by Dani Wade
He seemed reluctant to pull his gaze from her hair, but finally did look around the room. She knew what he would see. Michael had let her decorate it to her taste, so the room had the feel of an old-fashioned library, with an antique bed that matched the bookshelves lining half the room. There was a writing desk and feminine purple bedding and curtains. The room had made her incredibly happy when Michael had designed it for her.
Now she felt like her very self was being exposed from every corner...something she did not want Rhett to see. But he was too quick for her.
Finally, his gray-green gaze made its way back to her, the intensity bringing a burn of guilt to her cheeks. Though she wasn’t quite sure what she had to feel guilty about...until he asked, “Is this your bedroom?”
With those words, she knew he’d guessed part of her secret. She could only pray he didn’t guess it all.
* * *
There were so many questions Rhett had wanted to ask Trinity. So many things he wanted to know about her. Some of them involved business—which he would get to in good time. Many of them did not. He knew he had no true reason to dive deep into her personal life except insofar as it helped him build his clients’ case. But that didn’t stop the burn of curiosity low in his gut.
He kept their conversation as innocuous as possible during their quiet lunch together, not wanting to set her further on edge. Her stiff body language and wary glances when she first came to the table warned him that their time in her bedroom still upset her, even hours later. She hadn’t wanted him to see her private space.
Or was that just an act for his benefit?
She very politely thanked the young lady who served their meal and very properly laid her silver and napkin in place for it to be easily removed. Genteel actions, but they felt learned. Had her husband taught her all the right moves? Had she learned them so she could earn her place when the time was right?
Why didn’t Rhett want to believe that?
“We can work in my office,” she said, her gesture for him to follow her quiet and elegant.
The questions continued as he followed her to the wing of the massive mansion that housed the business operations. Would Trinity have taken over her husband’s office? She didn’t appear to have shared the master bedroom with him.
The room she was sleeping in was too lived in, too much like her for her to have moved in a mere six weeks ago. No. It wasn’t the room of a widow trying to get away from the memory of her dead husband. It was a room designed for her. That intrigued him most of all.
The Hyatts would find it intriguing, too, he was sure. Which meant Rhett had to figure out exactly what it meant.
He wouldn’t be sharing anything just yet. When the time was right, he’d ask the questions nagging him, and hope he knew what to do with the answers.
Trinity led him through one of the elaborately carved oak doors into a room with high ceilings supported by numerous bookshelves. There was a heavy, polished desk with a clean desktop containing multiple computer screens, now dark.
Trinity kept walking through a side door where she paused beside the desk of a smiling woman with an air of quiet competence.
“Anything I need to see, Jenny?” Trinity asked.
The secretary frowned. “Well...”
“Besides that,” Trinity said, wiggling her phone to indicate she’d already seen the posts.
“Sorry, Mrs. Hyatt,” Jenny said.
Rhett watched the interaction with interest. The Hyatts would have everyone believe that Trinity was nothing but a gold digger. But the staff in the house seemed to be devoted to her, or at least friendly. Did they just know her better? Or had they been fooled?
“Jenny, this is Rhett Brannon. He’s going to be helping me out with the businesses for the foreseeable future.”
Rhett smiled as Jenny nodded an acknowledgment in his direction.
“Please have an office space set up for him across the hall.”
“That’s not necessary,” he protested.
Trinity turned her sage gaze his way. “I want you to be comfortable here. That includes having your own space.”
Was she buttering him up? Or was this genuine Louisiana hospitality?
Rhett smiled his thanks despite his questions and followed Trinity into the room beyond.
This office was a smaller, more feminine version of the one they’d left behind. It was also more old-school. Whereas Michael had appeared to be the epitome of a modern businessman who did the entirety of his work on his computer, the same could not be said of this office’s occupant. Though Trinity had a monitor and keyboard, there were no other indications of expensive technology. Instead, the wall facing her desk appeared to have been taken over by an army of whiteboards. Each one seemed dedicated to aspects of Michael’s businesses that she seemed to be tracking.
Personnel. Income. Expenditures. Contracts. Stock market numbers for the last week.
“Wow,” he said, not realizing at first that he’d spoken aloud.
He turned back to where she stood behind the small but gorgeous teakwood desk just in time to catch a glimpse of a becoming flush staining her cheeks before she looked down. A few framed photographs of her with Michael taken over the years caught his eye.
“There’s a chair by the table over there if you want to make yourself comfortable,” she said softly, as if she couldn’t force the words out any louder.
Glancing around, he spotted the chair and crossed the room to retrieve it. “Not a lot of visitors?” he asked, attempting to lighten the atmosphere.
“No. Just Michael and Jenny.”
The table across the long, narrow room was littered with piles of papers and binders. It was pushed against a window looking into the lush gardens of Hyatt House, overflowing with blooms and foliage in the damp July heat. Before turning away, Rhett noted some spreadsheets and graphs with neat, tiny handwriting in the margins. She’d been keeping track of an abundance of details. To do the right thing? Or to find her own ways of taking over?
Or both?
Again, Rhett’s unease returned as he set the chair across from her desk and sat down. Usually he had his target pinned and figured out within hours of their meeting. Definitely within a day. His doubts and questions about Trinity were unusual. He certainly didn’t enjoy the constant second-guessing. He needed answers. ASAP.
You know why she’s trying to throw you off track, his inner cynic said. But the rest of him, the part admittedly attracted to her, reminded him to keep an open mind. He liked to think he could do that—it wasn’t his fault the people he was brought in to condemn usually proved his inner cynic right.
The inner struggle drove him to his feet once more, and he crossed to the wall of whiteboards. “What made you decide to use this method?” he asked. He told himself that being able to see the data out in the open like this was good for his investigation.
“Michael and I came up with it. I’ve always been a visually oriented person, and writing things down helps them stick. Typing information into a computer doesn’t do the same thing for me, hence the whiteboards. Michael, on the other hand, was more at home with spreadsheets and data-mining programs.”
That made sense. “So he knew you pretty well?”
“As you could tell by the photographs, we’ve known each other a long time.”
Long enough for you to learn his weaknesses?
“He taught me a lot through the years, about business, art and people. Though very few people want to acknowledge those years we worked together.”
“What did you do before you married?” he asked, though he knew the answer already.
“Same thing I do now,” Trinity said with the smallest of enchanting smiles. That pinpoint of happiness drew Rhett into her words. “I managed Michael’s charity, Maison de Jardin. It’s a shelter for abused women and children.”
�
��Sounds fulfilling.”
“It is.” Her smile grew even softer. “And heartbreaking. And satisfying. Michael wholeheartedly believed in the charity and wanted to ensure it continued—despite his aunt and uncle’s wishes.”
Rhett let that pass, for now.
“Michael and I spent a lot of time together. Not just at the charity.” The very fact that she didn’t elaborate made Rhett all the more curious. “He tended to process issues and problems out loud. When we were together, he would talk through the ins and outs of business strategies just as much as he spoke about art and movies and travel.”
“Sounds boring for you.”
“Nothing with Michael was ever boring.” The sad shadow that crossed her expression brought an odd tightness to Rhett’s chest. “He wasn’t just my husband, he was my best friend.”
But was he her bedmate once they were married? Rhett wanted to know—even though it wasn’t his place to ask.
Or was it? Was she lying about her husband’s intentions in marrying her? Or her intentions? After all, other than sex, why would Michael have married a woman much younger than him, so much below his own station in life? Or was Rhett simply blowing the evidence of the unshared bedroom out of proportion? He knew more than anyone how odd the rich and famous could be. And people slept in different rooms for a myriad of reasons...it didn’t necessarily mean they hadn’t been intimate.
But how would that knowledge affect the court case? If he could get her to confide the true emotional depth of her relationship with her husband... After all, wasn’t that what he was here for?
But first, he had to get her to trust him.
As he focused in on her expression once more, Rhett noticed she seemed to be struggling with something just as much as he was—though he hoped his expression wasn’t nearly as revealing as hers.
“Look—” she paused to swallow hard “—I know other people must have mentioned that I grew up at Maison de Jardin. That is true. I did.”
At least she wasn’t hiding her roots from him. This part of the story intrigued him more than he wanted it to.
“My mother and I moved there when I was ten after... Well, it doesn’t matter. But Michael was very good to us. We came there just before his parents died. He was very lost and spent a lot of time helping at Maison de Jardin during that very dark period of his life.”
“So it meant a lot to him?”
“It did. More than a lot of people know.” She grimaced, seemingly struggling to say something. “I don’t want to appear judgmental or—”
“Trinity.” He waited until she met his gaze head-on before continuing. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”
He really wanted to know. He needed to know. And holding her gaze with his own deepened that need in a way he didn’t want to examine.
“Michael’s aunt and uncle—there’s something you don’t understand. Something no one on the board seems to understand. This court case, it has nothing to do with the businesses.”
Wait a minute... “How so?”
“Oh, in the long run, the income from the businesses might help them. But that’s not why they want the inheritance.”
Her gaze went to the wall over his shoulder next to the door to the other offices. Rhett turned to find a gorgeous portrait of a house. No, house was an understatement. It was three stories of astonishing Queen Anne brick architecture. It had three chimneys. A turret on the third floor. Arched bay windows on the lower level and a balcony over the front door. It was enormous and in incredible repair despite what must be significant age.
Some houses were portrayed as scary. Some majestic. Some transcendent. Despite the obvious grandeur of the building in the painting, Rhett felt a sense of welcoming, of the promise of protection within its walls. The small nameplate at the bottom confirmed that this was Maison de Jardin.
“You see, whoever gains control of Michael’s inheritance doesn’t just gain his place on the board of Hyatt Heights. They gain full control over the charity.”
“There’s no board for the charity?” Rhett asked, tiny alarm bells sounding in his brain.
Trinity slowly shook her head. “There are no checks and balances, which means they would be able to do with Maison de Jardin whatever they want.” Her gaze returned to the painting. “There would be no one to stop them.”
“From doing what?” Rhett’s voice came out hushed, though they were alone in the room.
“What they’ve wanted all along...sell Maison de Jardin to the highest bidder.”
Five
Trinity paused outside the door to the breakfast room and took a few deep breaths. The faint clink of silverware told her Rhett was already inside. She’d tossed and turned, knowing that he slept just across the hall. The anticipation she felt at seeing him again confirmed she needed to keep him at arm’s length.
She’d never been one to be charmed by a handsome face, but she was beginning to wonder about herself. Then again, the understanding and shock he’d exhibited when she’d talked about her in-laws yesterday might have something to do with her curiosity, too.
Sympathetic people had been few and far between in her lifetime, much less since marrying Michael. Since his death, she’d restricted her comments about the Hyatts to private discussions with her lawyer, so she wasn’t sure what had prompted her revelation the day before. Some days she simply felt so alone in the task Michael had left for her. Apparently she hadn’t been able to resist unburdening herself when Rhett seemed to lend a sympathetic ear.
Still, the last thing she needed was to get too attached. Her life was already complicated enough, and she had too many obligations that other people might not understand.
So suck it up, buttercup! Time to go back to standing on her own two feet.
With that little pep talk, she forced herself through the doorway and gave Rhett a cautious smile. “Good morning,” she said.
She let herself absorb the atmosphere of one of her favorite places in the house. A double set of French doors, open to the coolness of the morning, allowed in dappled sunshine and the scent of flowers from the luscious gardens outside. She could even hear the buzzing of a bee as it worked the blossoms of the bougainvillea that framed the doorway.
With a quick but deep breath, she turned to the buffet along the opposite wall. Normally the cook who had been with Michael since he’d been a teenager would have prepared a simple breakfast just for Trinity. But the presence of a guest called for a more elaborate, traditionally Southern spread of biscuits, grits, gravy, bacon, sausage and omelets that left the buffet overflowing. It was a little overboard for just two people but the cook missed preparing meals for visitors, who had been frequent when Michael had been alive.
“Have a chance to look over those cash flow concepts last night?” Rhett asked.
The focus on business helped her relax slightly. “Yes. And I’ve started working on a strategy guide for you and Bill to vet...” She couldn’t stop the frown that pulled down her brows. “Although I still feel we should do more to help the employees themselves, rather than focusing solely on creating profits.”
“You can—by ensuring them a stable and profitable business that guarantees jobs and income.”
His matter-of-fact tone was understandable but frustrating. “But the business would be nothing without its employees. Shouldn’t we reassure them we’re concerned about their welfare?” That would take more than words. She knew. She’d been there.
“I understand your concern, but it’s idealistic,” he said as he lowered his plate onto the small table next to a window overlooking the patio. The mounds of omelet, bacon and biscuits barely made a dent in the offerings, but Rhett looked happy. “Right now, we need to ensure the business is the strongest it can be.”
“Actually, a focus on employees was something Michael felt very strongly about.” Her appetite shriveled as she thought about bet
raying his legacy. Still, she spooned a small portion of scrambled eggs and a biscuit onto her plate. “Employee benefits and policies was something he and his uncle continually disagreed on.”
“He sounds like a good guy.”
Why had Rhett’s voice suddenly hardened? Trinity glanced over but his expression was neutral. “You don’t believe me?” she asked. “Michael knew how to be tough when he needed to be.”
“And now is one of those times,” he said, Rhett’s voice softening as he watched her. “I’m not saying take advantage or short the employees in any way. I’m just saying the focus has to be on the bigger picture. For now. The kindhearted rarely survive long in big business. With these companies on shaky ground, you need to remember that. Be tough.”
He was right. This was something she could not fail at, so taking Rhett’s advice was essential. There was too much at stake. “I guess my own experience is with an organization like Maison de Jardin that’s less focused on profit and more focused on people. I know that, but it’s still hard to get away from.”
When he didn’t respond, she glanced over at him to find him watching her with a little more intensity than before. He chewed slowly, looking deep in thought. She felt the urge to squirm but calmed herself by pouring a cup of her favorite chicory coffee and taking a sip.
From behind her, he said, “I understand that. You’ve done a good job there, I’m sure. The skills are transferable, but the focus is just different.”
His words nagged at her as she crossed to her seat and set her plate on the table. She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Are you always tough?” She bit her lip as she sat down, but couldn’t hold the next question inside. “Is it always about the bottom line for you?”
If she hadn’t been watching him, she would have missed his reaction. Because it wasn’t the words he spoke, or rather, didn’t speak. It was his face.
It was as if his expression cracked, whether from surprise or irritation or something else, she wasn’t sure. But almost immediately she recognized that she was seeing Rhett’s true self, one he rarely—if ever—let anyone see. His gray eyes went wide. She saw a mixture of shock and pain there that both saddened and intrigued her. She leaned forward before he was able to lock himself down tight.