none came. She opened her eyes. If she knew what was in one cabinet, maybe she knew what was in another. Her gaze went to the cupboard over the refrigerator, and she exhaled a shaky breath. “Pitchers, a big blue platter, baskets,” she whispered, reaching for the handle as if it might be hot and burn her.
A ceramic blue platter.
Several baskets.
She moved them out of the way with shaking fingers. Two drink pitchers stood in the back of the cabinet.
Son of a bitch.
Trevor called from the great room. “Olivia?”
She slammed the cupboard door as he walked into the kitchen. “What?”
“Is something burning?”
“Not anymore.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you left.”
He narrowed his eyes. “The snowshoes don’t fit right. I need some string or something.” He moved to the stove. “What happened?”
“Just a little fire. It’s okay.” She waved her hand. “I accidentally put a kitchen towel on a hot burner.”
“Is that foam from a fire extinguisher?”
She nodded. “Yep. Lucky thing I found it.”
He leaned against the counter, and she wanted to lean into him, to take from his strength and release her own weakness. He could take that from her, hold her up when everything she knew was falling backwards. She took a step back, noting the disappointment in his eyes and suspecting it matched her own.
“You okay?” he asked.
She longed to tell him the truth, confide in him that she’d clearly been here before and knew this place on some level. But hadn’t he only agreed to stay with her because of her memory loss? She was helpless, and he was clearly a helper. If her memory returned, he’d be gone faster than she could say run.
No, she would keep this new discovery to herself, at least until there was something more important to share than baskets and a fire extinguisher. “I’m fine. Just a little freaked out by the fire.”
“I don’t blame you. It’s all right now.” He gestured toward the hallway. “I’m going to go look in the garage. I think I saw some twine in there.”
“Good luck.” She watched as he turned and walked away, confident she’d made the right decision.
12
M arco Acero crossed one Italian leather loafer over the other and tugged on his French cuff. “Frankly, Señor Alvarez, it doesn’t matter what you want.”
The gray-haired man across the table tapped his gold pen on his palm, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. “My people are prepared to make you a fair settlement.”
“The goods have been bought and paid for, and there will be no bickering at this point in the negotiations.”
“These are not negotiations. This is thievery.”
Acero smirked. “Semantics.”
“You are nothing but a common thief!”
The intercom in the middle of the conference table beeped. “Bella Grayson’s on the phone, sir.”
His lips tightened into a firm line.
“You can put it through, Helen. Mr. Alvarez and I are finished.” He waited while the older man left the room, then stared at the phone, wondering what Bella could want. If there were a way to find out without speaking to the bitch, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
Once he and Brooke were married, he planned to push Bella out of his wife’s life completely. His eyes went to a high shelf, three gold statuettes glittering back at him. For now, he would put on a show worthy of Brooke’s Emmy Awards. He pressed the button on the phone.
“Hello, Bella! Did you see your sister’s fine performance on Saturday Night Live this weekend?”
“I caught part of it.”
“The ratings are through the roof. Everyone tuned in to find out who Brooke Barrons will be marrying.”
“Let me guess. She didn’t tell them.”
“You keep the public’s interest by withholding the information they want.”
“Riiighht. Listen, Olivia was supposed to pick me up at the airport in Denver yesterday, but she didn’t come. I keep calling her, but I just get her voice mail.”
Denver? He narrowed his eyes.
A ceramic blue platter.
Several baskets.
She moved them out of the way with shaking fingers. Two drink pitchers stood in the back of the cabinet.
Son of a bitch.
Trevor called from the great room. “Olivia?”
She slammed the cupboard door as he walked into the kitchen. “What?”
“Is something burning?”
“Not anymore.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you left.”
He narrowed his eyes. “The snowshoes don’t fit right. I need some string or something.” He moved to the stove. “What happened?”
“Just a little fire. It’s okay.” She waved her hand. “I accidentally put a kitchen towel on a hot burner.”
“Is that foam from a fire extinguisher?”
She nodded. “Yep. Lucky thing I found it.”
He leaned against the counter, and she wanted to lean into him, to take from his strength and release her own weakness. He could take that from her, hold her up when everything she knew was falling backwards. She took a step back, noting the disappointment in his eyes and suspecting it matched her own.
“You okay?” he asked.
She longed to tell him the truth, confide in him that she’d clearly been here before and knew this place on some level. But hadn’t he only agreed to stay with her because of her memory loss? She was helpless, and he was clearly a helper. If her memory returned, he’d be gone faster than she could say run.
No, she would keep this new discovery to herself, at least until there was something more important to share than baskets and a fire extinguisher. “I’m fine. Just a little freaked out by the fire.”
“I don’t blame you. It’s all right now.” He gestured toward the hallway. “I’m going to go look in the garage. I think I saw some twine in there.”
“Good luck.” She watched as he turned and walked away, confident she’d made the right decision.
12
M arco Acero crossed one Italian leather loafer over the other and tugged on his French cuff. “Frankly, Señor Alvarez, it doesn’t matter what you want.”
The gray-haired man across the table tapped his gold pen on his palm, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. “My people are prepared to make you a fair settlement.”
“The goods have been bought and paid for, and there will be no bickering at this point in the negotiations.”
“These are not negotiations. This is thievery.”
Acero smirked. “Semantics.”
“You are nothing but a common thief!”
The intercom in the middle of the conference table beeped. “Bella Grayson’s on the phone, sir.”
His lips tightened into a firm line.
“You can put it through, Helen. Mr. Alvarez and I are finished.” He waited while the older man left the room, then stared at the phone, wondering what Bella could want. If there were a way to find out without speaking to the bitch, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
Once he and Brooke were married, he planned to push Bella out of his wife’s life completely. His eyes went to a high shelf, three gold statuettes glittering back at him. For now, he would put on a show worthy of Brooke’s Emmy Awards. He pressed the button on the phone.
“Hello, Bella! Did you see your sister’s fine performance on Saturday Night Live this weekend?”
“I caught part of it.”
“The ratings are through the roof. Everyone tuned in to find out who Brooke Barrons will be marrying.”
“Let me guess. She didn’t tell them.”
“You keep the public’s interest by withholding the information they want.”
“Riiighht. Listen, Olivia was supposed to pick me up at the airport in Denver yesterday, but she didn’t come. I keep calling her, but I just get her voice mail.”
Denver? He narrowed his eyes.
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