I Flipping Love You (Shacking Up #3)(77)

It seems to be about a huge hotel mogul coming in and buying up properties, particularly in Hamptons Bay. I turn the page and my stomach drops as I scan the image and then the article. One page is taken up by a glossy color image of a very familiar face. A very attractive familiar face. I scan the byline and a name pops out. Lexington Mills. Lex. The MMA fighter-superhero who’s engaged to Pierce’s sister stares back at me with his shockingly blue eyes and wide, almost smirky smile. He’s ridiculously attractive, even in a two-dimensional magazine photo.

He’s leaning against a desk and beside him is a man who must be his father. To his left are two other equally attractive men. The Mills family. Mills Hotels. They’re massive. Like the biggest. They were who my father wanted to be. The competition he could never catch. The same competition who brought him down. Because he scammed them along with everyone else, Marley and I included. And I’d unknowingly helped him do it.

I read on, devouring the article, snagging on a line about the Mission Mansion. There’s no reference to the shady dealings of my father, but there is a mention of the prime location of the rundown mansion, its sadly vacant state, and its buyer appeal. I flip back to the beginning and read it all over again. There’s conjecture that the Mills family would like to put up a hotel in the Hamptons. While this would ultimately drive up the housing prices, there are drawbacks with that plan. Excessive tourism, overcrowded beaches. And a huge gaudy hotel would ruin the landscape.

A sick feeling crawls up my throat. How long ago did I tell him about the Mission Mansion? It’s been weeks since I mentioned my summers spent there, and last night I finally came clean about my real connection to it. Pierce had more than one opportunity to mention this, especially knowing how important it is to me.

Is this what they’ve been planning the entire time? To buy up all the property around the Mission Mansion, put enough time and money into renovations to increase property value, and then sell it off to the Millses so they can build a huge hotel?

I want to believe it’s too elaborate a ruse, but at the same time, there are so many red flags flapping in the breeze. And this is exactly the kind of thing my father would’ve done to get what he wanted.

My stomach churns with the myriad possibilities, none of which are good. Pierce is far too close to the people in this scenario to be in the dark, and I’ve been so wrapped up in him and the Paulson renovation that I haven’t been staying on top of much else. I don’t know what to do, what to believe. I need to talk to Marley. My head has already gone to the worst places. I need perspective and I need out of here, before Pierce wakes up and this entire thing collapses. I don’t want to accuse him of something that isn’t true, but I also can’t ignore this feeling of doubt that’s twisting up my stomach.

I tiptoe back to his bedroom. He’s hugging my pillow, his spectacular bare backside on display. I quickly and quietly gather my clothes from the floor and dress in the spare bathroom. I pull my hair in a ponytail and fix my makeup as best as I can before I head for the elevator.

I call for an Uber on my way to street level, relieved when it arrives not two minutes later. I consider calling Marley on the trip to the train station, but I don’t think it’s the best plan. I need to be in front of a computer when I have this conversation with her, so I can figure out what the heck is going on and how Pierce is involved in this.

I bite my fingernails, tears pricking my eyes. He seemed so genuine last night. Things felt different, like maybe he’s serious about me being his girlfriend, and not temporarily. Or maybe it was a ploy to get me out of the Hamptons and keep me distracted, from what, I’m unsure. The train ride from Manhattan to the Hamptons seems to last forever. My phone is at 30 percent and draining fast. I didn’t bring a charger so I have limited battery life with which to search Pierce Whitfield.

I don’t know why I haven’t bothered to do this before now. Or maybe I do know. I liked getting to know him without dissecting a dating profile. And I don’t want him to search me. Although, to be fair, Sutter isn’t my last name by birth, and Marley and I have done everything we pos sibly can to separate ourselves from our father’s infamy. But sometimes things slip through. An old article, pictures, things that could easily lead back to us if we still lived in Long Island instead of the Hamptons.

The first Pierce Whitfield link takes me to his law firm. Halfway down the page are several Facebook profiles for various Pierce Whitfields—who knew it was such a popular name—but after that there are endless articles connecting him to a line of popular children’s dolls. I consider typing in Whitfield family net worth, but I don’t want to know that yet.

I’ll come back to that. When I’m ready. Next I search Mills Hotel and Mills Family. The name is actually rather common, but the familiarity lies with my father’s disdain for them, because they always had what he never could, and eventually they took it all by uncovering his endless scams and lies.

I pull up article after article on their family dynasty. They’re worth an insane amount of money. The kind of money that could buy up an entire strip of homes in the Hamptons without even blinking. Hundreds of millions of dollars.

I think for a moment about Amalie, Pierce’s sister, and how normal she seems to be considering she’s marrying into what is likely one of the richest families in New York. But then, her family has money too. I’d be surprised if the Millses don’t have their own private jet.