She went on. “The bigger you get, the smaller your personal circle becomes.” She hesitated, watching him closely. Then she sank her hook. “You don’t even trust the woman you married.”
He lifted his eyes to her then. “Who told you that?”
“No one. But it’s not hard to surmise. She’s your third wife and thirty-eight years your junior. She sat for a photoshoot specifically themed around the engagement ring you gave her. I’d say you’re wise not to trust her too much with sensitive details.” Harper smiled to soften her words. “But maybe I’ve become a bit of a cynic. Surely you know Lisa better than anyone.”
A brief scowled crossed his face, then he stared at his desk again. “I’m not sure I do some days.” He exhaled and looked out the window until his expression softened. Then he met Harper’s gaze again. “So. This non-disclosure agreement. I’d like to look it over.”
She reached into her tote bag and pulled out the one she’d brought with her. Teddy had mentioned that his father didn’t love emails and trusted paper more. She set the pages on Arlington’s desk.
He picked it up and glanced at it. “Would you give me a moment?”
“Take all the time you need.” She picked up her bag, preparing to go.
“Don’t be so hasty.” His eyes twinkled. “I read pretty quickly.”
She set her bag down and sat quietly.
Several minutes later, he glanced at her, then put the NDA on his desk, pulled out a pen and scrawled his signature across the line on the second page. He recapped the pen and pushed the agreement toward her. “Would you like to stay for lunch, Ms. Calhoun? Or do you have another client you need to see?”
She picked up the NDA. “I would be happy to stay. How many hours would you like?”
“Let’s start with two, if that works with your schedule.”
She tucked the agreement away. “It works just fine. And, please, call me Harper.”
ChapterOne
Five Years Later
The Atlantic stretched out along the horizon as far as she could see. The vastness of the deep blue ocean made her feel small, but Harper Calhoun would have been just fine with being completely invisible. She stood on the second-floor deck, hands resting on the balcony railing.
Behind her was a screened portion of the deck, but this section was open to the sun. The balcony was enclosed by panes of tempered glass, designed to meet safety standards without impinging on the million-dollar view.
From this house, it was more like a multimillion-dollar view. This house that was now hers.
All because she’d lived a lie.
She inhaled the salty air, her dissatisfaction with herself at an all-time high. Below her, the breeze rippled the pool’s turquoise water. It was a big blue rectangle surrounded by pristine white travertine tiles and extra-wide lounge chairs, also upholstered in white.
The side closest to the house had a slatted portico over the lounge chairs that provided a little shade. The grass around the pool deck was emerald green and perfectly manicured. Big diamond steppingstones of matching white travertine led back to the house.
It was very Old Hollywood. Fitting, all things considered.
She glanced over her shoulder at her beloved baby boy. Archie, her apricot labradoodle, sat in the doorway. She’d left it open and he was staring at her like he had no idea why they were in a strange house.
“It’s ours, baby. We’re going to be here for a while, so do whatever sniffing you need to do and get comfortable.”
He just kept staring, with occasional worried glances at the glass panels that surrounded the balcony.
She smiled at him. “It’s safe, I promise.”
He didn’t look convinced.
Her phone rang. She pulled it from the back pocket of her jeans and checked the screen. Not a number she recognized, so she ignored it. She shuddered to think it might be some so-called journalist who had somehow tracked her down. She’d turned off her notifications so she wouldn’t have to see them while using her GPS to navigate, but texts and calls could still get through. Should she get a new phone number? That felt like such an ordeal that the whole idea filled her with dread.
She went back to looking at the water. She had to do something to escape the attention. She was tired of it. Tired of being the subject of so much speculation. But more than that, she was terrified one of the so-called journalists would figure out who she was and dig until they found out the truth.
Was it better to speak to one of them and make sure her side of things was told her way? Or was she just inviting trouble? What if an interview wasn’t enough? What if they pried into her past?
