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“Yeah. We both love it up there.”
There’s a lengthy pause.
“Ronan? Are you still—”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. For you. Not for your asshole fiancé. He doesn’t deserve you.”
Ronan was the only one who knew the silent agony I was suffering during those weeks, no one else the wiser to my secret relationship with Henry. “I’m happy.”
“I know you are, and I’m happy for you.” He sighs heavily. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing with you,” a deep voice cuts in.
I jump at the sudden interruption and spin around to find Henry standing in the doorway. Even with an annoyed scowl on his face, my heart races at the sight of him.
A loud, aggravated groan carries over the speaker. “I guess this conversation is over.”
“It shouldn’t have started,” Henry throws back without missing a beat.
I glare at him, but all it earns is his smug smirk.
“You still work for me, Ronan.” Henry closes in on me, his hands loosening his tie. “Which means I can fire you any damn time I please.”
“But then you’d have to answer to your future wife, and I doubt she’d be impressed, seeing as I saved your rich, jealous ass for her,” comes Ronan’s quick retort. “Talk to you later, Red.” He ends the call.
“Do you have to be a jerk?”
“Yes.” Henry leans in to kiss my neck. “What did he want?”
I inhale the delicious scent of his cologne. “A reporter’s been calling him, digging for dirt.”
Henry curses. “Same one?”
“I don’t know, but we think Tillie might be the one talking.”
“Which one’s that again?”
“The other redhead in my cabin. She was in housekeeping.”
“Southern accent.”
“Yeah.” I used to think she was a friend. She was so welcoming at first, but I guess she didn’t see me as competition back then. “I’m going to ask Autumn to see what she can find out. They still text sometimes.” Autumn is friendly with everyone, but Tillie has no idea how close she and I have become since the summer.
Henry tosses his tie toward the hamper. “Let me know what you find out so I can handle it.”
“What does ‘handle it’ mean, exactly?”
“It means I don’t keep employees who are selling stories to the press about me.” His hand snakes around my waist to splay across my stomach, his gaze dragging downward over the reflection in the mirror. “This dress is perfect on you.”
“Thank you. I was thinking I would wear it to the party—”
“Merrick has your costume.” He steps back. “New shoes?”
“Yes.” I clench my teeth with irritation. I’ve been needling Henry all week, trying to get him to slip up and give me a clue—about the theme of this party, my character,anything—but his lips are as tight as a Federal Reserve vault.
A low grunt of approval escapes him.
“Will I be allowed to wear them tonight or willMerrickbe choosing my shoes too?” I can’t help the annoyance in my tone.
