Nan Dixon - Undercover With The Heiress

“I’ll be undercover. No one can know I’m with the FBI.”

Nathan winced. “I can’t keep this from Cheryl.”

Kaden tapped his fingers against his thigh. “Will she keep this secret?”

“She can. She will,” Nathan vowed.

“Fine. I should spend more time with Issy.” He didn’t let Nathan see the shiver that ran down his back. “Maybe tonight?”

“Let’s have dinner again,” Nathan suggested. “That way she’ll know you’re a good guy.”

“Okay.” This better not be a mistake. He didn’t want Issy hurt. Not on his watch.

* * *

“COURTNEY?” GRAY CALLED. “Let’s go.”

“Almost ready.” She rubbed lotion on her pink skin. She’d sat in the garden reading, not noticing the time. Apparently, she’d stayed past her sunscreen expiration. She cringed at the idea of getting wrinkles or dry flaky sun-toughened skin. Mother would have scolded her soundly.

She’d gotten about half of her clothes unpacked, including the sundress she wore today, and then started reading and that was that. The book was wicked good.

Don’t use that expression. It is not how we talk.

Well, she wasn’t wicked smart like Gray.

She dressed and headed down the hall. Time to face her brother.

Gray waited in the entry, wearing a slate-blue polo shirt and shorts with enough pockets in them to go wilderness hiking. He stood with his legs spread, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

She blurted out, “You look like Father.”

“Thank you.” He raised one black eyebrow over his blue eyes, eyes that were the same color as the ones she saw in the mirror every day. It wasn’t fair. She couldn’t achieve her brother’s lush eyelashes without careful layers of mascara.

As they moved through the courtyard, Gray waved at two couples sitting at a small table.

“Do you know them?”

“They’re guests.”

But customer service was Abby’s job. She frowned, then blurted out, “You’re...different here.”

“What do you mean?”

She pushed out a breath. “When you and Gwen were dating, she always complained you never made time to do the things she wanted to do.”

“Gwen didn’t acknowledge I worked for a living.” He snorted. “I couldn’t be at her beck and call for parties and outings.”

It still irritated Courtney that he’d thrown over her best friend for a gold-digging Fitzgerald sister. She and Gwen had grown up together. They were best—

Courtney blinked. She hadn’t spoken to Gwen since leaving Boston. Shouldn’t her best friend have checked in? Told her how devastated she was without her?

What were her friends doing? She hadn’t checked social media, not wanting to know life continued while she hid in Georgia.

She and Gray stepped into Fitzgerald House. The kitchen bustled and the smells were amazing. It reminded Courtney of her favorite Mexican restaurant over in Back Bay. Salad plates lined every surface and Cheryl, Abby and someone she didn’t recognize worked side by side.

“Hey, handsome,” Abby called out.

“How’s the event going?” Gray asked.

“They loved the appetizers. Salad course is going up now.” Abby tipped her head and Gray bent and dropped a kiss on her lips.

“We’ll head into the library.” Gray brushed hair off Abby’s cheek. “We could eat someplace else.”

“Give me a half hour or so.” Abby nodded at Cheryl. “Nathan and the kids are coming. And Kaden will be here, too.”

Kaden. The handyman’s hot grandson. Courtney straightened her shoulders. Time to get her flirt on.

“Come on, brat.” Gray moved to the swinging door. “We need to talk about why you’re really here in Savannah.”

Uh-oh. She didn’t let the irritation in Gray’s voice alter her small smile.

In the library she stalled, perusing the offerings. Peeking at Gray’s stony expression, all she wanted was a drink and a place to hide. Preferably in Boston.

She put an enchilada on her plate and added a stuffed pepper, chips and salsa. When she spotted a pitcher of margaritas, she poured a glass. Hard alcohol might get her through Gray’s inquisition.

“Front parlor.” He didn’t wait for her response, just led the way, carrying his own plate, and took an armchair. She sat on the edge of a small sofa, across the coffee table from him.

“This smells so good.” She took a chip and ran it through the salsa. “Num. Your wife is so talented.”

“Don’t suck up. I know your tricks.” His gaze was glacial. “When were you going to ask me about a job?”

Never. She sampled her drink and let the sweet taste slide down. Darn it, Abby even made great mixed drinks. “A job?”

He leaned across the table. “I talked to Father.”

“Oh.” She needed to regroup. “Mother’s working on him. He’ll relent.”

“I don’t think so.” He sipped his drink. “Father wanted to know how you were working out.”

“Just fine. It was a long drive, but I’m recovering.” She looked at her brother over the rim of the glass.

“He wanted to know how you were settling into my new office.” He pointed at her with a stuffed jalapeño. “Stop playing stupid. You know what I’m talking about.”

She shoved her plate out of the way and stood. She paced to the doorway and back. Maybe she’d taken the wrong tack. Maybe Gray could help her out of this mess. “He was mad because of some shoes. Shoes.”

“Five thousand dollars’ worth of shoes.”

She waved her hand. “You have to pay for quality.”

“And you ran into the gate again.”

She slipped back into her seat. “It was because of an animal this time.”

“Right.” Exasperation wrinkled his face. “You have to do something with your life.”

“With my fabulous literature degree?” She rolled her eyes.

“You chose your major,” he snapped.

“But I didn’t choose my school.”

“Sure you did.” He frowned. “You chose Mother’s alma mater.”

“I wanted Yale.” She bit her lip.

“With our history there—” his black eyebrows formed a straight line “—you didn’t get in?”

“I was accepted.” Of course her brother would think that she hadn’t had the grades, that she hadn’t been smart enough. “I test very well.”

Gray rattled his drink. “I don’t understand.”

“Father wouldn’t allow me to go to Yale because I wasn’t a serious student.” She stared at her food, not wanting to see the pity on Gray’s face.

“I didn’t know. I would have argued for you. Helped you.” Gray tipped up her chin with his finger, forcing her to stare into sympathy-filled eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t have had a different degree program.”

Arguing with Father for months on end had sucked the motivation right out of her.

“So, you’re working for me.” He tapped her nose.

It was something he’d done when she was young, when she’d been upset. He’d been good at cheering her up. She tried to smile. “I could lay low until Mother convinces Father that this is ridiculous.”

“You work for me, or you leave.” He forked a piece of enchilada into his mouth. “Since I haven’t finished the build-out on my office space, we’ll work out of the house. You start tomorrow.”

He would make her leave? “Can’t you tell Father I work for you, but I don’t actually do anything?”

“No.” Pity filled his face again. “We start at seven thirty. That means you’re up, moving and have eaten your breakfast.”

“Lovely.” She had to keep this from happening.

He pointed at her plate. “Are you going to eat that?”

Her appetite was gone. “It’s all yours.”

She headed into the library and refilled her margarita glass. Lord let her catch a horrible disease by tomorrow.