An Indecent Proposal(51)

“Come in.” Chase held the door open and then closed it behind us, hiding us from prying eyes. A shaky breath escaped my lips as I shrugged out of my jacket and handed it to Chase, who stacked it away in a wardrobe compartment hidden in the wall.

In spite of my trembling fingers, the fog of fear inside my mind slowly began to lift, and I found myself itching for a chance to take in the place. Chase’s most intimate things were here, and I was standing just a few feet away.

“Can I get you some water? A drink?” Chase asked, and motioned me to enter the living room.

“Do you have any wine?” I let my gaze sweep over the spiral staircase in the middle of the room, the dramatic furnishings, and the stunning panoramic view of the city lights. I had never seen L.A. from this height, and had a hard time not gawking.

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s a good idea to—” Chase said, regarding me.

I cut him off. “Don’t tell me if or how much I can drink. It’s not your business, Chase.” Usually, I didn’t drink. But the pressure of having to get married was slowly getting to me, and I felt as though there was no other option but to stay sedated to numb my brain and the unease in the pit of my stomach.

“Okay.” He looked unconvinced. I feared he’d try to change my mind, but he didn’t. “Your choice. I’ll be back in one minute.”

I watched him leave and then turned back to the window, suddenly transported to a different time, when luxury had been a part of my life and I was too young to realize that not everyone lived in a mansion with hardwood floors, shiny candelabras, and silverware that was polished daily. Absent-mindedly, I brushed my fingers over the marble fireplace and took in the elegant living area kept in warm wooden tones. It was so different from anything I had ever seen. So like him—full of warmth and mystery.

Chase was rich.

The realization hit me like a bomb. Maybe a different, more modern kind of rich than the old-family money I had been born into, but rich, nonetheless. His lavish lifestyle was probably the result of hard work and talent, no doubt, but it didn’t make me feel more comfortable around it. I had sensed it all along, but I just didn’t realize how rich.

“Your place is beautiful,” I said when he returned with two glasses and set them down on a glass coffee table. “The view is second to none.”

“I suppose.” He motioned to the cream leather couch overlooking the fireplace and slumped down with a sigh. I followed his unspoken request and sat down, tucking my legs beneath me. The leather felt warm and soft beneath my fingers.

Expensive.

I swallowed hard as my mood plummeted to a new low.

“Will you report it?” Chase asked, oblivious to the tumult inside me.

“And tell them what?” I laughed. “I have no proof of anything, don’t know who the guy was, have no idea what he wants, or why he was taking pictures.” I brushed my hair out of my eyes. “The thing is, I don’t even know whether it wasn’t just a coincidence.”

I tend to overreact a lot.

“You’re right.” He nodded and handed me a glass of wine. “It’s probably nothing, Laurie. But if there is, if he so much as crosses your path again, I’ll kick the living shit out of him.”

“Thanks.” I smiled weakly. Even though I knew Chase didn’t mean any of it, his words infused a sense of safety and confidence into me. I took a sip or two of wine and leaned back, slowly relaxing.

“Do you have an ex who might be spying on you?” Chase asked.

“No.” I shook my head, frowning. “That guy wasn’t an ex.”

“Maybe someone who might hire a private detective rather than do the work himself.”

I shook my head again. He wasn’t getting it. The idea was absurd because there was no ex, at least not someone who had been close enough to me to call him that.

“Then we have every reason to assume it’s your stepfather,” Chase said. His grave tone sent a shiver down my spine. I peered from him to the untouched glass and then back up at him.

“Clint?” I asked, incredulously. “You think he’s capable of doing it?” Even as I asked the question, I knew the answer.

Chase shrugged. “If someone offers you money to break off his stepdaughter’s engagement, then why not add spying to the list? There’s a reason why he doesn’t want our marriage preparations to proceed.”

My gaze fell on my glass. The liquid looked as thick and dark red as blood. “Money,” I whispered as I recalled the contract.

“Money? Maybe.” He sounded doubtful. “Although I’d say he has enough of it. As far as you told me, you never tried to get your share of your family’s wealth. Money’s hardly a motivating factor.”