“And he’s an investor?” Hannah asked.
Cal frowned. “He was specific on keeping his involvement on the down low.”
“That bastard told you not to tell me what he did?” That was the secret. The reason she felt out of the loop.
Cal shrugged. “I did some research, and I can understand why. The guy is worth millions. Like, a ton of millions.”
Cal pulled up his phone and showed Hannah an article on Grant Laythem and Laythem Inc. He was a huge deal in New York and had a ton of money and . . .
“He lied to me,” she breathed. But not in the way she’d thought. She’d thought he was in trouble. Trying to nail her down and use her. When, really, he was the one with a ton of money and working behind the scenes.
Yes, she’d known Grant had some kind of money. But not like this. She’d had no idea he was stupidly wealthy.
“Hey, Hannah,” Rudy called from behind the bar and hung up the phone. “That was the bank. The loan has been paid and a bid put in on this bar.”
“What?” Hannah all but screamed.
“I don’t know what that means . . . did someone just buy this place out from under you?” Rudy asked her, as if she had a clue herself.
Hannah’s eyes went wide, and she looked at Cal. “What’s the first project Grant hired you for?”
Cal glanced down. “Remodeling this bar.”
Hannah’s entire chest caved in on itself. Grant had taken everything. Her love, her dreams, her bar . . . and he’d left.
She couldn’t focus or fathom what was happening—all she could do was try not to cry as she felt her heart shatter into a million pieces and cut her up from the inside out.
Chapter Thirteen
A loud knock on the door made Hannah frown deep in her sleep. Her head was pounding. Her mouth was dry.
Shit, I’m hungover.
The knock sounded again, and she peeked open one eye to see she was on her couch in the living room, fully clothed, and it was sunny outside.
She let out a loud breath and slowly got up. She had the event tonight, which meant she had several hours until then to think about all the shit that had rained down in the past twenty-four hours. Apparently five drinks at Goonies didn’t numb the pain of Grant lying to her, leaving her, then stealing her bar out from under her.
The knocking sounded again, and she realized it was coming from the front door. She got up and ambled to the entrance. She opened the door to find the last person she’d ever expected to see.
“Silas?” she asked her father, who was standing on her front stoop looking surprisingly awake.
“I just stopped by to see how you were feeling,” he said. There was no slur in his voice. No staggering stance or smell of fresh gin on his breath. He didn’t look great, but he didn’t look drunk. So that was a start.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
Her father looked her over, and Hannah shielded a hand over her eyebrows to try to shut out the bright sunlight.
“You look like shit,” he said.
“Well, thanks for never sugarcoating. Anything else you want to say?” she replied with annoyance.
“Yeah, there is,” he said. “Stop being a dumbass.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and rested her shoulder against the doorjamb. “If I wanted you to come over and insult me, I would have called.”
“This isn’t an insult—this is free advice.”
“Oh, really? What a gem coming from you.”