The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

“Yes,” I agreed, “he did.”

I’d spent so much of my life trying not to feel or care, but it was utterly impossible now. I hurt for her and the family who had lost precious time together. I would have given anything for more time with my mother before her death.

Emery swallowed thickly, perhaps trying to wash down some of her emotion. “My mom fell apart,” she said. “Even when things were good, she’d had a hard time staying sober, so once my dad was gone, she spiraled. I tried to get her help, but I didn’t have any money, and more importantly, she didn’t want help.”

I had no idea what kind of expression was frozen on my face, but maybe it was too much for her, because she pulled her gaze away and stared vacantly at my bed.

She delivered it in a matter-of-fact tone, like a broadcaster reporting sad news. “She drank herself to death when I was eighteen, and maybe she would have done it no matter what happened to my dad. I shouldn’t put her death on Lambert,” she sucked in a breath as her vengeance came back to life, “but I fucking do.”

Jesus.

“Emery.” Her name slipped from me as I tried to convey what I was feeling, but words were inadequate. I had no idea what to say.

Her attention drifted back to me so slowly, it was painful. Everything was tense, everything ached. All the power she’d had up until this moment was fueled by wrath and anguish, but when her eyes landed on me, the power abandoned her. She appeared so vulnerable and devastatingly real, I refused to accept this as anything other than the truth.

“I was going to tell you,” she said quietly, “but, Vance, I’ve spent nearly ten years working toward this. If Lambert finds out, I’ll never get another chance. I couldn’t trust anyone. I had to be careful.”

“I understand that,” I answered automatically. Even though I’d given her no reason not to, she didn’t trust me yet with everything, and that was fair. Cape Hill was full of liars and cheats. Plus, I hadn’t confessed to her why I wanted to get inside Lambert’s safe either. My reason was defensive and selfish, but hers was much stronger.

I wanted this revenge for her.

Abruptly, I sat up straighter in my chair. “Wait a minute. You already did it—you cracked into Lambert’s safe.”

It was like I’d punched her in the stomach. “That didn’t go as I’d planned.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once I got it open, I thought Jillian would ask me to stay, or at least tell me what she found inside. We were friends, and I’d hoped she’d trust me. Instead, she disappeared without saying a word.”

Skepticism filled my head like a whisper of smoke. It was obvious she’d used Jillian to get close to Lambert. Had she orchestrated their relationship the same way she’d done to me? Was she really even friends with Jillian, or had it all been an act? “Tell me again how you two became friends.”

Her expression was resigned. “I didn’t technically lie about that. I was there at the house as part of a Sovereign job, and when one of the workers hit on her, I came to the rescue. She asked me if I wanted to grab lunch afterward as a thank you.”

I tilted my head, studying her critically. “Elaborate on why you used the word ‘technically.’”

“Because the guy was a plant. My friend Eddie doesn’t work for Sovereign. I was the one who got him in, so he could do me a favor.” When I scowled, distress washed over her face. “She started as a job, but I didn’t have to fake the friendship. She was so nice, and fun, and I really liked her—even when I didn’t want to.”

“Did you feel conflicted about what you planned to do to your new friend’s father?”

She nodded aggressively. “It got easier when I saw the way he treated her, and how she actively wanted out. And if that’s what happened, that Jillian is out there somewhere right now, free from her father’s grasp, then I’m fucking thrilled. Believe me.” Her shoulders deflated a single degree. “I just wish she’d given me a warning or . . . something.”

I set the portfolio down on the coffee table separating us, keeping a hand on top of the folder while fighting a losing battle not to channel my father. “I want to trust you,” I said, “and I want you to trust me.”

She peered down at the portfolio with guarded eyes. “What’s that?”

“Everything my father’s team of investigators collected on you.”

Panic swam across her face, but I had to ignore it.

“I haven’t looked at this yet,” I said, “but his investigators are thorough. If there’s anything you don’t want me to know, chances are it’s in here already. So, this is your opportunity to,” I searched for the right phrase, “warn me.”