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Miller Fairfield was a sick fuck. He’d become fixated on an elderly husband and wife who’d run a business blog with a readership of a few thousand. They’d been critical of Rossi Motors, which was what had set Miller off. He’d stalked them, harassed them, essentially terrorized them for months. He’d doxxed them online so strangers started appearing at their house looking for free puppies or kink hookups. Had sent pig fetuses and rats. A book about surviving the loss of a spouse. A fucking funeral arrangement.
The old man had been hospitalized from stress, and they’d had to sell their house to get away from the bombardment.
As if that hadn’t been enough, he’d also embezzled over a million dollars from Rossi.
And this had all come to light days before Clara had given birth.
The scandal had done a number on Rossi’s stock prices—it was written in black and white in the articles I read. What wasn’t there was what it had done to Clara.
The woman I’d met at a bar in Skyridge, whose hands had trembled around her glass while she’d held her spine straight and proud, had survived this. Heartbreak and humiliation. The end of what she’d thought would be her life. And it had all happened in front of a thirsty audience, eager to see how the Rossi heiress had borne her world falling apart around her.
She and her newborn baby.
My hands balled into tight fists, violence flowing through my blood. There was no one to take the pure rage boiling in my stomach, though. Miller was locked up in federal prison, doing his time. He’d been sentenced to fifty-seven months, and it didn’t seem like nearly enough.
Not with the wreckage he’d created and lives he’d destroyed.
I understood Clara’s reticence. Why she’d always left at sunrise. Why it’d been so difficult for her to say yes to a date.
My girl was brave for opening herself up to me. She had every reason to keep herself cloistered and safe behind her walls for the rest of her life, but she didn’t.
Her strength made me proud. And even more attracted to her. Something I wouldn’t have thought possible.
Clara Rossi was a revelation.
No matter what happened between us, I promised myself I wouldn’t become another reason for her to distrust men. I couldn’t make any other promises, but she’d always have the truth from me.
Always.
Chapter Twenty-one
Clara
Thomas stuck his head in my office. “You must’ve done something right.”
I huffed, looking up from my computer. This man couldn’t just pass me a message and insisted on adding drama to everything.
“Why is that?” I asked, only playing along because he was a damn good assistant and I’d be lost without him. His injection of dramatics also kept my days interesting, but I wouldn’t be telling him that.
He walked into my office, carrying a small flower arrangement in a Ball jar and a pink box. “Because these were just delivered for you.” He placed them on my desk and put his hands on his hips. “Are you dating and forgot to tell me?”
My heart pitched to a gallop, but I wouldn’t allow myself to get too excited. The way I’d left off with Jake last night, I wouldn’t be surprised if I never heard from him again.
“They’re probably from a client.”
“You know, you didn’t answer me.” He tapped the envelope snuggled between the miniature roses and baby’s breath. “That probably says who they’re from.”
“It probably does.” I crossed my arms and leaned back in my seat. “But you’ll never know.”
He rolled his eyes and groaned at the ceiling. “I tell you everything about my dating life.”
“Because I’m a captive audience—not because I asked.” I grinned at him. This had to be driving him mad. “Besides, they’re most likely from one of my managers. Don’t excite yourself over nothing.”
“Fine. I’ll give you privacy, but don’t think I didn’t notice you not denying they could be from a date. I’m on alert now, Clara.”
He stalked out of my office, throwing a dirty look my way before closing my door. As soon as he was out, I plucked the card from the flowers and tore it open.
Clara,
