by Dani Wade
Though the question haunted her night after night, she was determined to do her very best by all of them...including Michael.
But those worries were nothing compared to the butterflies in her stomach and unfamiliar heat in her core caused by the man walking by her side. “Yes, I definitely need to get back.”
“But we’re just getting to know—”
Trinity sped up, snagging her shoe in her dress in her clumsy attempt to get away. She tripped and flung out her hand to catch herself.
Without warning, she found herself engulfed in musky male scent and heat. Her body froze, but her instincts knew exactly what they wanted. She breathed deep, sucking in the hint of cologne and the savory scent of him, imprinting his essence on her lungs.
Immediately guilt snaked through her. She pushed against his arms, needing to be free. But he didn’t release her until she was once again steady on her feet.
“Please don’t,” she gasped, recognizing her response to him with rising fear. Attraction by itself, let alone to a man she knew nothing about, was the last thing she needed in her life.
Unfazed by her protests, Rhett simply arched a brow as he pulled back. “I assumed from our talk that you didn’t care for a crowd.”
Puzzled, she said, “Yes?”
“Well, if your hand had hit right there—” his gaze turned to the wall where she would have landed, right on the frame of one of the beloved portraits in the rotunda “—then you would have set off the alarm and brought a whole load of people running.”
And caused an epic scene being found in the arms of another man six weeks after her husband’s death. Her cheeks burned as she imagined it. She quickly covered them with her palms. What a nightmare.
“Thank you,” she choked out, unable to look up into Rhett’s gray-green gaze.
But he was having none of that. He tucked firm fingers under her chin and lifted her face, displacing her own hands covering her embarrassment. Then he removed his arm from her, creating a small, intimate space between them.
Then she felt his thumb rub against the fullness of her bottom lip. A jolt of electricity shot through her. His eyelids lowered, and he gave her a slumberous, searching look that sent aftershocks down her spine.
“My pleasure,” he said quietly. Then he was gone.
* * *
“So I see you’ve met our little gold digger.”
Something about Richard Hyatt’s voice always hit Rhett like nails on a chalkboard. Suppressing a wince took effort. He turned to find the heavyset man standing behind him, years of self-indulgence stamped on his pale, bloated face. His wife stood beside him, looking like his polar opposite. From the first moment Rhett had met with them, the couple had reminded him of the Jack Sprat nursery rhyme. Patricia Hyatt was pencil thin and her expression remained hard no matter the topic of conversation.
Somehow Rhett couldn’t imagine the pale, vulnerable woman he’d met in the rotunda marrying into a family that included these people, but appearances could be deceiving...as Rhett knew better than most. He’d been on the receiving end of dishonest treachery more times than he could count, personally and professionally, but it was his ability to look beneath the surface of a pretty face and find the hidden ugliness that made him a master at his job.
Well, he preferred to consider it a true calling.
Trinity appeared genuinely innocent, from her wide, doe-brown eyes to the emotions that had flitted through her expression when she’d thought she was alone. There was a purity to her beauty that drew him in, urged him to let his guard down and believe that she’d been a true bride to Richard’s deceased nephew, not a grifter. There was also something about her that woke sensations that weren’t usually a part of his investigations.
But crying in public when there was any chance she might get caught? That had his Spidey senses tingling.
Was she simply a great actress? Had she taken advantage of Michael Hyatt and caught an unexpected win when he died so suddenly? Had she wormed her way into his bed, then into his will? From what he’d been told, that seductive innocence was a lie...and it was Rhett’s responsibility to prove it.
Still, something about the whole scenario didn’t quite fit. Rhett’s instincts were usually spot-on from the moment he met someone. But with Trinity, the signal seemed to be intermittent. Not that he would be voicing that suspicion to his new client.
“Do you think it’s wise to be speaking with me tonight?” he asked before indulging in a miniscule sip from his whiskey glass. Normally, he didn’t drink on a job, but he did need to look the part in tonight’s crowd. And blending in, playing the part, was something at which Rhett was extremely skilled. He glanced around, noting that Trinity hadn’t returned to mingle in the crowd yet. But if she did, he wanted this meeting to look as casual as possible.
“Just a brief chat,” Richard said, his gaze shifting back and forth over the surrounding crowd in a way that was blatantly suspicious. He extended a meaty hand. “You know how to make it look like a first meeting, don’t you?”
Rhett smothered a sigh before shaking the other man’s hand. Working with amateurs who thought they knew everything was such a pain in the ass.
“Of course,” he said, his tone smooth and his voice pitched low. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Hyatt. I had the pleasure of meeting Trinity Hyatt moments ago.”
Richard smirked, as if pleased Rhett had taken his direction, but Patricia snapped, “Don’t call her that. I will never acknowledge that woman’s so-called marriage to my nephew. Ever.”
She might not, but that didn’t mean the law wouldn’t. Rhett didn’t bother making the distinction. That was their lawyer’s job.
“Regardless, our meeting was quite satisfactory. I don’t foresee any problems with proceeding.”
Satisfied smiles appeared on Richard’s and Patricia’s faces. As much as the Hyatts’ obvious greed for their deceased nephew’s estate left a bad taste in Rhett’s mouth, he couldn’t deny their suspicions had basis in reality. Trinity Romero had become Trinity Hyatt a mere week before her new husband had died in a helicopter crash, taking her from a lowly administrator at one of her husband’s charities to a very wealthy widow. A claim her new family was already protesting in court. She did have a handwritten copy of his new will, but her lawyer insisted the official copy had been with her husband in the helicopter he’d died in on his way to his lawyer’s office.
Convenient.
“I knew you were the man for the job,” Richard was saying. “Our lawyer knew exactly who to turn to. A man like you will make her putty in your hands in a week—”
“Maybe less,” his wife murmured, eyeing Rhett in a most unladylike way over the rim of her wineglass.
Richard ignored her. “You’ll get the truth from her, then we will have evidence for our court case. Anything to put this whole debacle behind us.”
“Remember, I cannot guarantee that time frame, Mr. Hyatt.”
Richard’s ham-handed slap on the back left Rhett uncomfortable but he knew better than to show it. Clients were never happy if you gave any hint of not trusting them.
The pat was accompanied by a hearty, “I have full faith in you, my man. And it seems like others are starting to get on board.”
Rhett knew what Richard was referring to, as anyone in his position should, but still asked, “Meaning?”
“Apparently New Orleans’ resident gossip blogger, one of those anonymous channels that dishes all the dirt, has started digging into Trinity’s secrets. That should help our cause,” he said with an overly loud guffaw. “Our lawyer will send you a link before the meeting tomorrow.”
Again, Rhett didn’t let on that he knew about the gossip column. He was nothing if not thorough. No single thing was left to chance. Rhett had seen the alert just as soon as the post had gone live. NOLA Secrets & Scandals was exceedingly popular in the city and gaining gr
ound across the South. In less than three months, the Instagram page connected with the blog had gained over 100,000 followers. It had caught on not just with gossipmongers, but within the upper classes, who relished knowing and spreading the secret tidbits the blogger exposed.
Rhett shifted a little in his jacket, for once wishing he’d sent his partner, Chris, instead of taking this job himself. But Chris had his hands full with a case involving a gigolo trying to swindle an elderly woman out of her fortune; Chris’s job was to seduce the old lady right out from under him so her children would ultimately receive their rightful inheritance.
On the surface, what their company did sounded down and dirty, but it really wasn’t. They might whisper a few sweet words or hold someone a little closer than publicly proper, but there was a line that was never crossed. A line that Rhett had never wanted to cross. After all, he’d had enough betrayal in his life without deliberately putting himself into a situation that could only have a bad ending.
They were coming down to the wire on that case, but Rhett couldn’t wait for Chris to wrap it up. Oh, Rhett could certainly do this job. Trinity’s beauty eased any hardship caused by her gauche in-laws. Just the thought of the hunt, the subtle maneuvers required to ferret out the information he needed to undermine any claim she had on the Hyatt estate set his blood pumping.
He just had to ignore the other things about Trinity that made his heart pound.
As his new clients eased off with a casual wave and a not-so-subtle wink, Rhett indulged in the barest sip of his whiskey. He casually zeroed in on the very spot where Trinity was standing. He’d known the moment she’d reentered the museum’s grand ballroom. His brain had registered every glance she’d thrown his way, no matter how much she’d tried to hide it. So he let the distaste he’d felt for his clients’ motives show momentarily on his face. He wanted her to see that he’d met her in-laws and didn’t care for them that much.
He could almost feel her curiosity and concern across the space between them.
Now he let himself make eye contact, then he lifted his glass in her direction, catching her wide-eyed surprise as he acknowledged a connection neither of them had put into words. Regardless of what her in-laws might say, what society might whisper or what his own conscience might condemn, getting to know each other was going to be a very sure pleasure.
Two
Trinity tried not to be alarmed by the number of people seated around the table at the emergency board meeting of Hyatt Heights, Inc. It looked like a world peace negotiation instead of a business meeting.
There were the lawyers: stone-faced as they set up their laptops. There were the businessmen: some familiar and friendly faces, some not so much. Then there were Richard and his wife, Patricia, whose faces had never been friendly in all the years she’d known them.
They’d never pretended to love Michael, though he was their only nephew. Instead they’d spent all their time complaining to him about Hyatt Heights losing money and the waste of running Maison de Jardin. The home for abused women and children had become Michael’s life passion after his parents had been killed in a car accident in his midtwenties.
That was when Michael’s unlikely friendship with Trinity had started. They’d both been dealing with the repercussions of losing their families, though in different ways. Trinity as a victim of violence who found shelter with her mother at Maison de Jardin. Michael as the rescuer who took them in and gave them hope and a future. It had led to a lifetime connection that had shaped her entire world.
Trinity forced her thoughts back to the present, rather than let herself get lost in the bittersweet memories of her best friend. Despite the comfort they gave her, she somehow knew she needed all her focus on the here and now. People didn’t just call an emergency board meeting for any old reason, right?
Those darn posts... They had to have something to do with it.
“Doing okay, Trinity?” Bill LeBlanc asked from her right side.
She gave him a small smile, grateful to have the one other person who had known her husband as well as she had by her side through all of this. An old-fashioned Southern lawyer in his ever-present vest and bowtie, Bill looked right at home amid the arched windows and wainscoting of the boardroom at Hyatt House, the private mansion from which Michael Hyatt had run his business and charitable foundation. Bill’s only regret was that, as Michael’s lawyer, he hadn’t been able to finalize the will before Michael’s death. But he was doing all that he could to help Trinity honor his client and friend’s wishes.
“I feel completely unprepared,” she said low, not wanting anyone else in the room to overhear. There were a few people here who would jump on any weakness like sharks scenting blood in the water.
What she needed was a strategy. Being perceived as a strong leader by the board of Hyatt Heights was essential. If she inherited Michael’s position, she would be CEO of the corporation, and a majority shareholder, but still needed the board on her side to put through the initiatives and decisions that could be supported by the other shareholders.
An injunction had created a temporary board director to serve in Michael’s place during the court case, while Trinity still handled Michael’s other businesses and whatever tasks the temporary board director asked of her. So she and Richard were “auditioning” while the case was ongoing. If she didn’t prove her worth, Trinity could still lose the CEO position, though the shares would remain hers through inheritance.
Which would make carrying out Michael’s wishes even harder. The two board meetings she’d attended since her husband’s death had included talking points and presentations and charts that Bill had briefed her on before they’d arrived.
Not today. There’d been no preparation, no warnings. Trinity knew on an intellectual level that she needed to focus on getting through this without hinting how much she was out of her depth. She was a smart woman, but her crash course in billion-dollar businesses over the last two months had been steep.
Plus, her sleep last night had been repeatedly interrupted by the image of bright gray-green eyes that left her restless and needy in a way she’d never felt before. A way she was definitely not comfortable with.
“It will be fine,” Bill assured her as the meeting was called to order.
Richard Hyatt sat with his wife and lawyer at an angle across from Trinity and Bill, which should have been enough to put her out of their line of sight. Still she shifted in discomfort as she noticed the couple’s gazes trained in her direction. What trouble were they stirring up now?
She had to wonder what influence Richard had used with the temporary board director to get everyone to show up for this. He acted as if winning the case for Michael’s inheritance was a done deal and he’d already been elevated to CEO, instead of still being only a member of the board.
“This meeting at my request to the chair was called with some urgency to address issues brought to my awareness this morning,” Richard said, taking to his feet as if to assert his superiority over the others around the table. “How many of you have seen this?”
He clicked a button on the remote in his hand, which caused a portion of the back wall to slide down. The large screen behind it was already on, displaying a photo of Trinity. She could easily read the headline on the screen.
Suspicious Widow Fights for Control
of Hyatt Estate
Trinity couldn’t hold in a gasp, though she would have given anything not to react after Richard smirked in her direction.
But he didn’t stop there. “I told the board you’d be bad for business, but they wouldn’t listen.”
His words were lost in the cacophony of voices as board members asserted their opinions. They clicked on the keyboards before them on the table’s highly polished surface. He’d gotten his point across, and that was all that mattered.
Trinity pressed her shaking fingers together. The headline and blog p
ost were only the beginning of the ugliness. There were also photos. The series of pictures included one of her at the funeral, one from the charity event the night before looking particularly standoffish, and a picture of her marriage certificate. She tuned out the noise around her as she read the short captions and comments.
They included vague claims about how unfit Trinity was, simply because she’d never been part of New Orleans’s upper crust and ran a charity for a living. There were specific details about her short marriage to Michael and a link to documentation about the court case filed by Richard and Patricia, all under the hashtag #NOLASecrets. A few Black Widow comments thrown in didn’t sit well with her either.
“Where is this from?” Bill’s sharp voice jolted her from her absorption. She’d assumed he knew about the rumors making the social media rounds.
“That new gossip blogger who’s all the rage at the moment,” Patricia said. “Everyone who is anyone is following her blog and other social media.” Her eye roll was almost comical.
Another board member interrupted, his voice sounding panicky. “It’s only a matter of time before this hits other news sites. NOLA Secrets & Scandals is really making waves.”
“It already has,” Richard said, his voice calm. There was an ominous glint of satisfaction in his gaze as he trained it once again on Trinity. “Our stock has already begun to drop.”
There was a flurry of rustling as phones were pulled from pockets and briefcases. Those with laptops began furiously clicking. The murmurs grew louder as the board members confirmed for themselves what Richard had said.
Bill scoffed, looking up from his own phone. “We have no idea whether this was caused by that hatchet piece. The stock is barely down from yesterday.”
“Mark my words, it’s going to fall, and fall fast,” Richard assured him. “I mean, look at this post.” He clicked on a link in the sidebar. The headline read, “Suspicious Marriage Threatens Local Jobs.” Then the next line, “And it’s all her fault.”
