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“Who sent you?” I shout louder.
“Amber-Rose, calm down.” Rob pulls me away from the supposed assistant of Aaron-Reid Smith.
“Don’t let him leave the room!” I say to Rob. “Aaron-Reid Smith. A-R-S. Amalia Rae Scifoni. It’s him, Rob!”
Rob doesn’t waste one second. He grabs Evan and keeps him in place. “Call security, Kylie!”
“Aidan’s company was renamed from L’Atelier de Rolland to L’Atelier de Amalia. He did it for me. When he was choosing a name, initially he was thinking of Amalia-Rae’s Table—ARTable.”
It might sound farfetched to anyone else, but I don’t have to beg Rob to believe me. He already does. He shields me and confronts Evan, pulling him by the collar. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I’m just doing what Aaron told me to.” The man looks terrified, especially after security takes over. He might be innocent—but he might also be a great actor.
I search frantically for a photo of Aidan. I don’t have any with me, for good reason. And now it’s proving tricky to find his picture on the internet. But I find one.
“Is this him? Is this your boss, Aaron-Reid Smith?” I show the photo to Evan.
“Yes. That’s him.”
“Kylie, call the police,” Rob says.
“Call this number,” I tell her, finding the number in my phone and showing it to her. “Sergeant Laura Garcia. She knows about Aidan. Clara Cloutier knows her.”
Security keeps Evan in the boardroom while Rob and I leave for the lobby of Hartley Marine. Kylie follows us, calling the police.
Now on a call himself, Rob keeps me in his arms, showing the next level of possessiveness—this time it’s not the sexy kind. He’s alert, he’s defensive.
“That was Blake,” he says. “We might have an address. I’ll forward it to Sergeant Garcia.”
I can’t feel my legs. Does this mean Aidan will be in custody soon?
* * *
The LAPD arrivesat the factory within ten minutes, and Sergeant Laura Garcia joins them shortly after.
“I don’t know anything!” Evan repeats as he’s ushered out by a police officer.
“That’s for us to decide, Mr. LaRue,” Sergeant Garcia says, and then turns to me. “So, M—” She pauses, and I think she’s torn between calling me Miss Cannizzaro, Amber, and Miss Scifoni. In the end, she says, “Miss Cannizzaro, Mr. Hartley, we sent our men to the address you gave us. It was supposed to be Mr. Smith’s office and kitchen, but it was empty. There’s no sign of Aidan Rolland.”
I sigh, feeling foul all over. “I think he tried to poison us.”
“We’ll test the food,” she says.
“Maybe start with the lamb navarin or the quiche Lorraine. These two here.” Rob points at the two plates at the end of the table. “Aaron, or Aidan, knew I enjoyed them when he came here last week.”
My knees weaken to the point that I almost can’t stand up anymore. Aidan was with Rob? And brought him food?
“I’m sorry, Rob,” I murmur.
“Hey, nothing happened, okay?” Rob kisses me on the crown.
“We’ve got an update about your accident, Mr. Hartley,” Sergeant Garcia says. “Do you know this man?” She produces a photo of a man in a hoodie squatting at the side of Rob’s Aston Martin.
It’s that corgi guy!
“No,” Rob replies.
“We’ve got CCTV footage from the street, showing him tampering with your car at Santa Maria in front of Miss Cannizzaro’s shop.”
