I like her. She’s spunky. “I understand,” I say. “But I’m not in the market.”
Corinda leans forward, perfume light. “I’ve never looked for happily-ever-after. I’ve always thought a good business arrangement works for marriage. If you think about it, most arranged marriages last, whereas the silly love ones don’t.”
She’s flawless in a white suit, makeup pristine. Pink lips, thick lashes, perfect nose. She’d be appealing to most. But right now, a little brat half my size holds my attention, and I don’t see that changing.
“Would you stop trying to become the match of the century?” Stacia cuts in, her voice becoming irritating but not painful. “Alana already took that spot.”
“Not if I can help it,” Corinda says, her soft tone calming the room. She fixes her gaze on me. “What do you say?”
If I wanted a spouse who threw the best parties and knew the best people, she’d be perfect. Unfortunately, I don’t care about either of those things. “I’m going to have to decline.” I look at Sylveria. “Now that we’re alone, I might as well tell you. Ella is coming for her company.”
Sylveria’s voice bruises me deeper when she rises. “You’ll reconsider that since the company is mine. Not Ella’s. My husband left it to me, and that’s the end of it. Our servers run on diamonds.”
But they were created to run on citrines. How easy is that to change? It’s rare, that’s for sure. I push back from the table, turning to Stacia. “You’re delightful, andI hope you marry for love.” My gaze shifts to Corinda. “I understand your motivation and agree that most arranged marriages do work. I hope you find the person you’re looking for, but it’s not me.”
“We’ll see,” Corinda answers, her smile sweet and sharp.
I glance at Sylveria. She adjusts her ball gown, glittering even here amid the steel and marble. Somehow, she still manages to look regal. I don’t want to hurt her, but I will if necessary, so I give her one more warning. “Leave Ella alone. I don’t want a war, but I’m ready.” I stand and head outside, shutting the door behind me. My men move with me, two stationed close, watching my back. One of my black town cars speeds toward us, and I tense.
Wynd jumps out, his blue eyes wild and his tone low. “Ella and the dog are gone.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Ella
I’m back in the tree, and Leo is sprawled under me, tongue lolling, content. We drove in a battered Toyota that blends into traffic, the kind of truck nobody remembers. I picked a path that ducks every camera I know about and a few I only suspect. Now I give the bird whistle and count to ten. Nothing stirs. That’s fine. This isn’t my usual hour, and if a lens tags me now, I’ll have problems. I whistle one more time for luck, drop to the grass, and dust off my hands. The front desk won’t let a dog in, so I need another approach.
The nursing home sits quiet, the big brick building stretched low and confident. I head toward the main doors, then cut left without breaking stride and follow the exterior until I reach the window I need.
A gardener looks up from across the lawn and then returns to tending his roses. I’ve learned that if I act like I know what I’m doing, folks usually don’t bug me.
I tap the glass. The slats flip up, and my godmotherleans out, green glasses crusted with rhinestones catching the light. She pushes them higher, sees Leo, and softens. “Oh, what a sweetie.” She props the window, hooks the screen out of the way, and waves me forward. “Bring him inside.”
“That’s the plan,” I say. Leo looks at me, then at her, then back at me. He bunches his legs and slips through the opening like he’s done it a hundred times.
I climb in after him and land hard on one knee—not nearly as graceful as my dog.
Aura grabs my elbow and steadies me while Magdalena’s voice cuts from behind a monitor. “What exactly are you doing?”
I stand, brush grass off my pants, and watch Aura swing the screen back, slide the window down, and tug the blinds shut with quick, practiced motions.
Joslyn pivots in her chair, pale blue eyes that miss nothing locked on me. “Where have you been?”
“Kidnapped,” I say. “Justice Beathach took me.”
Aura’s ring-heavy hand presses to her chest. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.” Heat climbs my face before I can stop it.
Magdalena studies me, then the dog, then me again, her mouth tightening as if she’s solved a problem she doesn’t like. “You did not,” she says.
Aura turns to her. “Didn’t what?”
“Nothing,” I say, too quick. “I didn’t do anything.”
Jos doesn’t blink. “I doubt that.” She tips her chin, unblinking. “Are you involved with Justice Beathach?”
“I’m not involved with him,” I say. “He might have kidnapped me a couple of times.” There are more pumpkins decorating the place than before, and several havebeen covered in orange sequins. The smell of fall, apples and ciders, spills from a couple of candles lit on the far credenza by the door.
