Burned Deep by Calista Fox

inspire me when it came to some of Shelby Hughes’s scrambled thoughts on decorations and themes. I liked the creative process, understanding that not every bride had a full idea of what she wanted, just bits and pieces that needed to be puzzled together.
    As the sun dipped over the golf course on which I lived, my stomach grumbled. I made pasta and considered watching a movie, but my mind wandered too much. I grabbed my tablet, flipped the switch on the gas fireplace—since tonight’s storm brought the temperature down as the rain fell heartily—and settled on the sofa with a glass of chardonnay.
    I needed to do a little research.
    Dane had studied up on me; it was time I did the same.
    I Googled him and found all kinds of links that led to articles, interviews, and, of course, a Wikipedia page. The latter was a little disconcerting. Actually, every item I devoured was disconcerting. Not just because the word billionaire jumped out repeatedly—completely unsettling me. It was the lack of any substantial details that alarmed me most.
    I learned he was six-foot-three, though I’d already suspected that. Thirty years old, born to a Philadelphia society family—also lacking details aside from their extreme philanthropic efforts decades ago and the very simple d. that denoted they were both deceased. No explanation given. No dates.
    That was definitely odd. Causing a chill to run along my spine.
    I further learned Dane had graduated from Harvard summa cum laude, having completed the Thesis Track in Economics. He’d built his first boutique resort in Lake Tahoe. Then revived a hotel/casino in Las Vegas. And now he had the Lux.
    Just like that.
    I frowned. Literally, those were the most revealing details of the man that I could find. Nothing at all personal.
    Had he played sports in school? Did he date supermodels? (The blond-haired woman from El Rincon flashed in my head.) How the hell had he made all of his money—was it strictly from an inheritance?
    And who was capable of containing so much information so that only the essentials were provided? How much did that cost?
    My stomach twisted as I recalled his comment regarding money being the root of all evil … and the ensuing hard set of his features. This intrigued me the most. It was a strange thing for a billionaire to say.
    Then again, I imagined there had to be a dark side to amassing such wealth. My parents were a prime example on a much, much smaller scale. Finances had always been an issue for them. My mother had been obsessed with being one of the pampered “ladies who lunch” in Scottsdale, where I’d been born. She’d spent just about every penny my dad brought in from his PGA tours. She’d put substantial pressure on him to win a championship, a Masters, anything and everything that would garner the massive bucks. And when he’d failed because of his injuries … things had taken a serious dive.
    He’d been devastated all the way around. Afterward, when the electricity or water was sometimes shut off, he’d shrug and say he’d forgotten to pay the bill. Around the time I was sixteen or so, I’d discovered the truth. He was flat broke. She’d taken him to the cleaners, big-time—financially and emotionally. And it hadn’t been until he’d scored the GM position at the club in Sedona that he’d dug himself out of the hole.
    There were so many things about my childhood that made me shudder when I checked my own balance online. Though I had a safety net with a savings account, I still lived in fear of not being able to make ends meet. Especially since we’d moved to a sketchy part of downtown Phoenix after the fallout. I honestly couldn’t take scorpions crawling up the walls again or crouching in corners if I had to leave Sedona and find something more affordable in the Valley.
    I’d been so relieved when my dad had moved us here with his new job. So