Conceal

Looking down, I don’t see anything that would indicate a bleed, but I’m not a doctor, so I guess I don’t know what I’m looking for.

“How’s your nose?” I ask.

“Okay. It only bled a little bit, probably dry from the cold air.” She turns her back to me quickly and grabs another candy bar to put in her bag.

“Oh . . . that’s good. As long as you’re okay.”

I don’t think she had a nosebleed at all. I think she didn’t want to meet Charles, but the question is why.

“I’m fine.” She continues to rummage, and it’s obvious from the way she won’t look at me that she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, but I’m still curious . . . so even though I shouldn’t press, I do.

“Too bad you got the nosebleed, I would have liked to introduce you to Charles.”

Still not looking at me, she stops her movements.

“Sorry.” She tries to keep her voice leveled but I can hear how tight it is, giving her away.

Charles made her uncomfortable.

Is it men who make her uncomfortable? Or just him? He is a politician and a famous one at that. Maybe she doesn’t like politics?

“You know he’s running for the senate . . .” I say, trying to pry out of her some indication of what happened.

“Oh . . .”

“Yes. He’s a business tycoon out of Michigan.”

She says nothing, but I can see her jaw tighten from where I’m standing, and although she tries to hide it, her hand is shaking.

Something about the word tycoon or maybe Michigan has given her a visceral reaction . . .

I drop the conversation and start to pile my own candies in the bag Willow is holding. Once it’s filled to the brim, we walk together to the register.

It doesn’t take us long to pay, and before long, we are heading back out into the cold city air.

“I got it . . .” I say out of nowhere, and she halts her steps and turns back at me.

Her brows are pinched in. “Got what?”

“I know who you are.” I smirk, playing it cool and funny like every time before, but really, this one is important because this one is the first time I think my guess might be close.

She lifts her brow up in a mocking way because every time before this, my guesses have been so outlandish, so she doesn’t expect anything less.

“You, my dear Willow . . .” She lifts her hands to have me go on. “Are a runaway heiress who was jilted at the altar.”

As the words leave my mouth, I watch her closely. I watch as her eyes widen.

She pales, and then she swallows. “Nope. Wrong again . . .” She laughs.

She laughs to cover the truth behind my words . . .

Now to figure out which part was true.

* * *

The words I said yesterday play back in my head over and over on repeat.

I had called her a jilted heiress that had run away after her fiancé left her. It isn’t necessarily the words I used that had me concerned; it was the way her eyes widened that set off red flags.

It was the quiver of her jaw.

The way she momentarily worried her lip before flashing me a bright smile.

Is that it?

Is she an heiress?

Or was it the jilted at the altar part that set her off?

The involuntary movement happened so fast that I can’t pinpoint what hit too close to home.

The day goes by way too slowly today, and all I want to do is get to the warehouse and look into this.

Not only did I promise myself I wouldn’t look into her, but I also promised her I would do this the old-fashioned way. That and I can’t get my brother’s insults out of my head.

My fingers tap on the desk as I watch the clock.

It’s kind of bullshit that I have to stay here.

Cocking my head to the side, I decide fuck it. I’ll search here. If I do it here, I won’t be tempted by all the high-tech shit.

I’ll just search public records.

Bobbing my head up and down, I fire up my search engine.

My fingers typing jilted heiress.

Nothing comes up.

Jilted heiress runs away.

Nothing.

Missing heiress.

Nope.

Runaway killer bride.

That one makes me laugh.

Obviously, it also comes back with nothing.

Maybe I was wrong.

Or maybe I’m not, and I need to go home and do an actual search. I’m sure if I were to hack into the FBI . . .

Stop.

Nope.

Not going to do it.

I like Willow.

She’s unlike anyone I have ever met. She makes me feel different when I’m with her. The way she looks at me, the way she found comfort in my arms.

I felt as though I was her savior. Like she needed me, and most of all like I want to be a better man to be worthy of her one day.