go in for social media, but it seemed the twins were as efficient at updating their company website as they were with everything else. The “About Us” page listed the two of them as directors with professional pictures and highly inaccurate biographies, and underneath, there was a candid snap of “Sara - Assistant.” I’d found her.

I’d found her, but fuck, this had the potential to complicate things. I didn’t want to get tangled up with the Baldwins. The whole family was toxic. Another piece clicked—Sara had said her cousin was in prison, and Trey once mentioned that Easton Baldwin had been jailed for shooting at a carful of women last year. One of them had required surgery.

Even so, I could hardly hold Sara’s family against her, not when I was related to Trey and Gracie. But damn, I’d have to be sure about Sara before we went public with any relationship. People would talk. They’d judge. Thankfully, Sara seemed happy to keep our dalliances under the radar, and Johannes didn’t need his apartment back any time soon.

Sara Baldwin.Assuming she lived somewhere on the family estate, finding her would be easy. Hell, I’d even been there before to pick up Trey. Getting her to talk with me, that would be the hard part.

I finished my coffee, paid the check, and thanked Mary for the cookies. Then I went to find my girl.

19

SARA

Sara’s to-do list:

- Retrieve car.

- Buy more junk food.

- Job hunting!

- Mail Garrett’s clothes back to him in Roseburg.

- Message Marcin.

Someday, I’d have to go and pick up my Toyota from the Craft Cabin, but today was not that day. No, today was the day to weep into my pillow, eat all the chocolate left in the pool house, and rehash every painful detail I could remember from last night. Not that Iwantedto do that last part. It just happened, and short of drinking myself into oblivion again, I didn’t know how to stop it.

I crossed outRetrieve caron my to-do list and replaced it withBuy Tylenol.

Brooke had obviously heard from Darla or Paulo what happened at the store yesterday, and she’d called once and texted twice, but beyond reassuring her that I was still alive and back home, I’d kept quiet about the details. How could I possibly explain what I’d done? The mistakes I’d made? Parker brought over the bag of groceries Deon delivered while I was out, but at least he didn’t ask questions. That was one good thing about Parker—he simply didn’t care. Usually, I hated his cold demeanour, but today, it had worked in my favour. It was too chilly for Kayleigh and Lillian to swim, and Uncle EJ hated exercise, so I had this little corner of the estate to myself. I was free to wallow in misery, safely tucked away between high hedges and trees just coming into leaf.

By mid-afternoon, I couldn’t stand the lingering smell of vomit any longer. I hadn’t managed to identify the source, and it might even have been my imagination, but I stood in the shower and scrubbed myself until the water ran cold and mixed with still-warm tears. Tomorrow, I’d pick myself up, but this evening, Netflix was calling. Why keep crying over a man when I could sob my heart out over a chick flick? My weakness was Hallmark movies, the more Christmassy the better, even though I knew the ending before I started watching. Surprises sucked. Apart from skydiving. That hadn’t sucked.

I walked out of the bathroom in a robe because getting dressed seemed like too much effort today. Where was the remote? I spotted it on the dining table and turned on the TV. What was the point in even having a dining table? It seated four, but three of the chairs had never been used because it wasn’t as if I ever had visitors, and I mostly ate on the couch with a plate balanced on—

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

I froze as movement outside caught my eye, and all the air left my lungs in one suffocatingwhoosh. Someone was sitting at the table under the portico, watching me through the living room window.

And that someone was Garrett freaking Van de Kamp.

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