Текст книги "The Billionaire's Forgotten Fiancée"

Автор книги: Nadia Lee

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

Chapter Seventeen

Ginger didn’t go back to Shane’s penthouse after she finished the dim sum with Debbie. Instead she’d gone to her apartment to give herself some time to process everything that had happened.

How the discovery of the photos had changed so many things so fast…and so irrevocably. She’d been convinced that even though Shane didn’t remember everything—and the issue of what had made him leave in the first place hadn’t been resolved—they might be able to make their relationship work. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

The pictures established a pattern. They were clearly the reason Shane had left her the first time. And he had run off again when Dane had told him about her ex-boyfriend. Apparently, all it took for him to hightail it was an insinuation that she might not be faithful.

Would she be asked to pay for the sins of his parents forever? She’d always been true to Shane, always been extra careful not to give the wrong impression because she was aware of his background.

But one set of photos had destroyed everything.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the painful twist in her heart, and clenched her jaw. What if there hadn’t been just one set? What if there had been more, and the ones she was holding were just the final straw?

No way to tell, but there was one thing she knew for sure—if he didn’t trust her, she couldn’t continue to be with him. Her word should be able to trump even “evidence” like this, no matter how perfectly photoshopped.

Her phone rang. Before Ginger could say hello, Debbie squealed. “Daddy said yes!”

Ginger sat up. “Really?”

“Yup. He said, ‘That’s horrible. I like Ginger.’” Debbie giggled. “I think he likes you because he thinks you’re a calming influence on me. Anyway, he sent me information for the family investigator. I’ll forward it to your email so you can contact him yourself. Apparently he’s very good and very discreet. Also, no connection to the Pryce family. I checked.”

“Oh my god, thank you!”

“Keep me posted!” Debbie hung up.

Soon, a message popped up in Ginger’s inbox with a name, number and email address. No other info.

Ginger typed out a short memo to the investigator, scanning and attaching copies of the pictures and envelope. She was just about to click SEND when she hesitated. If I find out who it is, then what? She’d been furious earlier and wanted whoever it was to pay. But now that she’d had some time to process the situation, she wasn’t so sure. She could probably deal with a random stalker, but what if it was somebody closer?

Ceinlys, for example, had always thought Shane could do better than Ginger.

A knot of pain formed at the base of Ginger’s neck. She stood up and stretched, rotating her neck around and massaging her shoulders.

It didn’t help.

She sat down again and closed her eyes. Whoever it is, the first thing is to know. She hit SEND and closed the laptop. It was done. She would just wait for the report.

* * *

Shane puffed out a breath as he stood outside Dane’s penthouse. The bastard was inside, but taking his sweet time answering the door.

A blonde finally opened it. She was in nothing but a silky red robe…which stuck out prominently in the chest area. “Hi?”

“Where’s Dane?”

“He’s, like, in the back? Should I get him?”

“Don’t bother.” Shane shouldered past her.

Dane’s place was professionally done with minimal personal touches. No family photos, no favorite books or movies. Just a large wall-mounted TV, recessed lights illuminating a collection of crystal figurines from Swarovski, and expensive furniture. It looked like a model home rather than a place somebody actually lived.

“Hey. Are you, like, barging in?”

Shane gritted his teeth. “Dane!”

His brother emerged from the master suite in a robe. “What do you want?”

“Honey? I tried to, you know, stop him, but he came inside? Who is he?”

“How the hell can you date somebody who can’t talk without turning everything into a question?” Shane said. Maybe hanging out with annoying people was what made Dane so abrupt and obnoxious.

“Wow. Are you, like, rude or what?”

Dane smiled at the blonde. “Why don’t you get dressed? I’ll see you later.”

“You call me, honey?” She beamed at Dane, gave Shane a dirty look, and disappeared into the suite.

“Scotch?” Dane said.

“You know where Ginger lives, don’t you?” Shane said.

Shrugging, Dane poured a glass. “I thought she was living with you now. Didn’t you run after her to her parents’ place?”

“What the—? Have you been spying on me?”

Dane gave him a bland look. “I noticed Mark was missing one of his cars.”

Shane scowled, unsure whether to believe him. “Ginger’s probably at her place. I just don’t know where that is.” He didn’t want to contact Debbie. She was like a bulldog on steroids.

“Not surprising. She moved after she came back from South Africa.”

“So…her new address?”

Dane rattled it off, and Shane put it into his phone.

“Why are you going after her?” Dane said. “Maybe she doesn’t want to be with you right now.”

“My god, your assholeness really knows no bounds. Do you have any friends? Anyone at all you actually like?”

Dane gave him a look. “I liked grandmother Shirley, but she’s dead. And Blake is a friend.”

Shane tilted his head, curious about a person who would be friends with Dane. “Is that Blake male or female?”

“Male. Blake Pryce-Reed. One of our cousins. Now, back to the subject. You didn’t want to be around Ginger when you took off. You left the entire damned continent and cut off all communication with her. So don’t act like she can’t feel the same way about you. That would make you a hypocrite.”

That gave Shane a pause. He still couldn’t remember what had made him leave the way he had. “Do you know why I left?”

Dane shrugged. “Not really. Something about some pictures.”

“What pictures?”

“I don’t know, since you never discussed them with me.”

Shane frowned. “Does Mark know?”

“Highly doubtful. You kept a lot of things to yourself, and he’s not the person you would’ve gone to for relationship advice. Back then Mark’s record for dating the same woman was about three months.”

The blonde reemerged from the bedroom suite. She kissed Dane on the mouth. “Don’t forget to call me?”

“Don’t worry.”

She gave Shane another dirty look before leaving. Shane stared at his brother. “What’s the attraction of a woman like that?”

“Dumb and blonde.” Dane smiled slightly. “Just my type.”

Shane shook his head. “Never mind. I’m leaving now.”

“If you’re smart you’ll take my advice. Just let Ginger have some time to herself while you see the specialist I arranged for you. If you really want to know about your past, you’ll have to do it yourself instead of relying on others to fill in the blanks. People are notoriously unreliable and self-serving. And until you can resolve the past issue that had you disappearing, there’s always a chance it could come back to bite you in the ass later. What are you going to do then, when you might be married with kids?”

No way. Shane knew he’d never abandon Ginger and their children. God, just the idea of raising children with her made his heart tight with emotions.

But the part of him that had been shaken by the nightmare wondered if it was wise to ignore Dane’s advice. Even if the dream hadn’t been his lost memory, it might be related to his fears or something.

“Who’s the specialist again?” he asked.

“Dr. Jamie Marsh. I’ll have my secretary send you the info and the scotch you didn’t get at Éternité.”

* * *

Shane hadn’t called or contacted her in any way in the past week. Ginger didn’t know what to think of that. He’d seemed so sincere about them being together at the farm, so she’d been certain he’d pressure her to move in with him immediately. Even though a small part of her was glad he wasn’t calling every day, another part of her ached. She poured herself the last of the ridiculously expensive scotch Shane had bought her and downed it. Once upon a time she’d hated the stuff, but somewhere along the line she’d grown to like it…because he liked it.

Did he feel as empty as she did? Could he?

The investigator also hadn’t reported any progress. She gnawed on her nails. It’d only been a week. Even if he was one of the best—and Debbie’s dad wouldn’t hire somebody less than the best—it would take him some time. He also had other clients, most of them his regulars probably.

At least her freelance business was still doing well despite all the cancellations. Several of the clients who’d canceled at the last minute sent her referral business, their way of apologizing for what had happened. Ginger also spent her free time getting caught up on paperwork.

When she was alone at night, she stared at the photos while drinking scotch. She’d begun studying the people around her every time she went outside, wondering if one of them hated her enough to pull something like this.

Damn it. She rubbed the spot between her eyebrows. She didn’t want to be paranoid or suspicious of people like that. Good people far outweighed the bad. Why let this one jerk ruin it for her?

There was a knock on her door, and she glanced at the wall clock, frowning. It was already after ten.

She shoved the pictures back into the envelope and opened the door. Shane stood there with a bouquet of Thai orchids. He looked good, his shirt and pants straining in all the right places to remind her of his awesome, chiseled body underneath. He also had gotten a neat haircut, although the five o’clock shadow along his jaw lent a certain roguish charm.

“Hi,” she said almost stupidly, suddenly aware of how badly she was dressed. She’d thrown on a ratty old tee-shirt and cotton boxers earlier after her shower.

“Hi yourself.”

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugged and gave her a cockeyed smile. “I was in the neighborhood.”

The alcohol felt all too warm in her belly, and she swallowed. She tightened her hand around the doorknob, trying to rein herself in before she launched himself at him. There is no future between us without trust. “How did you get my address?”

“Dane had it.”

“Did you tell him I owed you money or something?” she joked. She couldn’t imagine why else Dane would’ve been helpful.

He shook his head. “I told him I needed to see you. Can I come in?”

She stood there, her mouth suddenly dry. Why was he here all of a sudden? “It’s not a good ide—”

A small frown creased his forehead, then he stepped around her and was inside before she could stop him.

Her already small apartment seemed to shrink a bit. Shane took in the messy living room. Nobody had vacuumed the place while she’d been out of the country, a layer of dust was on everything…and she hadn’t fully unpacked yet either. Her IKEA couch had a pile of clothes on the back, and her small dining table held a mountain of loosely arranged papers. She cringed when she noticed dirty plates in the sink. Oh well, she thought. Shane might as well learn—again—that she wasn’t the best housekeeper.

“If you need help packing, I can hire movers,” he offered.

“What?” she said.

He gestured around. “You’re packing, right? I can get you some movers. Take care of the lease.”

Her lips formed a silent O, but she was nodding inside. He undoubtedly thought that she was getting ready to send her stuff over to his place. “I’m not moving. I’ve just been busy, which is why I haven’t finished unpacking.”

“Oh.” Shane glanced at the couch.

She sighed. Since he wasn’t going to leave until he’d said his piece, she might as well humor him…for now. The key was to win the war, not the minor skirmishes along the way “It’s clean if you want to sit down. Just push my stuff to the side.” She slipped into the kitchen and put the plates in the dishwasher, which was already full. She dumped some detergent in and started a cycle.

He moved her notebooks over to the table and sat down. “So. You still have things to do?”

She blinked.

“You left me a note saying you have stuff to do. I was wondering how much longer you’re going to be ‘doing things’.”

She leaned against the dining table. It hurt to look at him, but at the same time she couldn’t look away without feeling like her heart would split in half. How could she love a man who didn’t trust her?

Shane stood in front of her locker, his stance stiff. Girding her loins, she glared at him, then cleared her throat. When he didn’t move away, she said, “What do you want?”

He shoved a box at her. “Here.”

“What’s that?” She looked down and gasped. It was the latest Nikon, with every cool feature she could dream of. She’d been salivating over it except she could never afford something that expensive.

“A new camera.” He pushed it toward her. “For you.”

She took a step back. “Jeez, Shane, no. I can’t accept that. Take it back.”

“You can take it,” he said, shuffling his feet. “I broke yours.”

“You know how much that thing costs? Mine was old. Not worth nearly that much.”

“I’m sure it was new and worth quite a bit when you bought it.”

She crossed her arms. “Look, I’m not taking this overpriced camera just to make you feel better.”

He blinked, the tension leaving his jaw. “You…don’t want it?”

“This isn’t about me or the camera.” Before he could respond, she raised a hand. “Forget it. I didn’t tell my parents, so you won’t be called into the principal’s office or get into trouble, okay?”

He shook his head, looking a bit mulish. “It’s not okay. I’m not doing this to bribe you.” He swallowed, then tilted his chin until he was gazing straight into her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

His voice was so low she’d thought she’d imagined it. The muscles in his jaw flexed as she gaped at him. “Did you say something?”

“I’m sorry,” he said more loudly, the set of his shoulders growing tight. He didn’t try to add “if you felt offended” or “if you felt hurt.” Just a simple apology, and he kept his eyes on hers even as a dark flush suffused his cheeks.

He was honestly, genuinely sorry.

She chewed her lower lip, debating what to do as she studied him. Her dad often said that what separated the men from the boys was that a man knew when he was wrong. And what separated cowards from the brave was the latter were able to acknowledge that they were wrong out loud.

Shane had always been like that—doing his best to rise above his circumstances. That was the reason she’d opened her heart to him all those years ago, and that was why she still loved him despite everything.

“I honestly don’t know.” She sighed, feeling empty and aching. “There are things that need to be resolved if we’re going to stay together.”

“What are they?”

“They’re—” Her phone buzzed. She glanced over, debating whether to ignore it or take it.

What if it was the investigator? She’d asked him to contact her immediately with whatever information he found.

“They’re…?” Shane prompted.

She sighed. “Give me a second.” She reached for the phone, needing to check.

It was the investigator. He’d sent one short text:

Source confirmed. Shane Pryce.

Chapter Eighteen

Ginger stared at the text, unsure what it meant. Shane Pryce. There had to be other Shane Pryces out there.

Why would Shane send a set of photoshopped photos to himself from Ohio? It didn’t make any sense.

On the other hand, Debbie had been so confident in the private investigator’s ability. And the PI had no reason to make anything up.

She gripped the edge of the table as her knees started to shake. Spots appeared in her vision, swirling around. A familiar voice called out to her, but it was strangely muted—there seemed to be cotton balls in her ears. Then everything faded away.

When she opened her eyes, she was looking at Shane’s face, which was only a few inches away from hers. His complexion had paled, gone almost bloodless as he stared down at her. Where was she?

She was on a couch—her couch. All her notebooks and things were scattered on the floor. Her lips were dry, and she licked them. “Get me my phone.”

“I can call you a doctor,” Shane said.

“No. My phone.” She winced at how weak and whiny she sounded. But she didn’t have a lot of energy, and she didn’t want to argue.

He brought her the phone from the dining table. She checked the text. It was still there. Source confirmed. Shane Pryce.

Her fingers shook as she typed a response: Shane Pryce is the one who made the photos? Is that what you’re saying?

Soon he replied: Mailed. Don’t know who took the photos.

Do you know which Shane Pryce? There are a lot of people with that name.

Don’t have the full name, but the two middle initials are L. A.

Her stomach churned violently, and she put a hand over her mouth. Unable to wait any longer, she rushed to the bathroom and threw up everything she’d had earlier that day.

“Ginger, are you okay?” Shane rubbed her back, his big hand warm and soothing.

She closed her eyes as they teared up. He seemed to have no idea he was at the center of her misery. Or was that an act too? His medical records said he didn’t remember, but that was based on what he’d told them, not something doctors could check independently. It wasn’t like they could read his mind.

She couldn’t look at him. It made her want to throw up again. She opened her mouth to tell him to leave, but her throat was so raw all she could do was croak, “Get out.”

“Ginger—”

“Get out!” She hung her head, scrunching her eyes shut. “Get out!”

Shane hesitated—she could feel him hovering near her. He had to leave before she did something she didn’t mean to. “Get…out.”

Finally he said, “Call me.” Then with a final pat on her back, he left her apartment.

* * *

What the fuck had happened back there? Shane stopped in front of his car and spun around to face her apartment building. Her unit still had the lights on.

She hadn’t been upset at first, but something had really done a job on her. His instincts were screaming at him to stay with her, but she’d looked like she’d shatter if he breathed wrong. He had to back off, give her some time to recoup before they both did something they’d regret later.

It had to be the text she’d gotten. He should’ve insisted that she ignore it until they got their issues figured out first. He’d been planning to have her move in with him and get rid of her apartment. He’d been fully prepared to tie the knot ASAP.

He needed to know what was in the text to fix the mess. He called Mark. “What does the family do when we want something somewhat shady taken care of?” he asked.

“Uh.” Mark cleared his throat. “What kind of shady stuff are you talking about?”

“I want to look at somebody’s texts.”

“Oh, that kind of stuff.” A short pause. “You, ah, wouldn’t be trying to hack into Ginger’s texts or anything, would you?”

“What if I am?”

“It’s better if you don’t. I don’t know what happened between the two of you that you left the States and ignored her, but you can’t have any meaningful relationship if you have to monitor her every move. Not even Dad did that with Mom. If you can’t trust her a hundred percent, then you should stop seeing her.”

“It’s not like that, Mark.”

A sigh. “You’re a smart guy, so I’ll quit nagging.”

“The person I should be calling?” Shane prompted.

“It should be on your phone. Listed under The Man, your nickname for Benjamin Clark.”

Shane thanked Mark and found The Man.

A cold, professional female voice answered. “Yes, Mr. Pryce?”

“I want Ginger Maxwell’s texts for the last three weeks sent over. Her number is…”

Chapter Nineteen

Debbie was a true friend. She didn’t wrinkle her nose at the mess that was Ginger’s apartment, she arrived in pajamas…and she came in carrying two cartons of chocolate ice cream and three boxes of Godiva truffles.

“I’m not letting you spend the night alone. We’re having a sleepover, just like back in high school,” Debbie said, explaining away her yellow Winnie the Poo pajamas. “You sounded absolutely wretched over the phone. What’s wrong?” She sat on the couch, giving Ginger a spoon and a carton.

Ginger took a bite of the sinfully rich ice cream. “The investigator your Dad referred me to came through.”

“Okay… That’s good, right?”

Ginger blinked as more tears came. “I don’t know. I wish I’d never tried to find out.”

“Why? What did he say?”

“Shane mailed the pictures.”

“What? Like your fiancé Shane?”

Ginger nodded as her face was too scrunched to speak.

“That rat bastard. Can I set him on fire?”

“No. I don’t want to see you go to jail.”

“If we get even one female juror at my trial, I’ll be acquitted.” Debbie ripped open a box of truffles and handed it to Ginger. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Ginger stuffed a piece into her mouth.

“I knew the Pryce family was messed up, but wow. Shane takes the gold medal for the fucked up asshole division. Who mails himself fake pics of his girlfriend? And for what reason?”

“That’s what I don’t understand. It wasn’t like we were married and he was trying to avoid paying alimony or something. All he had to do was break up with me. It would’ve hurt like hell, but I would’ve moved on.”

“Seriously.” Debbie started to spoon her ice cream up with more fury. “Just because he’s a messed up psycho doesn’t mean everyone else is.” Her face took on a pensive look. “Wow, you know…what he did almost makes Dane look normal.”

Ginger snorted, then sobered. She still couldn’t believe everything had been lies—his courage to be able to say he was sorry when he knew he was wrong even back in high school, and the way he’d been always so true to her. She still loved him.

“Hey,” Debbie said, reading her look. “You dodged a bullet.”

“But it hurts.” Ginger swallowed a big lump. “Instead of feeling relieved, I want to crawl into a hole and never come out.”

“Aw, sweetie.” Debbie hugged her. “It hurts now, but it won’t hurt forever. Just give it some time. There are billions of men out there. Surely there’s one for you.”

“Yeah…you’re right.” But Ginger couldn’t help but think that the only man for her was Shane.

* * *

Source confirmed. Shane Pryce.

Shane Pryce is the one who made the photos? Is that what you’re saying?

Mailed. Don’t know who took the photos.

Do you know which Shane Pryce? There are a lot of people with that name.

Don’t know his full name, but the two middle initials are L. A.

Shane stared at the texts. Whoever had sent them to Ginger was unidentifiable. Probably a burner phone, the report had read.

It had been four days since Ginger kicked him out of her apartment, and the number of questions swirling around in his head was staggering. He didn’t understand what had been meant by “made” the photos. That was an odd way of putting it, and just added to the mystery of why she was so worried about them, and why she’d reacted the way she had three nights ago.

The hollow in his heart grew worse. An attempt at meditation—he’d remembered it was Iain’s favorite way to relax and re-center himself—hadn’t helped. Instead, it had only accentuated how empty he was inside.

If he could just reach that sanctuary… He closed his eyes. He knew it was out there somewhere, but his memory still had too many holes. He threw a book at the wall. “Damn it!”

He found his keys in the bottom drawer in his office. The housekeeper had kept his place immaculate, always dusting and vacuuming, wiping things down and putting them away. He’d looked through the photos in the albums, wondering if they contained clues. None of them were bad enough to cause that kind of reaction from Ginger.

There was one place he hadn’t looked yet. Given the rather pricey lock on the door, maybe that was where he’d stored expensive cameras and other equipment. Still, he should check.

The lock clicked, and the door opened silently. Thick curtains were drawn tightly across the windows, and the room was pitch black. He flipped the switch on.

Lights illuminated photos. Lots and lots of them that had been carefully processed and hung. Most were frameless, mounted on stiff canvas, letting the pictures stand on their own.

He traveled slowly along the walls, studying the pictures. Had he taken them all? Was she upset about one of the ones in the room?

Most of them featured Ginger. Her in the sunlight. Her in the shadows. Her gorgeous, bare back. The close up of the smooth lines of her shoulders and collarbones. The black and white shot of her smiling face with only her lips in a vivid bright rose tone. There was one with Ginger lying on a bed of diamonds, her arms crossed over her bare torso.

Every one of them showed her in various moods and states of dress—or undress. He stared at them, like he was seeing Ginger for the first time ever. This was what she’d been to him—his light, the meaning of his life.

His breath rushed out, his knees weakening like pillars of wet sand. What the hell was he doing, trying to figure everything out before approaching her again? That wasn’t fixing the problem; it was avoiding the problem because he knew he’d had something to do with her breakdown the other night. Otherwise she wouldn’t have asked him to get out.

He grabbed his car keys. It was one o’clock in the morning, but he didn’t give a damn. He was going to see Ginger now.