Undressed By His Arrogance

Mike sighed. "Yeah... so. Sharona has been in close contact with a man named Raphael."

Ivy lifted her soda to her lips, the cold fizz biting her tongue as she took a long, steady sip.

"What’s his story?" she asked.

"He is the assistant to Maurice Heathcliffe of Heathcliffe Associates," he said. "Maurice is the Orchard family lawyer... and George Orchard’s best friend."

Ivy raised a brow. "Let me guess. Maurice Heathcliffe is handling the Orchard inheritance."

Mike touched the tip of his nose and pointed at her in the same motion.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"I think it’s time to make our move," he said. "Take out the pawn at the bottom of the food chain, and the rest will fall into place. This assistant—he’s low enough to crack but close enough to know something."

"But I need you to do some inquiry. And it might have you... questioning Winn himself."

Ivy’s entire body locked up.

"Oh boy... no." She shook her head fast. "No. After what happened at his office today, I honestly don’t want to have any contact with him outside of work."

Mike smirked just a bit. "Outside of work? You’re implying inside of work is okay?"

"I will stab you with this straw," Ivy muttered.

But her cheeks colored.

"I want to know how and where Winn met Sharona."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because something feels off," Mike said. "Sharona has a life people whisper about in corporate circles. It’s like... everyone who knows her is afraid to talk. Like she has something on everyone. Secrets. Leverage. Some kind of... shadow network."

Ivy shivered.

"Are you saying she blackmails people?" she asked. "Because honestly, that fits the vibe."

"Exactly. And Winn... well... he doesn’t look like someone easily manipulated. So how did those two cross paths?"

"I know it’s still early days," Mike continued. "I’m working fast. But it’s just weird."

"I know she was a friend of Sylvia," Ivy said, twirling her straw. "Winn’s sister. Maybe they met through her."

"Is this Sylvia a good person?"

"Yes, yes she is," she said firmly. "She and Trish eventually became good friends before Sylvia moved to Canada to start her restaurant there. According to Trish, Sylvia wasn’t too happy with Winn’s decision to marry Sharona."

Mike hummed—a long, low, skeptical sound that stretched out. "Hmmm..." he said, narrowing his eyes at Ivy. He tapped his fingers on the table.

"Now," Ivy said, "What’s your theory?"

"I don’t know yet," he admitted. "I’ll find out more. Before I develop a theory."

Ivy nodded. She tipped back the last of her soda. "I have to get to school," she said, grabbing her bag. "Call me when you have anything."

She paused at the edge of the booth, fixing him with a sudden sharp look. "Oh—Mike... I hope you didn’t tell Uncle Evans anything about this yet?"

"I won’t unless you ask me to."

Relief softened her shoulders. "Thank you."

He gave her a mock salute.

She rolled her eyes, but she smiled anyway.

Ivy stepped out of the restaurant. She inhaled deeply, as if that could wash away the stress of the day. Her phone buzzed violently in her hand. She glanced down.

Eugene.

*****

That night, Winn waited until 8 p.m., his jaw locked so tightly he felt the pressure in his teeth.

"Fuck it," he muttered into the quiet.

He’d had enough of this madness.

Winn dragged a hand through his hair.

Now, as the silence settled around him, he understood Sylvia.

Truly understood her.

He understood her desperation, her sleepless nights, her trembling hands as she’d begged him to help her get Joey back. He had called her dramatic. Called her emotional. Called her crazy, even.

He’d been wrong.

Because here he was—doing the exact same thing. Losing his grip. Spiraling.

A man obsessed.

She had loved him once.

He knew it.

He felt it.

He still felt it.

And she could love him again.

He was sure of it.

He would make sure of it.

Winn stood abruptly, heart pounding, determination settling through him. He grabbed his phone, paced once more, then stopped.

He wasn’t going to let her slip away again.

He would fight for her.

For them.

For the second chance life had cruelly dangled in front of him.

He exhaled shakily then stormed across the hallway. Winn headed straight for the garage.

The garage lights flickered on automatically, illuminating the row of vehicles. He didn’t slow down until he reached the hook where the keys to the Maybach hung. He grabbed it without thinking, his pulse drowning out every rational thought. He was going to get Ivy. Enough waiting. Enough distance.

He was halfway to the courtyard when movement caught his eye.

Reese stepped out from the back, wiping his hands with a towel.

"Reese, you’re still here?" Winn asked, stopping short.

"Yes, sir. I wanted to wait until Miss Morales gets here, in case you need me for anything." He glanced at the keys in Winn’s hand. "You want me to drive you?"

Winn hesitated, shoulders tightening. "How do you feel about kidnapping from the Everests?"

"Well, it’s been a while I had some fun," he shrugged, as if Winn had asked him to go grab takeout, not abduct a full-grown woman from one of the most intimidating families in the city. He reached out a hand, palm up, waiting for the keys.

Winn handed over the keys.

Reese’s headed for the driver’s door. Winn slipped into the back seat of the Maybach.

About half an hour later, the Maybach rolled to a slow halt in front of the Everest estate gates. Reese lowered the window slightly and exchanged a few clipped words with the guard.

Winn leaned back, but there was no relaxing. His knee bounced restlessly. Every passing second fed the deeply irrational, deeply emotional beast inside him screaming for Ivy. The guard lingered longer than necessary, making calls.

"Jesus," Winn muttered under his breath. "They act like this place is the Pentagon."