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Unable to shake my annoyance from yesterday morning’s meeting with Damien Fox, I had a permanent eye on my phone. He’d left too easily and too quietly. As much as I wanted to be done with this shitshow, I didn’t need his promise that we weren’t done to know that he was coming up with another plan to pry the bar from my hands.
Whatever his reason was for wanting The Scarlet Letter, I was more certain than I had been before that the only reason he was trying to buy it now was because he’d assumed I’d sell. He wrongly thought I’d be a pushover and that he’d own it by now.
He’d underestimated me, and I had a feeling that was why he’d left so easily. He needed to rethink his plan of attack. Going in, guns blazing and batting his stupidly long eyelashes at me hadn’t worked the way he had hoped.
Was I entering a tactical war to keep hold of my bar? There was no way in hell that he was giving up that easily. Hell, he hadn’t even acknowledged my mini-rant. He hadn’t said a word until he decided to tell me I was fascinating.
A fact I, of course, already knew.
I wished he didn’t, though. I couldn’t shake the thought that the reason he was going to keep coming back was to find out more about me.
What if that was how he’d made his success? Was he the kind of person who tore apart your life to find your weakness to use against you?
The only weakness I thought I had was an enthusiastic love of chocolate ice cream.
He scared me.
I knew nothing about him, yet he knew a little about me. He knew I’d not long left college and how old I was. Neither of those things were something Abby would have told him, so he had to have found them out by himself.
I knew it was a common thing to do, but the fact he’d been looking me up made me shiver. What else did he know about me that I didn’t know he knew?
Why didn’t I know enough about him?
I needed to change that, and I needed to do it now.
I moved another box to the door for recycling—I’d had enough of shredding, it could go as it was—and looked at the clock on the wall. I didn’t have to be at the bar until three, so I had time to do a little digging. And I knew exactly where to start.
I grabbed my phone and dialed my friend, Mia’s, number as I walked to the kitchen. The sunlight almost blinded me as it streamed in through the vast, sliding glass doors, and I muttered a curse right before Mia picked up.
“Hi, stranger. A little birdie told me you’re home.”
I smiled. “I am. How’s married life?”
“Same as it was before, except neither of us can decide what to do about the business.” She laughed. “West wants me to rename it, but I don’t know if I can be bothered to go through all the steps to change it from O’Halloran to Rykman. If I’m going to do that, I may as well name it something else altogether now there’s a whole team of us.”
“That would get my vote,” I told her.
“But what?” I could almost hear her roll her eyes. “Never mind. I’m just going to ignore him until I can think up something. How are you holding up?”
“I’m doing good, actually. It’s nice to be back and settling into work again. I’d be happier if I didn’t have to sort through all dad’s paperwork.”
Mia laughed. “Remember when I did that small marketing campaign for him online? It took him two weeks to find the info from the last woman he hired to give to me. It was a good thing he booked me so far out.”
I did remember, and she wasn’t exaggerating. Maybe his filing system didn’t work for him, either. “I do remember. I actually have a favor. I need some info.”
“Fine, but it’ll cost you a drink.”
“Done. Do you know much about Damien Fox?”
She was quiet for a moment. “Not many people do, but I probably know the most. He’s friends with West. Why do you need to know about him? I didn’t think you knew each other.”
I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see it. “We didn’t until his persistence brought me home.”
“Are you…dating him?”
“If by dating you mean plotting his murder, then, yes, I am.”
“Uh oh.”
I gave her a quick rundown of the situation. “He seems to know a lot about me, and I get the feeling he isn’t going to give up anytime soon. I need a head-start.”
“Now that, I can help you with. I’ll see you at seven.”
***
I walked into the bar at two-thirty. The bar was dead. There was a group in the corner, a couple in a booth, and a table full of girlfriends who were laughing happily. The music was low and soothing, unlike later where it’d be turned right up in keeping with the party mood.
