Page 21 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

That’s intriguing enough to have me searching again.

A search through older articles finally reveals that his father had been a high-ranking European diplomat, a very successful one until confidential communications were leaked during sensitive negotiations.

The language in the article is careful, and there are no accusations that the elder Hawthorne personally leaked anything.

There is, however, the standard Mr. Hawthorne is planning to spend more time with his family.

There’s a photograph accompanying the article. I zoom in to see a much-younger Lucian standing a few feet behind his father outside some grand European building. He’s still unmistakably himself in a dark suit, shoulders straight, his expression neutral.

How old was he? Eighteen? Nineteen?

Then a sliver of compassion unfolds inside me. I know what it’s like to have your life determined by your father’s bad choices.

“No.” Determinedly I close the image.

I’m absolutely not refusing to have tenderness for Lucian Hawthorne.

The man freaking bought me.

I return to the company website to read Caleb’s bio.

And I learn almost nothing. He’s listed as cofounder, operations, and security. That part definitely fits.

But a search of his name in a different tab gets me pages of irrelevant results, including a dentist in Arizona, a college football player, a school board member, and a man in Florida who seems extremely passionate about breeding exotic fish.

As for the Caleb who is a hulking, threatening presence at Lucian’s side, there’s nothing.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, I search the company.

Maybe unsurprisingly, I find a number of lawsuits.

And yet…

None were successful. Most were dismissed. Others were withdrawn.

Interesting.

If anything, their lawyers—or the duo themselves—appear to be frighteningly competent.

But patterns are my entire professional life.

One event means nothing. Two deserve attention. Three require investigation. So I add another heading to my document.

Litigation. Then I write: People sue them. The cases are quickly resolved. How? Why?

My cursor blinks.

After squeezing my eyes shut, I type: Legal? Or other means?

I fall down another few rabbit holes. Then I realize my wineglass is empty.

I consider refilling it, then decide against it when a quick glance at the corner of my screen shows that it’s 2:13 a.m.

I have clients tomorrow.

Today.

Whatever.