Page 69 of Under His Obsession

She winces. “I can see how you’d think—”

“It’s common sense. It’s two and two.” I swallow past the knot in my throat. “I can’t fucking believe this.” I turn around and stare at the ocean.

“Do you really think I’d do that, Will?” she asks, her voice low...offended.

She’s the one who’s offended?

I spin around and glare at her. “How did you talk him into it?”

“Talk him into what?” Her hand is as shaky as her voice as she sinks into one of the chairs at the small café table. I laugh again, thinking about all the private conversations we had at that table. All the things we shared.

“How did you get Granddad to hire you?”

“He offered me the job. I didn’t ask for it.”

I spread my arms, grip the edges of the handrail and squeeze until my knuckles turn white. “How fucking convenient.” I shake my head. How the fuck did Granddad not see this coming? Not see her for who she really is? Oh, maybe because she’s such a great con artist and has no trouble lying or doing whatever it takes—even sleeping with me—to get the headline. Granddad is old and slipping, which is probably why he didn’t recognize a con for a con. But what excuse do I have? Why didn’t I see through it?

Because you were too busy having the best sex of your life and falling in love.

Fuck me.

My gaze leaves hers, goes to her journal on the table. I’d caught her writing in it earlier this morning when I joined her for coffee. A sound crawls out of my throat as I gesture with a nod.

“Have you been writing about me?”

Her face pales. “I... Will... I...” She swallows hard. “Yes, but it’s not what you think.”

“Of course not. Do you seriously take me for a fool?”

“I don’t think you’re a fool at all,” she says.

I consider that for a moment. “Yeah, well, then you’d be wrong. I am a fool.” I’m a goddamn dumb-ass who was duped by a reporter. Again. If she’s telling the truth about Avery, that is. I shut my eyes, my thoughts going to Naomi. “My life was ruined because of that article.”

“I guess you can go and get her back now.” Her voice is low, pain edging her words.

My lids open slowly, and when I see Khloe gripping the journal—clearly not wanting me to see what’s inside—my stomach plummets. “You should go.”

“Go where?” she asks.

“Back home. You should go, Khloe. No, you need to go. I’ll call for a car. It will take you to Granddad’s jet, and I’ll arrange to have you flown back to New York.”

“So that’s it? You’re just sending me away?”

Anger coloring my words, I say, “What choice do I have?”

She goes quiet for a long time. “I guess you don’t have any. You see what you want to see. You hear what you want to hear. I obviously can’t change any of that.” She turns and is about to walk back inside the villa.

“The journal stays,” I say in a hard voice that stills her. “It’s in the nondisclosure agreement you signed, remember?”

She spins, gives me a long, hard glare, but in the depths of her eyes there’s a profound sadness. What? Is she sorry she’s not going to get the headline? For a second, I think she’s going to protest, but then she tosses the journal onto the table, and her face tightens. “Just so you know, Will. You’re not a cheater. You see, there is no cheating gene, and you do have staying power. You were just screwed over. Go ahead and take that information to Naomi. I’ll confirm it for her.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth about that?”

“Spend a few minutes thinking about the events of that night,” she says.

I blink, that night a blurry haze. “I don’t remember much.”

“How much did you have to drink?”

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