One Bossy Offer (119)

“I can’t complain,” Ava continues, lifting her martini. “Michelle’s social media is basically the reason we’re here. The resort comped us a tourist package for her to come out and do some videos. The fall nature walks in the forest are always a huge draw.”

“Nice!” Pippa holds up her wineglass in celebration. “I do some travel vlogging myself. Before I started focusing on the hidden gems—the comfy little places anyone can visit—I used to do promotions for luxury travel lines.”

Ava nods respectfully, but her eyes are so tired.

“Does Michelle get to bring you out to cute little towns like these very often?” I ask.

Ava nods. “Sometimes, but only when it doesn’t interfere with school. I’ve always said keeping her grades up comes first. She’s also on her school’s triathlon team, and that takes a lot of time.”

“Oh, yeah. I just love small towns,” I continue, trying not to babble. “After living in Seattle, I’m ready to settle down in a quiet little town like this. My last stint at Cromwell-Narada almost killed me.”

As soon as I say the name, Ava turns away, downing her martini faster. Or else she’s looking for an excuse to ignore us as she shrinks back on the barstool.

Ouch.

Not the reaction I hoped for.

“But I can’t knock the benefits or the pay,” I venture. “I inherited this property out in Pinnacle Pointe recently, actually. I’m trying to run a bed and breakfast, but without the pay and benefits I got at Cromwell, I don’t think I’d have a fighting chance.” I wait until she’s looking at me, pretending to listen with a wary smile before I continue. “I even had to work with the CEO for a while. Miles Cromwell. Ever heard of him?”

Her lips thin and she shakes her head firmly.

“That was the biggest pain. He’s smart and generous, but damn, he’s—he’s just a bit much. Demanding doesn’t begin to describe it.”

Ava stiffens and stares straight ahead, behind the bar at the liquor gleaming in tall bottles. Then she turns to face us.

“Are you another reporter?”

“No. Absolutely not,” I rush out. “But I do want to know something.”

Here we go.

The moment of truth.

I can feel Pippa trying to beam encouragement into my brain while Ava looks at me like a statue.

“How did Michelle wind up with a huge scholarship by Cromwell’s main rival months before the story about Royal Cromwell broke?”

And why, in all this time, did you never mention it? I don’t ask that, though. I’m being nosy enough and I don’t want her shutting down completely.

“Ah, there’s your punchline,” she throws back bitterly. “You really want to know how my daughter got it? She’s a freaking genius, that’s why. And Pacific-Resolute cares about recruiting talent. They started Rising Stars to help talented youth reach their full potential. A shame Cromwell never thought of that—they never thought of anything.”

Before I can counter, or even defuse the tension, she slides off the barstool and storms away, muttering a few words to a waitress she passes about charging her tab to her room.

“Crap. I came on too strong,” I say.

“Interesting reaction, though. She didn’t say anything about the allegations,” Pippa points out.

That’s true. But she could’ve just been flustered or angry.

“She just said her daughter deserved the scholarship.”

“Well, yeah. She’s a mom, Jenn. But it’s a little weird that she didn’t launch into a defense or blow up on you for cornering her like this. She just left.”

Weird? Maybe.

Smoking gun? No.

“And I blew it. We’re never going to get more out of her now,” I say glumly.

“Give it time,” Pippa urges, waving the bartender over to order another round of wine for us. “Now, we just cool our heels and wait.”

“Wait for what?” I wonder, shaking my head.

“For the guilt train. It’s pretty slow, but the bigger the lie, the harder it hits eventually. Give her time and space. I’m sure we’ll find out what Ava Wickes really is soon.”

I wish like mad I shared her confidence.





Later, the guilt hits, but it’s not for Ava Wickes.

Hot water sprays down my neck as I try to wash the stink of what I did off me.

There’s no way we’re getting more out of her now, and her daughter is an influencer. I’m probably going to go viral at some point for hounding a victim, which will only make Cromwell-Narada look worse.

I wonder if Miles is going to hate me more than he already does.

But I shouldn’t care about that.

I shouldn’t care about what he thinks, and he shouldn’t be all I ever think about when everything reminds me of him.

He’s a bittersweet drug I’d give anything to kiss again, right after I whack him across the face.

But the healthiest decision is to leave that man the hell alone, including his problems.

It helps that he has no desire to talk to me either, or else he’s too busy.

How did he wreck my life so fast?

I didn’t even know Miles Cromwell a few months ago.

The trouble is, time changes everything, and time loves to play kickball with your heart.