Page 4 of Branded Betrayal

I flash a bright smile at the group of executives in the conference room, wiggling my toes in high heels that are a bit too tight to be comfortable.

My eyes connect with Caroline Janning’s, and she gives me a nod. As the CEO of the Sterling Strategy Group, she has the final say in all promotions, so there’s no room for any mistakes.

“Welcome, everyone. I’d like to jump right into the results of our last three campaigns. As you can see from the metrics over the most recent quarter—”

A buzzing sound jolts me. I glance down at the conference room table, where my phone skitters across the wood grain.

Nash? He never calls during business hours.

Actually, my brother rarely calls me at all ever since I left Whiskey Creek six years ago.

I swallow hard before continuing with the next slide.

“The campaigns have performed exceedingly well over the past few months. We have expanded customer reach in the—”

The phone buzzes. Again.

My gut clenches at the sight of his name. Heat creeps up the sides of my neck. Something’s wrong.

“Savannah?” Caroline lifts a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me.

I can’t pick up the phone. If I do, I can kiss this promotion goodbye.

But the buzzing doesn’t stop. When I don’t pick up the second time, the phone immediately vibrates again.

Panic flares in my chest. I force a smile and scoop up the phone.

“I’m so sorry, but I just need a minute.”

Caroline clucks her disapproval, and my heart plummets into my painful shoes. Six months of hard work sucked down the drain the second I rush out of the room, my hopes for the promotion that would make me the youngest manager here completely snuffed out.

Once I’m in the hallway, I stab the Accept button and hiss into the phone, “Nash, I’m in the middle of the biggest presentation of my career. What is so urgent?”

“It’s Aunt Margaret.” Nash’s voice is hollow. Devastated. “She had a heart attack. She’s . . . she’s gone, Savannah.”

I slide down to the floor. The phone slips from my fingers.

Once reality sinks in, I pull myself together and rush to my office. My heart lodges in my throat as I throw my laptop and phone into my leather tote bag and head toward the elevator, too wrought with grief to even look back at the conference room I ran from only minutes earlier. My throat is so tight, I can barely breathe. I stab the Down button once, twice, three times, eyes stinging with unshed tears that threaten to fall.

“Savannah.” Tom Landry, my boss, runs over. “What happened back there? Who was on the phone?”

I stare at my shoes. “Tom, I’m really sorry. I know I just screwed up my chances for that promotion, but I need to go home. It’s a family emergency. My aunt . . . my aunt—”

I choke on a sob before I can get the words out.

Tom’s eyes widen, and then he gives my shoulder a pat and nods. “Go take care of what you need to. I’ll handle the rest of the presentation. We’re here for you, okay? Just be safe.”

When the elevator doors finally close, I cover my face with my hands.

Aunt Margaret is dead.

When the elevator doors open on the parking garage level, I run to my car and sink into the driver’s seat. My head falls forward against the steering wheel.

“I can’t believe she’s really gone,” I whisper. “And I’ll never get to tell her why I really left.”

Hours later, I turn off the interstate at the exit for Whiskey Creek, Wyoming, and head toward Red Rock Ranch—Aunt Margaret’s beloved home. Through red-rimmed eyes, I stare at the white-peaked Bighorn Mountains in the distance, passing Lover’s Bluff.

I swipe at a tear with the back of my hand.