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“I’d ask for what, but I’m guessing you won’t tell me.”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“8 AM.”
Sophia hangs up and gets back in her car to drive off. I watch the headlights disappear around the bend and then look back at the castle.
“Bitch,” I mutter. She did that on purpose to make me so curious I’d sign her stupid papers to find out who lives there. She’s good, I’ll give her that because now it's all I can think about.
Moving away from the window, I go to the table and pull the document out of the envelope, sitting down to read it line by line. There is a lot of legalese that means nothing to me, but from what I can gather, it’s pretty much exactly what she said. Shut up or pay out.
Finishing off my wine, I decide to sleep on it, so I place it back on the table and flick the lights off in the living room before going to my bedroom. Slipping off my cardigan, I climb into bed and pull the duvet up tightly around me.
Not even a minute passes when I groan and get up again, snatching up a pen on my way to the document.
“Fine, Sophia Richardson or Hawthorne, whatever your name is. You win. Hope you’re happy now.”
Flicking to the last page, I sign the NDA with a flourish and date it with tomorrow’s date, so she thinks I wasn’t as eager to do as she asked.
Gritting my teeth, I crawl back into bed and pull the duvet up over my head, hoping and praying I haven’t just made the biggest mistake of my life.
I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.
5
DANTE
The shrill ring of the phone splinters my banging head.
Groaning, I roll over on the black satin sheets and curse the whiskey from the night before. Too much partying, too much networking, too much everything. One day, I will learn, but apparently not any time soon. Hitting forty kinda killed any party animal inside me, and now I feel I need to sit in front of the fire in my slippers, a smoking jacket and a club soda while I readThe Times.
Eyes still closed, I feel around for the mobile and pick it up, growling, “This better be good.”
“Mr DeVare, it’s Wilson.”
“What do you want?”
“I have located the person you are seeking.”
All aches and pains instantly disappear, and I sit up, eyes open and wide awake. “Where is he?”
“England.”
Blinking, I wait for more.
Unfortunately for the complete idiot on the other side of the line, it doesn’t come.
“England,” I drawl with scorn etched into every letter.
“Yeeees…”
“The man in question is English.”
“Yes…”
“So it took you three weeks to find out that the Englishman currently resides in England.”
