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“Why would Montilla come after her? She’s engaged to Cutter.”
“It’s bullshit. And if his fling with Shealyn West goes public, it won’t take long for the whole fucking world to figure that out. Montilla’s goons saw her at the hospital holding my hand. If I piss him off enough, he’ll hunt her down. So I can’t afford to miss.” One-Mile weighed his next words, but Brea’s protection was far more important than her reputation. “It won’t be much longer before her pregnancy shows.”
“Her… Oh, son of a bitch. That’s not Cutter’s baby, is it?”
“No. He’s never touched her. But I can’t have any sort of life with her or our child as long as that fucking drug lord is still breathing hot air down my neck.”
Logan’s sigh was rife with frustration. “You’re putting me in a really shitty position.”
“Maybe, but what would you have done in my shoes? If he had threatened Tara?”
“Whatever I had to do. Hell, I would have pulled the moon out of the sky and moved mountains.”
“Exactly.” And One-Mile was done with the argument. “Listen, I need a favor. If I don’t come back, liquidate everything I own and give Brea every dime. And whatever happens, don’t let her anywhere near my fucking funeral.”
Logan hesitated, but he didn’t argue, just caved. “All right. You’ll have to come to the office on Monday morning and sign papers to that effect—”
“Will do. Then, as soon as I talk to Cutter, I’m leaving. When does his flight land on Monday?”
“Oh, come on. Leave it be, man. You got the girl. She’s having your baby. You won.”
“I’m not after a blue ribbon in our pissing contest. I need to talk to him, convince him to watch Brea while I’m gone. I know he probably wouldn’t lift a finger to help me, but he’d give his life for her. I just hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“I hate this fucking plan.” But Logan’s tone said he understood.
“Thanks.” One-Mile hesitated, then figured he’d be honest with Logan in case he didn’t come back. “For what it’s worth, you’re more like your dad than I first thought. See you on Monday.”
A faint pinging noise jolted her from sleep. Brea opened her eyes and stared at the clock. Just after three in the morning. What the devil?
She was about to decide she’d imagined it and curl up in her blankets when she heard the sound again.
Frowning, she sat up and turned toward the noise.
She found Pierce lifting her formerly locked bedroom window and stepping inside.
Was he crazy?
“What are you doing here? My dad is home! How did you open that?” she whispered furiously as she rose to him, glancing at her bedroom door to make sure she’d closed it before crawling into bed.
Thank goodness she had. Still, if Daddy was having another sleepless night, it would be a miracle if he didn’t hear them.
“We’ve got problems, pretty girl. Cutter has been identified by the press. His name is everywhere.” He extracted his phone, tapped the screen, and shoved the device in her hands. “So is yours…as his pregnant fiancée.”
Shock banged her chest. The air left her lungs in a terrible rush. “What?”
She glanced down at some tabloid’s Twitter feed to find a picture of her and Cutter taken at the live nativity last Christmas, which had been posted on the church’s Instagram page. He’d draped an arm around her shoulders, and she’d been smiling up at him. Brea remembered that moment. They’d been laughing that Mr. Carlson had volunteered to play one of the wise men, but couldn’t stay awake. There’d been nothing romantic about it. This trashy post painted her as the jilted girlfriend. A small-town object of pity Cutter had tossed over for the hot TV star. The comments were even more wretched and biting.
Dizziness and nausea assailed her. Brea reached out to brace herself.
Pierce was there to support her.
“Oh, my gosh. How did this happen?” And what am I going to do?
“Apparently, Tower Trent got jealous that Shealyn, his supposed girlfriend, was stepping out on him with her bodyguard and blabbed Cutter’s name.”
So the star had destroyed her privacy without a second thought? “But how did the press find out I’m pregnant? The only people in the world who know are you, Cutter, my doctor.” She closed her eyes. “And Rayleigh.”
“Who?”
“The woman who owns the salon. Last Friday, she guessed. I didn’t think fast enough on my feet. And I really needed a friend… I should have known better. She loves to gossip.” But Brea had never seen the woman pass on secrets, just chew on general knowledge. And she’d seemed so sincere. It was possible that if Rayleigh had guessed, someone else in the salon had, too. That wasn’t what was really important now. “Oh, no… If everyone on Twitter knows I’m pregnant, it won’t be long before Daddy does, too.”
