Page 49 of My Orc Package Deal

“I’ll get it,” I called over my shoulder, reaching for the knob.

I didn’t recognize the tall, serious-looking man standing there with an official-looking folder. “Ms. Briley?” he asked. “My name is Richard Smalls. I’m here as a representative of Northstar Lending Solutions.”

Oh god.

I sagged against the jamb as my knees went weak. The letter! The letter last night, the one I’d completely forgotten about because of that kiss which had led to so much more…

The letter from Northstar Lending Solutions, which proved they’d found me.

But how?

How? I’d walked away from my old life! I didn’t change my address, I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, I just cleaned out my meager savings and closed my accounts and left. How had they found me here on this tiny island?

Of course. “The marriage certificate,” I breathed, my eyes closing in dread.

“That’s right, Ms. Briley. You filed your marriage certificate under your legal name in order for it to be binding.” His tone was curt, succinct, and I hated him. “The letter we sent this week warned you I was in the area already—my sister has a place here on the island, small world—and would be here this afternoon. You thought you could steal from my employers and they wouldn’t find you, but you were wrong.”

Steal.

The word was still ringing in my ears when I heard footsteps in the hall behind me.

I couldn’t make myself move. I was aware I was sagging against the doorjamb like a bad supporting structure, that Mr. Smalls was watching me coldly, already judging me as a deadbeat, and that I should say something, do something—but the best I had was the doorjamb, and I was using it.

You should’ve opened that letter.

I should’ve opened that letter.

Korrad appeared at my shoulder, still carrying a dish towel, and when I swung anguished eyes on him, I saw his darken as his face slid into a fierce scowl and he slung the towel over his shoulder.

He stepped in front of me, sliding his arm around me and pushing me behind him. Protecting me.

“What’s going on here?” His voice was dangerous.

Smalls straightened. He was trying not to look unsettled—Korrad wasn’t even doing anything, he was just standing there, and yet… “I have some business with your⁠—”

“I can smell her fear,” Korrad growled. “You have the audacity to show up at my home and terrify my wife?”

Smalls took a small step back.

To his credit, he recovered. “You are Mr. Korrad? Ms. Briley’s husband?”

“Yes.”

The rumble under it could have stripped paint.

“Richard Smalls, representing Northstar Lending Solutions.” He opened his folder with the practiced motion of someone who was trying not to think too hard about his career choices. “Your wife borrowed a significant sum from our organization before relocating. Under Texas law, as her spouse, that obligation has transferred to you.” He held out a sheet of paper.

Korrad took it.

I felt his back go still and knew what he was looking at.

It wasn’t a fortune. I knew the number—it had burrowed in my mind like a splinter for over a year, that figure I’d been trying not to look at directly. It wasn’t burn-your-life-down money.

But it was more than I’d ever saved. More than I’d come close to, even in my best year, even when I’d thought I was almost getting ahead.

I was shaking, mortified.

He’s going to turn around. And you’re going to see it on his face.