“Of course I am.”
“Protect me? What about Reece? He could’ve been killed tonight. He lost his childhood home, and it’s all my fault.” She’d known it, but hearing herself say it out loud was a devastating blow, and it took all of the air out of her lungs. “I have to tell him the truth.”
“You can’t,” Jason said with no remorse in his tone. “You know what will happen if you do. You need to play your part, and I’ll make sure you stay safe. You’re right. This is your fault. Your poor life choices led you here, so suck it up and deal.”
“You’re a bastard. How do you sleep at night?”
“Quite well. The law is on my side here, Shelby, not yours. Now,” he said, a whole lot of end-of-discussion ringing in his tone, “you had that cocktail party tonight. What did you learn?”
She shut her eyes. She wasn’t going to win this. She never did. And, although her stomach twisted, she was going to tell him. She always did. “If there’s dirty money coming into DMW, Reece has no idea. If he did, he wouldn’t be so worried about securing the partnership with Irving James. He’d just turn to the dirty money to keep his companies afloat.”
“All right,” Jason conceded, “you have a point. What else? Have you noticed anything suspicious going on?”
She decided not to tell him about Reece’s blackmailer. He didn’t need to know. “No. These people aren’t going to spill their guts to me—”
“People always do. You know how to read people, how to weasel your way into their good graces. That’s what makes you the best informant I’ve ever had. That was a compliment,” he added when she didn’t reply.
“I don’t want it.”
He laughed.
Shelby had to work to unlock her jaw. “I’m the woman their boss married on a whim. For all I know, they see me as a gold digger and nothing more.”
“Then you need to get in good with that circle. Show them you’re one of them.”
“But I’m not.”
“You seem to be doing a fine job of convincing Reece Wilde that you are.”
But Reece isn’t like them, either.
Except she wasn’t about to say that. Jason didn’t need to know how emotionally invested she had become, but she had to give him something, or he wasn’t going to leave her alone. “There is this woman, Lena Schilling. She was in charge of marketing until Reece fired her a few weeks ago, and she’s been extremely bitter about it ever since. She might be one to look at. And the head of development, Cliff McWilliam, was recently caught doing something that Reece didn’t approve of. I don’t know any more details than that, but could be something there, too.”
“See?” Jason’s smugness wafted like a noxious fume through the phone line. “I knew you’d already worked your magic. Don’t bullshit me like that again, Shelby. I’ll call back in three days. Have something more for me.”
And the line disconnected.
She pressed her head into the headrest and let loose the sob working its way up her throat. No sense in holding it in, since she was alone. It sounded unnaturally loud, bouncing around inside the vehicle.
She’d really screwed the pooch this time. And she couldn’t see an out that ended this nightmare happily.
She spotted Reece walking toward the Escalade and bit back another sob. She unlocked the door, closed her eyes, slowed her breathing. Feigned sleep because that seemed so much easier than talking to him right now. The driver’s side door opened and his pants rasped across the leather seat as he climbed in. The key slid into the ignition, but he didn’t turn the car on.
He sat there, unmoving, just breathing.
She’d gone nose blind to the smell of soot and smoke on her own clothes, but he brought the scent roaring back, stronger than ever. It clogged the air around them, somehow made the silence heavier.
“I know you’re not sleeping,” he said eventually.
“I’m trying to.” Oh God, her voice sounded like broken glass had scoured her throat. She hoped he thought that was from the smoke inhalation and not from a suppressed sobbing fit.
He still didn’t look at her. “Cam wants me to break off this thing between us. He’s worried we’ll hurt each other.”
A knot tightened in her belly, and she sat up straighter, finally facing him. He stroked his hands over the leather of the steering wheel in an up-down pattern of three. The tic was subtle, not anything anyone would notice unless they lived with him, but he often did things in three-peat patterns when he was upset or nervous or just thinking hard about something. A little touch of OCD rising to the surface, and she’d thought it was adorable.