Zoya Hart has been eluding her gold-digging stepmother for the last few years. Knowing that this woman will do anything to gain control of her and her late father's company, Zoya finds herself hiding out on a farm. Now, with a PI on her trail, Zoya'...
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Roman wanted to get shit-faced and forget about what he'd done, but wasn't in the mood. Liquor wouldn't solve anything. When he sobered up, he'd still be the one who'd allowed Zoya's wicked step-mother to find her. The question now—what to do about it? Marry her?
Maybe it wouldn't be such a big deal. It could be short term. That's all she needed. An eight-month union and then she'd divorce him. That way, she'd save face. It'd be perfectly acceptable. The rich girl finally came to her senses and realized she'd had a lapse in judgement concerning an ex-con. Plenty of uppity girls liked to slum. Typical behavior for an affluent twenty-four-year-old.
Why had the PI even mentioned marriage? Why was he waiting two days to report? He'd said he didn't like his client much, but he was risking a lot. If the woman found out he'd given Zoya time to disappear again, then he'd lose his fee. Something wasn't right about that guy. It was almost like he had a conscience and cared.
Roman knocked back his second shot, then called it a night. He'd go home and fix this mess. Besides, he'd promised to take care of her—keep her safe. And he always kept his word.
When Roman got home, he breathed a sigh of relief. Zoya's car was still there. Not that she'd leave before he got back. She knew him well enough to know he'd need time to wrap his brain around the situation. Besides, she had two days before anything happened. Unless Landry had lied, which was a strong possibility. For some reason, Roman believed the guy.
He got out and took the porch in three steps, then opened the door. "Zoya!"
No answer. His heart kicked up a notch. Hurrying down the hall, he called again. Still no response. Inside the master suite, he rushed to the closet. Her things—gone. He checked the bathroom. Toothbrush, makeup, every personal item—cleared out. Dammit. He hurried to his truck and peeled out toward Mariana's.
She was closing up the shop as he pulled into the drive. "Hey!" he shouted as he climbed from his seat. "Zoya here?"
Mariana turned to look at him and he didn't like her expression. She'd been crying. "What's wrong? You and Flynn have a fight?"
"No. Zoya is gone. Took my car." She reached inside her pocket and pulled out the envelope. "She left this for you."
Roman grabbed the note, ripped it open, and stared down at the single sheet of paper.
Please tell Mariana everything and give her my car. We agreed on an even trade. It's in Charamel's name, so you'll have to transfer the title.
Zoya
She couldn't have said "Fuck You" better if she'd spelled it out. No goodbye. I'll call. Thanks for everything. "Where'd she go?"
Mariana shook her head. "I don't know. Not sure she did either. What's going on, Roman? She'd been crying and wouldn't take time to explain anything."
