Someone calculating.
I was already leaning toward the latter.
Last night, I told her my name was Killian. Seconds later, she called me Mr. Hart. I never gave her that. She knew who Iwas before she asked. Everything about that encounter had been staged. Her sneaking into my room had a purpose.
I took a step toward the attic stairs. Then stopped.
Don't be a fool.
I turned and found Cartier in the guest house. His laptop was open, wires everywhere, and half-empty coffee cups scattered like evidence.
"You look like hell, Boss," he rumbled without looking up.
"Thank you." I leaned against the doorframe. "You said you ran a background check on these people."
"I did. Came up squeaky clean."
"Run it again. Go deeper. There's something off."
Cartier finally looked up.
"The girl in the attic," I said. "She isn't sick. And she's damn sure not mute. She's playing a part, Cartier. A good one. I think she's very smart. Calculated."
"So you talked to her."
"I did."
"What she look like?"
I didn't answer fast enough. His grin widened.
"That good, huh?"
"She is—" I stopped myself. "That's not the point."
"She has to be something serious if she got you poking holes in an arrangement you didn't even care about."
My jaw tightened. "I'm trying to figure out her angle. She wants something."
Cartier tilted his head. "You know this is a bad idea, right?"
"I know."
"And you're doing it anyway?"
I didn't answer.
"Killian? Are you in there?" Olivia's voice carried from the driveway.
I went out to meet her. She was waiting in a lemon-yellow sundress. Her face lit up when she saw me.
"We're heading to the club for lunch," she said, sliding her arm through mine. "I want you to meet some friends."
I accepted the invitation and took the chauffeured ride. I wanted to see who she really was and if I was misjudging her.
At the club, her friends were different than I expected. Calmer. More genuine. Harper, Daniel, Lila—they'd all come to her book signing and bonded over her poetry. They spoke about her work like it had touched something real in them.
Olivia smiled through it all, but something was off. Her responses were rehearsed. She changed the subject fast whenever the conversation strayed toward her work.
