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I shrugged. “She’s a likeable girl.”

Switch laughed and pointed at me. “I got you, bro. No worries.”

“Thanks.” With everything in motion, I was suddenly very eager to get back to my woman.

Chapter Twenty

Ivy

Ifell down a rabbit hole that started with the main website for Colibri Designs, and I didn’t come up for hours. Everything about the website was sleek and dynamic. It all looked expensive without once ever mentioning the price of a handbag, jacket, or evening gown. I clicked through everything I found. The history of the company. The archive of past designers and executives. The family behind Colibri.

The Morels.

At first there was nothing. No trace of her, no name I recognized, no face that matched the one I remembered. I was ready to give up, and I almost closed the tab when I saw a photo.

It was a family picture and everyone was dressed to the nines. It looked like they were about to go to a ball or maybe attend a red carpet event. Despite the luxury on display, the photo had that old quality about it that looked like a scanned-in photograph. I checked the date, it had been taken almost thirty years ago. I scanned the faces until suddenly I stopped.

The moment my eyes landed on her face, it all came back to me. The way she looked. Her high cheekbones, the familiar smile that showed off her full lips. Her shiny blonde hair that hung in enviable beach waves. She looked young and happy. She looked free.

I scrolled forward through the timeline of family photos, new product launches, celebrity models, and there was nothing. After a certain point, she stopped appearing in photos. Her name was no longer mentioned in press releases. There was no mention of her.

No announcement of her death.

No touching tribute.

Rex. I knew it instinctively.

What had happened? Had she run off with a biker and been cut off from her wealthy family? Did they know where she’d gone? Did they know she was dead?

I looked at the website again. The flagship store in Manhattan. The global locations. The decades of archived collections. Stared at the screen at the Morel family and one thing was glaringly obvious. They were rich.

Really rich. Generationally rich.

Trust fund rich. Was that it? Had she brought money into the marriage with my father? Maybe her family hadn’t cut her off, maybe she’d left them? Maybe they kept the trust fund open hoping that one day she’d return?

And if there was still money, then maybe that was why my father hadn’t registered her death…It was the only explanation that fit the mercenary son of a bitch that was Rex Price. He hadn’t grieved her. He’d profited off her.

I sat with that for a long moment, something buzzing in my chest that felt equal parts anger and excitement, and something else I couldn’t name.

I had to talk to Knox and tell him, but after the day I’d had, I needed a shower first.

I cranked the water to hot before I stepped under the spray. My mind would stop. That photo of my mom was the first time I’d seen her outside of my dreams in years. She’d been young and happier than I ever remembered her looking. The story my mind crafted was tragic and said, and I tried to shove it down deep while I lathered up and rinsed off.

I turned off the water and stepped from the shower in search of towels that were nowhere to be found.

I headed out the bathroom and there was Knox. He stood near the window bathed in golden light and wearing nothing but his underwear. The sight of him short-circuited my brain.

My gaze raked over every inch of him uncontrollably, still amazed any man looked that good in real life. I stood there and gawked, not caring that I was dripping water all over the floor. My nipples hardened and my core pulsed with a want so immediate it knocked the breath out of me.

I want him.

The thought arrived without warning and without apology.

“Ivy,” he growled in a low voice and beckoned me over with the crook of his finger.

My legs moved before my brain sent the message. It was like they were hardwired to obey this man. I stopped in front of him, suddenly very aware that I was naked and wet and staring. “Yes,” I stammered.

“Like what you see?” he asked, amusement heavy in his tone.