I crouch, opening the ajar door with a curse. I must have left it unlocked. Not that it matters. I have another safe with the important things in. This one’s a spare. I only use it for Denver’s gun when he visits, or Killian or Jenson’s, if they play with Molly. That and one other thing…
I reach inside and take out the square velvet box. It’s usually pushed right to the back, but it’s sitting at the front like someone’s been looking at it. Flicking the blue lid up, I anticipate what I’ll see. But it doesn’t stop me from clenching my teeth together so hard that a pain shoots up my jaw.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
It’s empty.
Instead of Claudia’s engagement ring that she returned to me after things ended between us, there’s… nothing. Just a cushion with an empty groove in it that a ninety-thousand-dollar diamond ring once occupied.
“I should have fucking known.”
I slam the ring box closed and hurl it back inside the safe behind Denver’s gun as I slam it closed and lock it.
My blood’s boiling as I stalk back into the living area. Molly and Sinclair are munching on the cat-shaped cookies. And if they hadn’t just lifted the last ones from the plate, I’d be throwing the goddamn things out of the window.
“Who’s Tate?” My sister asks, looking over with a sly smile as she brandishes one of the neater cat cookies in the air. Molly must have been talking about her while I was gone.
“She’s no-one,” I snap, snatching up my phone from the countertop.
“Who’s Tate?” Sinclair asks Molly instead.
“Daddy’s friend,” my daughter replies helpfully.
I inhale as I jab at my phone, punching out a message. “She’s not a friend.”
“Is she your new nanny?” Sinclair says something else but all I can hear is blood rushing in my ears as I click send on the message.
I glance at Denver and shake my head, reassuring his concerned expression away. He’ll want to run checks on anyone coming near Molly. Damn it, I should have asked him to. It seems anyone can become a kindergarten teacher. Even curvaceous redheads without morals.
“I’m not hiring a nanny. Tate was here and I had to make a call. I was in the room the entire time. I wouldn’t leave Molly with someone I barely know.”
I watch as the ‘read’ notification comesup on the text message. A small flare of victory ignites in my chest as I picture her face when she reads it. When she realizes I know what she did.
Jesus Christ, she cooked for us last night. What if she had put something in the food? I jerk my head up and scan Molly’s little body ruthlessly. But she’s the picture of health, happily petting Monty and laughing when he wags his tail furiously, hitting Denver’s calf over and over with it.
“I didn’t realize your friends from The Lanceford came here too,” Sinclair says, her voice laced with undisguised disgust.
“They don’t.” I shove my phone into my pocket. “Like I said, Tate isn’t a friend. Let’s leave it as that, shall we, Sis?”
She huffs before returning her attention to Molly and beaming at her as she takes her time kissing her goodbye.
I wait until after they leave before I tell Molly I’m going to use the bathroom. She’s busy playing with her dollies again, and I turn the TV on for her, making sure the volume is high enough that she won’t hear the giant punch I drive into the bag in my home gym on my way down the hall.
“Idiot!” I berate myself with a hiss. And to think I found something about her appealing. Something about her…sexy.
“Stupid fucking idiot,” I grit.
My knuckles are throbbing as I draw my fist back and give the bag another whack for good measure.
I sit, nursing a whiskey in one hand as I recline in the chair of my home office. I’m on my second glass, savoring the burn as it tracks down my throat.
I can’t believe I let her into my home. Into Molly’s home.
My phone buzzes on the desk. I lift it up, rage firing in my veins as I see her name. So she replied. It only took her four hours to think up whatever pathetic excuse or lie she’s going to try and spin. I put the whiskey down beside the empty ring box that I’ve been staring at ever since Molly went to bed.
Tate Miller: I don’t understand. Was that message meant for me?
I scroll back to the message I sent her, snorting at her audacity. Like it would be intended for anyone else. I only work with people I can trust. Hiring her was a mistake.
