“Miss, please step aside,” one of them orders.
“The situation is under control.”
“No, it’s not,” Drew shouts. “This lunatic just threatened me.”
The officers advance.
“I said to stand down.” My voice echoes sharply. “Now!”
“On whose authority?” the security officer asks.
I have no choice. It’s inevitable, anyway. “I’m Alexandra Townsen. My father owns this company.”
My secret crashes around me. Its jagged edges slice through the space between us. Chaz’s expression twists into disbelief. Hurt. Disgust. His anger so tangible that I flinch from the heat of it.
His eyes burn into me. Then he exits as furious as he arrived. Only now, he’s bearing something more—the knowledge of who I am.
“Why did you let him go?” Drew accuses, his voice thick with indignation.
“Would you rather have caused a bigger scene with a man defending his sister against you? Do you like what kind of headlines that would make?”
I don’t stick around for a response.
Moments later, I find Chaz on the street just as he reaches his Jeep.
“Chaz! Wait!” I shout.
He ignores me, wrenching the door open.
I rush forward and grab his arm. “Please let me explain.”
He jerks out of my grasp, his voice like a whip. “Explain what,Alexandra? That you lied about everything?”
“I didn’t know who your father was then.” The words tumble out. “It’s a horrible, tragic coincidence. If I’d known?—”
“You would have what? Been honest? Told me the truth?” he asks with derision.
“Yes. I was coming back tonight to tell you. I’m so sorry you found out this way,” I say, fighting back tears. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
He laughs bitterly, but under it is the pain I caused.
“What did Marshall do to Sophia?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“Don’t.” His hand shoots up between us. “Don’t act like you care. All that big sisterly advice about her being wary of Marshall when you had firsthand knowledge of all this shit. You knew what he was capable of.” His voice cracks.
“I’m so sorry, Chaz,” I say. But it is woefully inadequate. “How . . . how is she?”
“You’re not getting any information from me to spin or cover up.
Isn’t that what you do—clean up inconvenient messes for your father?”
His words strike like a dart, fast and sharp enough to pierce my heart. “I would never cover for someone who hurt Sophia or any other woman. I won’t let Marshall get away with this. Let me talk to Sophia?—”
“That’s never going to happen.”
“I want to help, Chaz. I give you my word.”
“I wouldn’t give two cents for your word.”
