 
Copyright © 2018 by Z.L. Arkadie Books

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN: 978-1-942857-38-9

# The Sterlings Series

> This Title - **" _Secrets And Lies"_** was previously **" _Secrets And Chance._ "**
> 
> * * *
> 
> **The series has been retitled to more accurately reflect the content.**

### Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Other Series You Might Like

About the Author

# Chapter One

### Rosalie Stetson

Rosalie Stetson guided her car off the freeway exit. The rain started up again as she made a right, drove a number of feet, and stopped on the gravel along the side of the road. The softly purring engine mixed with the sound of water pelting the window. She looked down at the passenger seat and stared at the letter that was sitting on the leather cushion.

Edna Sterling, Rosalie's ex-husband's grandmother, had the letter sent to her by messenger two days ago. Rosalie had been divorced from Peter Sterling for six years. However, during their mostly contentious marriage, she developed a bond with his grandmother, a link they had continued until that very day.

Rosalie took a deep breath and remembered when she had last spent time with Edna in June. Edna had come to Los Angeles to handle some personal business. Instead of staying at a luxury hotel, she'd spent two days at Rosalie's humble abode in Pasadena, California.

A day before her guest's arrival, Rosalie hired a maid service and had her place cleaned from top to bottom. She drove out to Redondo Beach and stood in line for an hour just to buy a crispy apple pie from Pies in the Sky. Then she fought traffic all the way to Westlake Village and went to Mason's Cellar because they were the only ones who sold Sterling Vine Premium Rosé for the more affordable price of two hundred fifty dollars a bottle. Produce King in Santa Monica was her last stop. Rosalie bought fresh carrots, celery, butter lettuce, spinach, kale, tomatoes, and more. Edna loved Rosalie's vegetable smoothies. She wanted to make at least two good ones during her guest's stay. By bedtime, she was exhausted. But in the morning, Edna arrived and sat down to her first piece of her favorite pie.

"Mm, divine," Edna said after taking her first bite.

Rosalie smiled from ear to ear. All of her ripping and running had paid off.

Later that day, they ate all forms of lobster entrées and shook their shoulders to unknown bands at the Lobster Fest in San Pedro. Then on the following day, Rosalie and Edna drove to Santa Monica early in the morning for a brisk walk along the beach. Next they had breakfast at the Casa Del Mar Hotel then went back to Pasadena for the open-air antiquing mall. However, the most delightful parts of their time spent together were their conversations, which had spanned from politics to business practices to traveling to Rosalie's nonexistent love life. They would stay up into the wee hours of the morning having them, and on Edna's last night in town that's exactly what they did.

Rosalie took another breath then lifted the envelope off the seat. She opened it and read the letter for the umpteenth time.

* * *

> Dear Rosalie,
> 
> * * *
> 
> On December the 31st, I will have reached the start of my 82nd year on God's green earth. Of course there has been another party planned in celebration of this milestone. I know, darling, my "descendants" can be quite the challenge, but this year, I would love for you to join them. I will prepare a room for your arrival on the 29th. Please use the reply card to inform me whether or not you will grace us with your presence. We have much to discuss before my final hours.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Edna

The rain tapered down as Rosalie read the last line again. She had received the letter on Tuesday afternoon via overnight express mail. She only had two days to make plans to not only attend Edna's birthday party but arrive two days early. She immediately called Edna but her call went to voice mail. So she called three more times. Yesterday, she placed more calls and left more messages.

In her last message to Edna, she said, "Edna, if you don't answer me now, I'm driving to Blushing Green to see you today."

Five minutes later, Edna's personal assistant, Kathy Lunsford, called and said, "Mrs. Sterling would rather you make her acquaintance on December twenty-ninth. She also would like for you to know that she is in good health and spirits and would prefer that you honor her wishes."

Rosalie didn't know what to think or do. She wavered between insisting Edna get on the phone so she could speak to her or just honoring her wishes. Rosalie finally decided that Edna would never ask her to do anything unless there was a rational reason behind it.

"Rosalie?" Kathy asked after Rosalie had fallen silent.

She had sighed regretfully. "Okay. Tell Mrs. Sterling that I'll see her Thursday."

* * *

Now Rosalie was only fifteen miles away from Blushing Green, which was a small town in Northern California, comprised of plush vineyards on one side and an average, tiny, near-coastal mining town on the other. It was also the town her parents moved to before she was born. Her father had taught criminal justice at Santa Rosa College, which was thirty-five minutes away, and her mother had stayed at home to raise Rosalie and her older brother, Norman, who was now a homicide detective in San Francisco. Her parents had been divorced for ten years. When they did it, she wasn't angry or upset like most eighteen year olds would've been after their parents had split. Rosalie thought getting away from each other was the best decision Vera and Richard had ever made.

Rosalie put the car in drive, checked the rearview mirror, and gave the car some gas. The wheels spun in the mud under her tires. The car zigzagged, but soon, she was back on the road. Her mind immediately went to the last line of Edna's letter. _We have much to discuss before my final hours._ What the hell did that mean? Was she terminally ill?

Rosalie shook her head as she turned onto the freeway on-ramp. For the last three days, she'd refused to let her mind travel down the pathway to Edna's possible death, so instead, she'd focused on a real impending doom. She was going to see Peter again. There was no way around it. He would be at that party. Not only would he make sure she would see him but he would find some way to make sure she paid for making sure they had followed through with their divorce. If it had bee left up to Peter, they would've lived in misery for the rest of their lives. Lucky for her, she hadn't had to lay eyes on him since they'd finalized the terms of their divorce.

Rosalie had never steered clear of Edna, but she had made sure she never ran into another Sterling since saying goodbye to Peter and Blushing Green. The Sterlings were a cold clan. They were the kind of people who believed the world should fall on their knees, kiss their feet and know that they were gods, and not just any gods—they were the mean, evil and narcissistic deities of Greek mythology.

She opened her mouth wide to yawn and then gripped the steering wheel tighter. It was the seventh hour of her long road trip and boy was she tired. To keep her mind occupied, she allowed herself to be entertained by memories of the first time Peter Sterling had asked her out. From ninth through twelfth grade, their lockers had been next to each other, being that her last name was Stetson and his was Sterling. In the ninth grade, their lockers were side by side. In the tenth grade, his was above hers. But in the eleventh grade, hers was above his. Of course Peter hated having a girl above him, so he asked if she would mind switching.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I'm a foot taller than you for starters."

She snorted sarcastically. "A foot? I don't think so."

He rolled his eyes as if she were a peon. "So is that your final answer?" he asked impatiently.

Rosalie considered Peter Sterling one of those entitled Vineyard Valley kids who thought the world revolved around him. His posture was too straight, and when he walked, his nose pointed too high in the air. Goodness, she couldn't stand him. The fact that they never spoke—even though they had seen each other practically every day for two, going on three, years—was fine with her. And now he wanted the better locker?

"Actually, my answer is hell no," she said in a very unaffected voice. Rosalie then carefully closed her locker and strolled to class. She could feel his baffled gaze on her back. Of course she was truly freaking out on the inside. No one denied Peter Sterling, and the only reason she had walked away from him with such attitude was because she'd seen a similar situation play out on a television show she'd watched the previous Sunday night. It was one of those prime-time dramas in which the women wore too many diamonds, called everyone _dahling_ , flirted with every man that crossed their paths, and from time to time, engaged in epic cat fights. Rosalie's mom used to love those shows, and so did she.

When she told her best friend back then, Bellamy Cooper, what had happened, Bellamy chastised her for making the stupidest mistake ever. Regardless, Rosalie spent three days trying to avoid Peter. On the fourth day, he was waiting outside of her trigonometry class.

"You were right," he said as soon as she walked out of the room.

At first, Rosalie thought he was speaking to someone else, but he was looking right at her. Gosh, Peter Sterling was the best-looking guy in the whole school with his wavy brown hair, ice-blue bedroom eyes, and the facial features of an international male model. He was the high school quarterback, class president, and the most popular boy on campus. He was also dating Susan McAvoy, head cheerleader, homecoming queen, junior prom queen, and most likely future senior prom queen. Being the prettiest and most desired girl on campus was an absolute must for the blond, skinny, green-eyed Susan.

"I was?" Rosalie asked as she continued walking to her next class. Actually, her head was hurting; trigonometry always had that effect on her.

"That was your locker, not mine." He grunted with amusement. "You didn't have to give it to me, and you didn't."

It sounded as if he admired her for the stance she had taken. But for some reason, she couldn't trust people like Peter.

"No, I didn't," she barely said while hugging her books against her chest.

"Hey, what are you doing Friday night?" he asked.

She studied him with one eye narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"

"I wanted to know if you wanted to go to a movie or something."

She frowned inquisitively as she nudged herself in the chest. "You want to take me to a movie?"

His entire face lit up. "Yeah!"

"Ha!" Rosalie scoffed. "What are you looking to make happen? A _Carrie_ moment?"

He looked genuinely confused. "A _Carrie_ moment?"

"You know the movie _Carrie_ , don't you?"

His eyebrows ruffled. "Never heard of it."

"Everybody's heard of _Carrie_."

"Not me. And what does that movie have to do with you going out with me on Friday night?"

They rounded the corner, and her class was only two doors away. She had no time to explain how in the movie _Carrie_ , the popular boy invited the unpopular girl to the prom just to dump pig's blood on her. However, another thought came to mind.

"Isn't Susan your girlfriend?" she asked with a healthy amount of revulsion. Rosalie knew better than to date some girl's boyfriend, especially a mean girl like Susan. She wasn't afraid of Susan, but she had seen the pretty, popular girl destroy the reputations of others, and she didn't want to be her latest victim.

Peter looked away. "We broke up."

"When?" Rosalie asked before she could stop herself. If it were true, that would've been some pretty hot high school gossip.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Yesterday."

She stopped before reaching the open door of her classroom. "But why?"

He stared into her eyes for the longest time as curious students filed into the classroom. "You're very pretty, Rosalie."

She was choked up and sort of turned on. She couldn't ever remember a boy looking at her that way. Actually, she could.

Rosalie had spent the summer at her aunt Candace's house in San Diego. Kim, her cousin, had shown her how to shampoo and condition her hair so that it always looked soft because, as Kim had said, boys liked it. Kim had also told her to always wear mascara and red lipstick so she would always look her best. Rosalie hadn't even been interested in boys until that summer. But the more attention she'd received after following Kim's tips, the more confident she'd felt and the more she'd started thinking about being with a guy—not going all the way, but at least making it to first base.

Peter stood close to her. She thought about how his height made her feel safe. She also thought he didn't smell too good. He had just come from football practice and hadn't showered. Rosalie looked down at her shoes. She knew she was blushing. Her face was hot, and her palms were damp.

"I have to go." She quickly turned in to the classroom.

To her surprise, Peter followed her and sat down right next to her.

Her eyes widened with surprise. "You have this class?"

He furrowed his brows as he looked around the classroom then at the teacher, who was sitting up front. "What class is this?"

"Government."

"Oh." He made himself comfortable in his seat. "No."

"Then what are you doing in here?"

"Waiting for you to say yes."

The classroom was filling up fast. Those sitting nearby had already figured out what was happening and were watching the spectacle Peter was making of himself. Rosalie felt stubborn yet flattered. Heck, her cousin Kim's tips had worked in San Diego, and now they were working in Blushing Green.

She looked at the clock and saw they had only one minute before the bell rang. "You're going to be late."

"So what?" he asked with that sense of entitlement that always made him her enemy.

If only she had followed her gut. A guy like Peter Sterling could never be the one for her. She wanted a modest man who was smart, mature, and nice. As far as she knew, Peter Sterling was the opposite of that. But looking at those blue eyes and those soft pink lips of his, Rosalie felt she could kiss him all night long and not miss a wink of sleep.

"Okay, I'll go out with you," she said, not wanting to take it back.

Smiling victoriously, Peter shot to his feet and practically ran out of the classroom before the bell rang. For a moment, she thought he wasn't entitled after all because he didn't want to be late for his next class.

* * *

On their first date, Rosalie smelled and looked her best. One date turned into more, and she and Peter dated all that year. Susan never exacted revenge on Rosalie for dating her ex-boyfriend because she had actually cheated on Peter with his best friend, Rick. During the summer before Rosalie and Peter entered the twelfth grade, Rick broke it off with Susan before moving on to Colorado State University, where he eventually flunked out because he enjoyed partying more than studying.

Once senior year began, Susan made a play to win Peter back. But by then, Peter was wholly dedicated to Rosalie, especially after he injured himself during the first football game of the season. He'd pulled a groin muscle, and the doctor advised that if he wasn't going to play college or professional football, there had been no use putting in the effort to overcome the injury in high school.

As she exited the highway to get gas, Rosalie remembered the look on Peter's face when he'd told her that he had to quit the football team. He'd had the same facial expression after their lawyers had hammered out their divorce settlement. He'd been relieved to get rid of football, and six years after they'd married, days after her nineteenth birthday, he had been relieved to get rid of her.

The red light turned green at the end of the circular off-ramp. Rosalie guided her car up the narrow road until she reached the gas station. It was fifty-three degrees, and she was wearing a seventy-degree outfit. Her cap-sleeved T-shirt and stretchy black pants were comfortable for a nine-hour drive up north. Instead of reaching into the backseat to grab her black jacket, Rosalie took her chances on the cold being kind to her. She rushed out of the car, swiped her debit card, and inserted the pump into the tank. She hugged her cold arms as she waited. It must have been raining a lot lately. The sweet scent of wet grass and faint fragrance of the salty ocean lingered in the air. The Pacific Ocean was twenty-six miles away.

Seventeen dollars' worth of gas was in the tank when a cream-colored SUV pulled up behind Rosalie's more modest but current sedan. She hugged herself tighter, regretting not putting on her jacket, as she squinted at the front of the large vehicle. It was a beautiful piece of machinery and had definitely cost a pretty penny.

A man briskly exited the driver's side with a cell phone pressed against his ear. He wore black jogging pants and a black zip-up hoodie over a white T-shirt. His clothes hugged him in all the right places. It had been a while since she'd been sexual with a guy. It usually took more than what a man looked like or drove to send her into a lustful stupor, but for some reason, there she stood, admiring the stranger's sexy physique.

Rosalie had forgotten to breathe, so she inhaled as her gaze shifted to the stranger's face. His light eyes were looking at her, which was an indication that she had been staring at him for far too long. Thank goodness the handle on the pump clicked. Her tank was full. She scrambled to put the nozzle back on the pump.

"Yes, I heard you," the man said.

The skin of Rosalie's face and neck warmed. She was no longer freezing. The guy was admonishing whomever he was speaking to about submitting forms, which she ascertained were legal documents, before the deadline.

"What the hell, Victor? Whose job was it to submit them?"

She wanted to take another peek at him before getting into the warm cab of her car but was too nervous to do it. Goodness, her reaction to him was so weird. She settled into the driver's seat, fastened her seat belt, and started the engine.

There were two knocks on the left-side back window. Rosalie slapped a hand over her heart and gasped.

"You left your gas cap off," he said.

She could hear him screw the cap over the tank and close the lid. Her heart was beating a mile a minute. She rolled down the window and gulped nervously as she extended an arm out into the air to wave.

Her shaky, high-pitched "thank you" probably clued him in to how nervous she was.

All he did was nod and continue his heated phone conversation.

As Rosalie drove off, she remembered that she had forgotten to get her receipt. At least she was done thinking about Peter and Susan and the impending doom of seeing the entire maniacal Sterling clan. She got back on the two-lane highway and admired the grass and stony mountains, which rose on both sides of the road. Her hometown was not that far away. Then the curved road leveled out. Green fields stretched across the landscape, halting at the edge of the hills, where beautiful brick craftsman homes stood on top. Healthy white and gray clouds of smoke flowed out of chimneys and hung in the sky above the rooftops. When Rosalie was a kid, she had always wanted to live in one of those homes. She could only have afforded to after she married Peter, but leaving the Vineyard Valley area of Blushing Green would have been like sacrilege to him.

She finally exited the freeway and reached the fork at the end of Harvest Road. A left turn would have taken her downtown and to her old neighborhood, where people who had only a crumb of Sterling cash lived. So Rosalie turned right on Grove Road and drove up the mountain that separated one side of town from the other. Her car descended into the high valley that was filled with grape and olive vineyards, which produced a variety of wines, olive oils, and balsamic vinegars.

She recalled when she had first driven through the town people called the Valley of the Rich. She had felt as if she didn't belong, which was a feeling that had not left her. Peter never did a good job of making her feel accepted, nor did Virginia Sterling, his mother. Carlton Sterling, Peter's father, emitted an energy that made her stay away from him. She would catch him staring at her at times and in a way that made her skin crawl. Once, Peter had wanted her to travel alone with his father to a family celebration in San Francisco. Peter, who'd been in Seattle visiting a friend from high school, had decided to fly into San Francisco International Airport rather than the Sonoma County Airport. Rosalie had faked having food poisoning just to get out of being alone with Carlton.

Finally, she arrived at the gate of the Sterling Estate. Their vineyard was different from the others in the valley, being that off the main road, a visitor first encountered the massive black iron gate that surrounded the front of the property. Rosalie punched the secret passcode into the keypad. After the locks clicked and the motor activated, the gate rolled open.

She hadn't been on the property for two years. She mostly visited Edna in Los Angeles or New Orleans. Other times, they would take long vacations together to destinations like Marrakech, Morocco, or the islands of Fiji. They usually traveled during the summer so they could comfortably follow their tradition of taking long walks together. She learned so much about Edna and the Sterlings on those walks.

As Rosalie drove slowly up the path, she saw that the immaculately manicured lawn, the lines of shrubs, and the tall Italian spruce trees still looked the same. The Sterling mansion was the only home in the valley that had the architecture of a large English country house. It had large windows and hefty brick chimneys, which rose above the rooftop at each corner.

She reached the carport, which was attached to the north side of the house. It was where Edna accepted guests. As soon as she stopped under the cover, a short man in a black suit walked up to her door and opened it.

He wore a painted-on smile. "Good afternoon, Rosalie. Mrs. Sterling has been expecting you."

"Thanks, Mr. Garcia," she said after reading his name tag.

"You're welcome."

Rosalie got out of the car with her purse and the letter Edna had sent with her. She left everything else in the trunk or backseat, knowing her things would magically appear in the room Esther had prepared for her.

"Mrs. Sterling will meet you in the sitting room." Mr. Garcia pointed a hand toward the doorway, where a small lady with dark hair and wearing a pink maid's uniform stood. "Teresa will take you."

All of a sudden, Rosalie's body shook as she walked behind Teresa, admiring the perfectly coiffed bun at the back of her head. Everything in Sterling Mansion was impeccable, even the staff. Memories came crashing back like waves against the wet shore. Edna had gaudy, Victorian-styled taste, evidenced by a lot of chandeliers, porcelain and gold lamps and trinkets, and huge ornate wooden and silk-cushioned furniture.

Generations of Sterling men lived on in the portraits nailed to the wall, including Conrad Bartholomew Sterling, Edna's late husband. Conrad was only sixty-four years old when his relationship with booze put him in an early grave. He'd made Edna the administrator of the family holdings, but in the event of her death, their descendants were supposed to inherit everything. Rosalie's ex-husband, Peter, had acted as if he couldn't wait for that day to come. He used to say that when his grandmother died, he would be set for life. He'd planned to sell his stake in the family business and travel the world as a free man. According to the last sentence in that letter Edna had sent her, it sounded as if Peter's wish would soon come true.

Rosalie walked into the sitting room, where Edna always greeted her guests. The space looked different than it had the last time she was there. The walls were painted French vanilla; they used to be bone white. The drapes over the large windows were made of sheer gold silk. Rosalie brushed her hand across the top of the comfy, cushiony chair and took steps toward the curtains to touch them. She just had to get a feel of what looked like the softest material ever.

"What are you doing here?" a man asked.

Rosalie whipped herself around toward the source of the voice. Her mouth fell open. Facing her was the man from the gas station.

# Chapter Two

### Chance Sterling

### Thirty Minutes Ago

The navigational system sent Chance Sterling down roads he didn't even recognize. He was only half-engaged in the directives the electronic voice was giving him. His schedule didn't allow for the trip to Blushing Green, but the phone call he'd received from his grandmother, Edna Sterling, yesterday had alarmed the hell out of him. A month ago, he had taken a job as general counsel for Lord and Lord Enterprises after receiving an offer from Jack Lord himself. Chance had hit the ground running and hadn't slowed down since.

Yesterday, Sally Brier, his secretary, had interrupted him during a meeting with the land surveyors for the North Brinks project. Sally knew not to interrupt unless one specific person called.

"Sorry, it's Edna," she said.

Chance immediately asked Richard Calhoun, head of legal for the Pacific region, and Derek Post, one of his legal advisors, to give him five minutes. Then he hurried to his office to take the call. Edna wasted no time asking if he could visit her. She wanted to confer with him in person before her last day on earth.

Her words stunned him. "Your last day on earth? What's going on, Grandmother?"

"Not on the telephone. Tomorrow around noon?"

Chance scratched his head as he thought about how he had to drive out to Napa the next morning. The company had purchased unviable land due to a bad deal made by one of the company's land acquisitions agents. It was Chance's job to make sure the deal was legally nullified and the company was reimbursed the full six-million-dollar purchase price for the one hundred eighty acres of bad land. But first, he had to be shown the defects so that he could present them all in legal terms, which meant he would be in Napa Valley for at least six to eight hours the next day.

"I can make it tomorrow but not at noon. Maybe three or four, or even later."

"Then that will have to do. And I will need you to remain for the party."

Chance clenched his back teeth. The thought of being in the same vicinity as his father and uncles made him anxious. "All right." He would have to come up with an excuse to leave before the big day, which was in three days.

"So what is this meeting about, Grandmother?"

"I'll give you all the details when you get here."

"Is everything okay?"

"Never been better," she sang.

Chance frowned. There was something off about her tone. Regardless, he'd had no time to question her. But he was determined to get the answers he needed to wash away his worry.

So he'd shifted his schedule for the day, waking up at six a.m. He had driven to Napa for a seven thirty a.m. meeting with surveyors, planners, and geologists, along with Richard and Derek. They had wrapped up by two p.m. Afterward, he'd set his navigator to take him the fastest way to Blushing Green by way of back roads rather than the highways in order to avoid traffic. But he hadn't done a good enough job managing all the calls he needed to make and take while listening to his navigator. After an hour and a half of driving, Chance figured he'd lost his way.

Chance turned off the navigator and used his familiarity with the area. He went down one recognizable road after another until he found Bloom Street. He had less than a quarter of a tank of gas left, so he pulled off into the gas station and stopped behind a car. He was on the phone with one of his assistants, who had forgotten to file plans with Dade County in Florida by the end of the business day, when he got a good look at the woman pumping her gas. He was sure she was Rosalie Stetson, his cousin Pete's ex-wife. Chance would never forget her face, which was just as exotically beautiful as the first time he'd ever laid eyes on her.

The first time he'd seen her was the day of her wedding. He had been outside at the back of the church, smoking a cigarette. There was one event all Sterlings were required to show up for no matter what, and that was a wedding.

Other than Penelope, his grandmother's only daughter, there were mostly new brides entering the family, and socialization to the Sterling ways began on day one. Each uncle, including his father, Douglas Sterling, had a way of fucking with each bride. Some made inappropriate jokes, while others asked the bride all sorts of questions about the success of the men in her family, leading her to the conclusion that none of them were or would ever be as powerful as Sterling men. By the time the bride hobbled off to her honeymoon, she would have come to the conclusion that she was insignificant and that her new groom was the boss.

Chance stood in the alley of the San Francisco parsonage, leaning against the wall and regretting having to start as a lawyer for the family business come Monday morning. His father had already recited to him a list of expectations:

_I expect you to know how to write an effective brief._

_I expect you to shadow David Berger, who is the current general counsel, and learn everything he knows and more by the end of the year._

_I expect you to be five minutes early for every meeting and work two hours later than everyone else._

And the list continued to grow on a daily basis. Even on the afternoon of Pete's wedding, his father had cornered him in the parking lot to say that he expected Chance to know everything about the company's rules of governance and told him to prepare for a six a.m. meeting on Monday. That meant after hearing Peter and his new bride say their I dos, he would have to head down to the office and read up.

Suddenly, the door broke wide open, and a woman wearing a long white slip bent over, clutching her knees and choking in deep breaths. Chance turned in the opposite direction to look for an escape. He felt as if the woman needed a moment alone. When she finally saw him, she stood straight up, put her hand over her mouth, then took her hand away to whimper, "Sorry." Then, her face red with embarrassment, she quickly went back inside.

With his mouth agape, Chance stared at the empty space she had left behind. He was still captivated by whatever she had emitted. Beautiful women were a dime a dozen, so he had learned not to go crazy over a sexy body, nice rack, and exotic face. This woman had all of that. But what had captivated him the most was the honest look in her eyes. She was vulnerable and miserable. They were kindred souls. He could run away with her and never come back. He could make her happy, and she could bring him pure bliss. It was a pop-up fantasy, of course. However, Chance decided to stick around after the ceremony to see if he could find the woman and have a conversation with her. When it came to women, he wasn't the type who was on the never-ending search to find "the one." But he was in the process of believing that she could be the one for him.

He dropped his cigarette on the ground and smashed it out. He gave the butt one last look as it sat there with the other cigarette butts that had come before his. His mother wouldn't have approved of him smoking, which was probably the reason he did it. His father was now on his second wife after divorcing Chance's mother, who was back to using her maiden name, Mandy Ross. At first, he hadn't understood why she'd so quickly reclaimed her maiden name, but the more time he spent around his father and uncles, the more he understood why. Doug and his brothers were jackasses to all the women in their lives, including their own mother. Chance's mother wanted to put them and their name eons behind her. For the first time ever, Chance considered honoring his mother's request that he stop smoking.

He made his way back into the main sanctuary. Like all Catholic churches, the atmosphere was ornate to the extreme. He figured it was their attempt to recreate their idea of Heaven. Chance sat near the back, which was as far away from his father as possible. Then Pete and his best man walked in from a side door to stand up front. He hadn't seen his cousin in maybe three years or so. Pete was marrying his girlfriend from high school, and Chance had never met her.

Soon, the organ struck up some chords. Then, Chance's cousin Halo flopped down beside him.

"Fancy meeting you here," she said, while sitting slumped on the pew.

They hugged each other. Halo was the only cousin he liked, even if she was a little—more like a lot—out there. He scrutinized her gray jeans and black boots with silver spikes on them. She also wore a white T-shirt with a black leather jacket over it.

"I don't know if you got the memo, but this is a wedding," he said in a cynical tone.

Her eyes frantically searched the front of the church. "Oh, I got the fucking memo, but don't cry for me, Argentina, because I won't be here long."

Suddenly, she put on a fake smile and waved.

Her mother, Penelope, turned and glared at Halo, obviously not happy to see her dressed as if she were going to a rock concert.

"Now she sees me," Halo whispered as she patted Chance on the back. "Goodbye."

Chance grabbed her by the arm. "Wait. You're leaving?"

"Fuck these people. This marriage won't last more than a day, anyway. I mean, dude, it's Pete. I'm out."

Everyone within earshot heard her. Chance felt slightly embarrassed, even though Halo was right. He let go of her. She rushed out of the pew like someone who was never going to look back. He watched her until the heavy door opened. The light of the fading day flowed in and faded as the door closed. She was gone. Chance considered following her footsteps. Only as far as the Sterling family went, Halo had no obligations outside the ones her mother forced on her. Her father was Roger Boyd, a famous basketball player who played for the Maryland Tigers. Penelope had never been associated with the family business. She'd built her own empire by starting out as a fashion photographer in Paris. Then she'd created a clothing line, which made her one of the top American designers.

When the wedding march played, Chance faced front. He decided to stay but only because of the girl he had seen in the alley. She must have been one of the bridesmaids. Pete was in place, ready to receive his bride. He wasn't smiling. Chance recalled his father mentioning that Pete's mother didn't want him to marry his fiancée, mainly because she came from the other side of the hill. His aunt Virginia was the worst kind of snob, which was probably the only thing Chance and his mother agreed on.

In shuffled the best man and maid of honor followed by the bridesmaids and groomsmen. Chance studied each woman, looking for the sad beauty with the dark hair. Each passing face left him more disappointed than the last. He started to get the sinking feeling that the woman from the alley was not part of the preliminary show. Was she the main act?

The music paused then started up again, filling the church with a prettier, fuller version of the wedding march. In walked the bride, wearing a painted smile on her face. It was her, the woman who had needed to catch her breath in the alley.

Chance hadn't seen his cousin's wife since the day of the wedding. It wasn't because he was trying to avoid the couple. Working for the family turned out to be hell on earth, especially when he discovered that his father wanted to oust his brother Baylor as CEO. That was why his father had wanted him to come prepared for the meeting on that Monday. His father was on a treasure hunt, looking for anything that could be used to torpedo Baylor.

His father had been unsuccessful, of course. Right before Chance quit Sterling Family Enterprises, Douglas had set his eyes on his grandmother's seat as chairman of the board. Baylor may have been CEO, but Grandmother had the final say-so. She sat on the throne of glory, and her son wanted to toss her off it. Douglas attempted to justify his actions by saying that his mother was old and her capacity to effectively steer Sterling Family Enterprises through the twenty-first century was diminishing.

Chance remained solidly on his grandmother's side. Instead of fighting for his father, he chose to fight against him. He advised his grandmother of his father's plans, which allowed Edna to victoriously fight back.

But five years after taking a position as general counsel of the family business, Chance had had enough of the constant battles to take over. One of the brothers was always attempting to make a move against the other. The only reason the business stood standing and evolving was because of Grandmother. By the time Chance had resigned, he viewed his father in the worst light and had lost all respect for the man. He hadn't seen his father since he left the company. They'd spoken briefly on the phone but only regarding business. Douglas would only call to ask Chance where to find this brief or that report. The thought of reaching out to his father gave Chance anxiety, so he never did it.

Chance stepped out of his vehicle. Rosalie was staring at him, which made him wonder what she was thinking. The look on her face said she didn't like what she saw. He tried not to notice how her nipples poked the thin material of her shirt. The gentle breeze thrust whatever fragrant perfume she was wearing upon him.

"Hey, Chance, are you still there?" Victor, head of legal for Southeast projects, asked.

"Yes, I heard you." He considered ending the call and telling Victor he would call him back, but the issue of Miami not getting these particular blueprints submitted by day's end was too important. He watched Rosalie put the handle on the nozzle, rush into her car, and start the engine.

"What the hell, Victor? Whose job was it to submit them?"

Rosalie had left her gas cap unscrewed.

"You know, that chick."

Chance tapped Rosalie's window. "No, I don't. What's her name?"

"Becky Wright. She's hotter than she is smart." Victor chuckled as if that amused him.

Chance's frown intensified. "You left your gas cap off," he said as he screwed it back on and closed the cover.

Rosalie said, "thank you," but Chance couldn't say, "you're welcome," because Victor had just told him what he already knew, which was that the only solution to rectify the problem was to call Jack Lord and have him pull some strings. He wanted to shout a string of profanities but didn't want Rosalie to think he was an angry person, even though he wasn't a happy person.

He raised a hand in a gesture that said, "you're welcome," and she drove out of the station so fast that she cut off another car. Chance watched the tail end of her car make a left at the light and turn onto the freeway's on-ramp.

"So what do you want to do?" Victor asked.

Chance allowed himself to breathe again. "I'll handle it. See you next Tuesday." He ended the call.

He finished filling his tank, and before long, he was back on the road. There was no way he wanted to call Jack Lord. The guy wasn't hard to deal with, but one month into the job and now this? Victor's department had failed at the simplest task, which made Chance look as though he ran a shitty division. Before making the phone call, Chance decided to ask Edna about Rosalie after he finished getting to the bottom of her strange phone call.

As Chance navigated the winding road through the mountain pass, he slid a nervous hand down his face. In just a second, he would ask his system to call Jack Lord. But first, he recalled the day he shook on becoming the new general counsel of Lord and Lord Enterprises. Jack had given him no particulars about why he was replacing Lawrence Meadows, the last person who held the position. All he'd said was that he wanted a person who had remarkable instincts. Jack couldn't know if Chance was that guy until he proved he wasn't.

Chance thought it was a total mind-fuck and sounded too much like something his father and uncles would say. He almost declined the position. But Jetson Gordon, whom he had worked for on a contract basis since leaving the family's business, sat across from him at the conference table. Jet was looking him in the eyes, nodding with his lips smashed together. Chance figured that was his way of saying, "take the job and ask me questions later." So he stood up to shake hands with Jack Lord, who said, "Welcome aboard."

Jet never explained what Jack had meant by proving he had some sort of instincts that would make him worthy of being general counsel. He wondered if Jack Lord was the sort of man who wanted him to know as much as he could through osmosis. That was how it had been when working with his dad, who used to jump all over his back for shit he couldn't have known unless someone told him. But Jet wasn't that kind of guy, and neither was Jack. His new boss would tell him exactly what he wanted done. Jack also gave him space to make mistakes and correct them. With Douglas Sterling and brothers, mistakes had hardly ever, and more than likely never, been tolerated.

Chance slowed down and veered to the right as he reached the end of Harvest Road. "Call Jack Lord."

His heart pounded like thunder as he waited for someone to answer. Mostly, Jack answered his phones, but sometimes it was one of his three executive assistants.

"This is Jack," the caller answered.

_Damn it_ , Chance cursed within. It would've been nice to have gotten one of his assistants to give him a bit more time to prepare the confession of his failure.

"Jack, this is Chance."

"Chance, what can I do for you?"

He didn't sound aggravated, so Chance relaxed and explained the issue.

"Dade County?" Jack asked.

Chance cleared his throat. "Um, yes."

"That's Victor's team?"

"Yes."

Jack paused, and in that moment of silence, Chance was struck by a clear-as-day illumination. There was something about the way Victor had mentioned his assistant, Becky Wright. He'd been too passive about her mistake.

"I'll fly out to Miami and take a closer look at what's going on," Chance said.

"Good. I like that a lot."

Chance wanted to sigh with relief. He felt as if he'd passed the bar for a second time and with flying colors. He told Jack when he planned on flying to Miami and how he would bring a team that would help him do a quick audit.

"Call Kaneisha right away," Jack said. "Tell her to contact Floyd Bigman and let him know we'll get the blueprints to him before midnight."

"Will do," he said.

By the time Chance pulled up to the vineyard's gate, he was feeling good and riding high. Before the call with Jack, he'd wanted to stick around Blushing Green for a while just to see if he could figure out a way to reconnect with Rosalie. Now he was itching to get back to work and assemble a solid group of assessors to figure out what sort of lunacy was going on in the Miami office.

Chance was almost finished with the call he had placed to Kaneisha when he stopped under the carport. Manny had already run over to stand by the door of Chance's vehicle, waiting for him to open it.

"So, wow, Jack wants to put you in contact with Floyd Bigman?" Kaneisha asked. "Congratulations."

He could feel her smiling on the other end of the line. "Why do you say congratulations?"

"Lawrence Meadows didn't even know Floyd existed. The fact that you do means Jack trusts you."

Chance turned his face in the opposite direction of the driver's-side window, trying to ignore Manny. He hated that his grandma still paid people to park other people's cars. It was pretty unnecessary. But Grandmother was old school in ways that didn't make sense to Chance, although she had the ability to adjust to the new technological age in ways that many of her peers never could.

"So I'll contact Floyd right away," Kaneisha said. "And by the way, it looks as if you'll be free to have drinks with him the Monday after next at seven. I'll confirm this with you next week."

There was something jarring about the way she changed the subject to put them back on track. She made him feel as if she had stolen control of the conversation. On top of that, Manny, who was standing by his window, all obedient and shit, made him nervous.

"Not drinks. Schedule us for lunch at noon at Cabana."

"Done," she said without question.

He twisted his mouth anxiously. He felt slightly odd about changing his meeting with Floyd Bigman from drinks to lunch. Meeting for drinks was perfectly fine and perhaps better, but he was programmed to always come up with a better idea even if there wasn't one.

"No, wait. Drinks are fine."

"Then done," Kaneisha said without hesitation.

Chance felt good about being mature enough to concede to a better idea made by his assistant. One thing was for sure—working first for Jet and then for Lord and Lord Enterprises was changing him in ways he never thought possible.

Finally, Chance opened his door and apologized for making Manny wait.

Manny pushed a hand unaffectedly. "No problem, Mr. Sterling. It's good to see you."

A slow smile formed on Chance's lips as he studied Manny's sincere smile. Before Manny, Carlos, Manny's uncle, had worked as the house's lead valet and chauffeur. Carlos died about four years ago, and Mr. Garcia took over as Grandmother's lead valet, but Manny became her chauffeur. To his grandmother, those who worked for her in the manor and out in the vineyard had become more than employees; they were friends and family.

He shook Manny's hand. "Good to see you too."

"Your grandmother will meet you in the sitting room. Teresa will take you."

Chance turned toward Teresa, who was standing in the doorway, waiting to escort him to a destination he'd been to more times than he could count.

He winked. "No worries. I'll find my way."

She blushed. "Thank you, Mr. Sterling."

The day was shaping up to be one of the best days of Chance's life. He was thinking it couldn't get any better as he strolled freely down the hallway. Jack Lord was basically inserting him into his inner circle. Chance had spent years getting shit on by his father and uncles, and here was a man even more successful, and definitely richer, treating him with the respect he deserved. That was all he needed in life.

He was already trying to think of a way to let his grandmother know that he would have to leave by the next day and miss her big birthday celebration on Sunday. He could promise to return in a few weeks in order to spend some quality time with her. Grandmother liked driving out to her favorite antique shop in Napa Valley or chartering a flight to New Orleans for a day trip. Of course they would both have to clear their calendars. To her sons' chagrin, she was still the head honcho at Sterling Family Enterprises.

When Chance reached the entrance to the sitting room, his jaw dropped. Was his mind playing tricks on him? "What are you doing here?"

Rosalie quickly turned and looked at him quizzically. "Didn't I see you at the gas station?"

"You're Rosalie Stetson, Pete's ex-wife."

She opened her mouth to speak but then closed it as she looked behind him.

"You're both here," Grandmother said, sauntering confidently past them. "My two favorite people in one room. Now sit. It's time we get down to business."

Rosalie Stetson was one of her favorite people? Why was he just hearing this? Chance and Rosalie looked at each other. She appeared just as puzzled as he was. And when they sat next to each other on the sofa across from the big throne-sized chair in which Grandmother made herself comfortable, the same energy that flowed through Chance's body the first time he'd laid eyes on Rosalie returned with a vengeance.

# Chapter Three

### Rosalie Stetson

Rosalie was puzzled. She had never seen this man before today. Had she? With every glance to her left, she tried to garner a better view of his chiseled features and soft gray eyes. One thing was for sure—he was definitely a Sterling man. They were all well over six feet tall, and those that didn't abuse themselves with whichever of life's poisons they had picked, had an angelic yet manly facial appearance, even if they were more inclined to behave like devils.

Edna was studying them both shrewdly. "Is that a fact?"

"Is what a fact?" Rosalie and the handsome guy asked at the same time.

"You've never met?"

Rosalie opened her mouth to say no.

"We've met," he replied instead.

"Oh, that's right, earlier at the gas station," Rosalie said.

"Before that."

Rosalie blinked at him rapidly, waiting for him to explain his claim.

"On your wedding day. My cousin was the groom." He tilted his head. "Your first wedding day?"

It took her a moment to realize he was asking a question. "I've only had one."

He nodded as if her answer satisfied him.

She looked at Edna. "So he's Peter's cousin and your grandson." She smiled slightly at the grandson she had never noticed. "Then you were a guest at my wedding?"

His lopsided smile made her heart flutter. "Chance Sterling. Now do you remember writing my name on the guest list?"

Rosalie looked down at her lap, unable to stop her mind from taking her back to that dreadful time in her life. First of all, she'd had nothing to do with the guest list. Peter's mother had handled every detail of their wedding. She was such a controlling woman.

"We met in the alley. I was smoking a cigarette," he said, as if those details should un-fog her memory.

Rosalie looked up at him with a blank facial expression. At first, she couldn't remember walking out of the church on her wedding day. Whenever she allowed herself to recall any part of the day she'd married Peter, a deep ache would form in the pit of her stomach. What was supposed to have been the happiest day of her life was marred by a deep feeling that she was making a big mistake, yet she had no idea why.

Her mother had been over the moon that she was marrying a Sterling man. Virginia, Chance's mother, was an absolute bitch to her and everyone else in the wedding party, changing their hair, changing their makeup, and criticizing the bridesmaids associated with Rosalie for being too fat and not attractive enough. Virginia even insinuated that Rosalie had chosen unattractive women as friends because she needed to feel like the queen of the court. Virginia's assessment of her personality baffled Rosalie. First of all, her friends were not unattractive, and secondly, she had never felt as if she were better than anybody.

If anything, she used to never feel good enough, especially for Peter. Of course, after completing her law degree, which was the culmination of seven straight years of college, passing the bar, and working as a public defender of white-collar crimes for Los Angeles County, Rosalie had discovered a whole new version of herself, one who could take on Virginia Sterling any day of the week, especially on Mondays.

But suddenly she was able to see herself on her wedding day, moving down the hallway as if she were sleepwalking and desperately needing to breathe some fresh air. The door, which had been her destination, seemed to fall farther away with every step. So Rosalie picked up her pace to the point where she was almost running. It felt like salvation when her hands pushed the handle and flung open the door. But the outside air didn't do its job. The clear air hadn't eradicated the desire to run away.

"There _was_ someone outside." She was now staring into Chance's eyes, lost for words.

"Well..." Edna said to reclaim their attention.

Rosalie and Chance ripped their eyes off each other to stare absently at Edna.

"I suspect you're wondering why I asked you here today."

Rosalie blinked herself back to the present, and the puzzling last line of Edna's letter took precedence over how embarrassed she felt about Chance seeing her in such a state on her wedding day.

Rosalie opened her purse and took out the letter. "Right, so..."

Chance leaned forward, spreading his legs and resting his forearms on his knees. "It sounds as if you're talking about dying, Grandmother. And you look perfectly well to me."

The fact that he moved so abruptly sort of unsettled Rosalie. Suddenly, she felt as though she was sitting alone on the sofa and found herself wishing he would sit back again.

Edna flopped a hand nonchalantly. "I'm in perfect health."

Chance sat up straight. He pressed his lips together as if he wanted to directly challenge Edna but couldn't.

Rosalie figured it was her turn to chime in. "Well, that we can definitely see." She held up the folded page and wiggled it. "But the last line of this letter is..." She shook her head, trying to forget the despair those words had made her feel.

She could feel Chance's gaze burn into the side of her face, and although it was slightly distracting, she remained focused on Edna.

Edna's thin lips stretched into a sympathetic smile. "I understand your concern, but now that you're here and you know I'm well, that's all that matters."

"No, it's not, Grandmother," Chance said, frowning as if that was his face's permanent expression. "You frightened me."

"Darling, could you close the doors?" she asked him, clearly ignoring his distress.

Chance sat up even straighter and took a deep breath before rising to his feet and calmly walking across the room. Rosalie smoothly slid the letter back into her purse.

He sat closer to Rosalie when he returned to the sofa. But he still planted his perfect rear on the edge. "Okay, Grandmother, now what is this all about?"

Edna made herself more comfortable in her seat.

"There are only two people alive who know how the Sterling fortune came to be."

Chance scooted back. It seemed as if when he realized his arm was too close to Rosalie's, he folded his arms and leaned away from her. She tried not to show how awkward his adjustment made her feel.

"I'm the only child of my parents, Fiona and Stuart Campbell. My mother had complications while birthing me and was told she would never be able to have another child. My grandparents strongly advised my father to divorce my mother because she had become barren. Producing a male heir to carry on our family fortune was his obligation, especially in those days. We women were seen as too feeble-minded to conduct business. But my father believed my mother was the one love of his life, so he brokered a deal with my grandfather. When the time came for me to marry, my husband would be chosen for me."

"Your marriage to Grandfather was arranged?" Chance asked as if the idea was too outlandish to ever be true.

Edna pressed her lips together as if the memories pained her. "Yes."

Rosalie nodded. She had already known that Edna and her late husband, Conrad, were never in love. However, she had never known the particulars of how their marriage came into existence.

"But what does any of this have to do with you dying?" Chance asked.

"Sweetheart, nobody's dying."

Chance glanced at Rosalie as he adjusted in his seat and stretched his neck from one side to the other.

"I need you both to follow what I'm about to say closely. Do you need a minute?" Her glare remained stuck on Chance.

He took another deep breath. "No. Continue."

She nodded once. "Cecil James Sterling became prosperous during the gold rush. Then he took his capital and started the Sterling North Steel Company. The Sterlings were becoming one of the richest families in America until..." Edna turned to look toward the dwindling light of day. "The richest men were not the most moral individuals. Cecil had the constitution to deal with the devils, but Gregory, his great-grandson, didn't. Gregory's body was found hanging in his office, above his desk. The murderers hammered a meat hook in the ceiling and used it to hang him by a rope that was tied around his neck. The Sterlings were forced to sell their business to the only bidder or sacrifice another Sterling to the rope."

"That's pretty awful, Grandmother," Chance said.

"Yes." Edna exhaled. "Yes, it is."

Rosalie hadn't realized it until now, but she and Chance had moved closer to each other. Although she was still confused by where the tale was going, the details foreshadowed a daunting conclusion.

Edna went on to tell them how after Gregory's murder, Andrew Sterling had been in charge of what was left of the Sterling fortune. Andrew and her father were good friends. Stuart Campbell was also a very wealthy and ruthless businessman. Prohibition handed him his first wall of wealth. But unlike many men who dove into the illegal practice of bootlegging, Edna's grandfather ran small operations all over the country and produced and sold his own brands of whisky, vodka, and rum. Edna and her husband, Conrad, were born the year Prohibition ended. After her mother suffered those complications that left her unable to bear future children, Stuart was distraught, but Andrew Sterling's wife, Peggy, had just given birth to a son earlier that month. And so the fathers brokered a deal that stated their children would marry at the age of seventeen. The contract had been written in black and white, and what would've been the Campbell brand of spirits had become labeled as Sterling Spirits and Wine.

Chance grunted intriguingly. "So what's the significance here?"

Edna watched him with narrowed eyes. It was hard to tell what she was thinking. "Imagine being married for forty-three years without being in love."

Chance opened and closed his mouth.

"My father was a smart man. There were provisions in the contract, which made sure the Campbells' legacy would never be forgotten." She smiled tightly at Chance. "Darling, your grandfather hadn't an ounce of fidelity in his bones and less than a jot of virtuousness."

Chance nodded stiffly as he leaned away from Rosalie. "So you called me here to discuss the protective provisions?"

Edna's gaze ping-ponged between Chance and Rosalie as she watched them with an amused smile. "I ask that you keep what we have discussed in this room between us," she finally said.

"Sure," Rosalie said.

"Of course, Grandmother."

Rosalie didn't like the way Chance said "grandmother." It felt to her as though he was subtly claiming ownership of Edna that he knew she didn't have.

"Very good. Now then, the two of you will meet with Frederick tomorrow at ten thirty a.m."

Chance's frown intensified. "Frederick Holland?"

"Your lawyer?" Rosalie asked.

Chance glanced at Rosalie with a look that chastised her for crossing the line, proving to her that he was just another Sterling man dickwad.

The more he tried to squeeze her out of the conversation, the more Rosalie wanted to prove that if Edna was calling on her closest confidants, then she certainly was one of them. However, she couldn't deny the fact that Chance was making her feel like insignificant scum from the other side of the mountain.

"I must ask you both to promise something," Edna said.

"What is it, Grandmother?"

Rosalie rolled her eyes because he had used the same possessive tone.

"Tomorrow when you meet with Frederick, you ask no questions. You only do what he instructs."

"Why?" Chance asked.

Edna enfolded her fingers and set them delicately on her lap. "Because it's what I'm asking. And also, we should keep this meeting to ourselves." She set her strong gaze on Chance since he clearly needed the most convincing.

He stretched his neck again but finally said, "Whatever you want, Grandmother, okay."

Then Edna looked at Rosalie, who nodded. "Yes, of course."

Rosalie could feel Chance's rigid energy attack her.

Edna slapped her thighs jubilantly. "Well then..." She shot to her feet like a woman who was half her age, and Chance followed suit.

"So what do you want to do for today, Grandmother?" he asked.

"I want to bathe and rest for a while before dinner." Edna sighed as if her day had been long enough. "But I expect to see you both at the dining room table at seven?"

"Yes," Chance said sternly.

"Of course, yes," Rosalie said.

Edna smiled at them both without speaking another word, and together, they watched her until she was out of sight. Rosalie dreaded the moment she would be alone with Chance. It was still not clear whether they would be friends or foes.

He whipped himself around to face her. "Why are you here?" There was no sign in his bitter expression that he could ever care for her.

But Rosalie crossed her arms, determined to stand up for herself. "Excuse me?"

"Why would my grandmother include you in whatever harebrained scheme she's hatched? You're only my cousin's ex-wife."

Rosalie pressed a hand to her chest and gasped. "Wait a minute. Harebrained scheme? Were you just being patronizing to Edna?"

He appeared totally stunned by her question. "What? No."

"Great, because Edna has always been a sensible woman, and I'm sure she has a very good reason for her secrecy," she said.

Chance opened and closed his mouth. So what that he looked hot with his lips pressed together, making them form a slight grimace? The two of them engaged in a major stare-down. There was no way Rosalie was going to look away first, even if her heart was beating so fast that it wanted to run out of her chest and make out with his. And really, could she ever like Chance Sterling as a person? As soon as Edna had left, he decided to attack her. Intimidation, accusations, and threats were the Sterling men's ways. She had taken it while married to Peter, but she was ready to battle Chance to _his_ bitter end.

"Rosalie? Is that you?" a woman asked.

Rosalie and Chance broke the stare-off and turned their curious glares toward the entry.

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "Susan." Her heart sank. Her ex-husband's current wife, who was his ex-girlfriend from high school, was the last person she wanted to see.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Susan asked.

Rosalie snarled. The moment was overwhelming, and she wanted to run back to her car and drive home. And she would have if Edna hadn't been expecting her for dinner that night and a meeting the next day with Frederick Holland. There were reasons why she'd missed Edna's last six birthday parties, and she was looking one of them in the eyes.

Teresa walked into the room and stood beside Susan. "Your room is ready, Miss Stetson. I can take you now."

Rosalie threw her hands up in relief. "Thank you." She walked off without giving Chance Sterling or Susan a second glance.

As Rosalie walked through the manor, it almost felt like home. The only reason she felt that way was because Edna had always treated her as if she mattered, as if she had a voice in this world. Rosalie's feet beat against the familiar white marble floors until she reached one side of the arched staircase, which was made of more white marble and had a scarlet-red carpet runner in the center. She clutched the black iron banister as she walked up the steps, remembering that it was one of the last representations of old money left in the house. Edna had spent most of the last decade giving the house a contemporary yet elegant English country home feel.

However, her sons Baylor, Carlton, and Douglas had fought her tooth and nail to preserve some of the house's original flair. Edna always said that her sons had been counting their inheritance from the day they were born.

During one of their many long walks, Edna had once asked Rosalie, "What happens when you have four sons and one fortune?"

"Mayhem," Rosalie replied.

"Worse. A bloodbath."

Since then, Rosalie had pictured all the Sterling brothers and their sons wearing togas while attacking each other with daggers. Such treachery would not be beneath them.

Edna had had the staff prepare a room for Rosalie on the southwest-facing end of the house. A fire was already kindling, making the room gently warm. Rosalie flopped down on the edge of the king-sized bed. She lifted her foot and pulled off one shoe then the other. Oh, how her back ached after that long drive.

She closed her eyes and forced her mind to not think about how Chance Sterling had just pissed her off. What a douchebag. Then there was all the mystery surrounding Edna's very strange meeting with them and her request that they meet with Frederick Holland tomorrow and ask no questions. Rosalie trusted Edna enough to believe the woman would never do anything to put her in harm's way, but asking no questions wouldn't have been very lawyerly of her.

Rosalie sighed as she opened her eyes and searched past her right shoulder to catch a view of the lemon grove. Due to the rapidly dwindling day and the time of year it was, she had to rely on memories of how miraculously beautiful the trees were when full of fruit, which glowed in the summer sun. At the moment, the trees were mostly woody branches. However, it wasn't so dark that she couldn't see the majestic mountains in the distance. The longer she tried to occupy her mind with nothing, the more a nagging thought tugged at her.

Why was Susan at Sterling Manor without Peter? Edna and Susan weren't close. As a matter of fact, Edna cared very little for what she called Susan's entitlement, which was a severe lack of empathy and an acute lack of desire to do something about it. The last time Rosalie had checked, Susan's behavior hadn't changed and neither had Edna's opinion of her.

_So what is she doing here?_

Rosalie stopped lending her thoughts to that question when she remembered that she had powered off her cell phone. She could argue that no one's phone rang more than hers. Between receiving calls from her family and job, she seemed to be always in demand. She expected Dennis Hasterick, her boss, to blow up her voice mail. He was the one she was avoiding. Rosalie had just finished pissing off higher-ups yet again by actually fighting Nick Lyons, the deputy district attorney, in a case the county didn't want to lose.

Something had to give when it came to her job. With the enormous number of cases that she was assigned, Dennis and the higher-ups had hoped she was too swamped to give defendants the sort of defense every citizen deserves. However, she had no social life, so she had nothing better to do than try every single one of her cases to the best of her ability. She couldn't continue winning against the district attorneys even though she secretly loved it. Her victories weren't beneficial for all elected officials involved. She remembered her first case. The deputy district attorney had just blatantly lied about the extent of her client's alleged crime. He'd spewed bloated numbers and make-believe accusations to the judge. Rosalie had nearly hyperventilated while listening to his fibs. And boy had she had a good time dismantling his claims one accusation at a time. The judge had had to dismiss the charges until the DA's office found sufficient evidence to prosecute the defendant. She would've thought the future district attorneys would have done better than to come half-assed prepared to fight her in court, but nope. Most of them were just too lazy to get off their rears and try harder, and that was what it was going to take to beat her in court.

As soon as Rosalie turned on her cell phone, it beeped and vibrated to life. However, she didn't have the desire to check voice mail, so she silenced the phone and sighed as she stood, dropping the device on the mattress. She lifted her arms above her head and stretched her back. That felt good.

Rosalie walked over to the French doors and opened them. She stepped out onto the balcony, and through the darkness, her eyes tracked the walking path around and between certain rows of the lemon grove. Edna was big on walking to stay healthy. Rosalie hoped that tomorrow morning, Edna would be up for a walk. Maybe she would divulge more of why she wanted Chance and Rosalie to meet with her lawyer.

Rosalie yawned. She hadn't realized how exhausted she was. According to the time on her watch, dinner wouldn't be for another hour and a half. During the long drive, she had stopped at one of those greasy fast-food chains for a burger, fries, and iced tea, so she wasn't hungry. As a matter of fact, since she rarely ate such food, her stomach was pretty active, gurgling and churning.

Standing on the balcony had made her cold. The night's temperature had to be in the forties, which was pretty arctic for a native Californian. She closed the doors and decided to capitalize on the peace, quiet, and comfort by taking a power nap before dinner. She lowered the lights, curled up under the bedspread, and closed her eyes. It didn't take long before the shimmering warmth flowing from the fireplace lulled her to sleep.

Rosalie walked along the side of the road. To her left rested a field of green grass, which led to the stack of stony hills. She found herself admiring the craftsman homes that were nestled on top.

"You'll never be able to afford one," Dennis Hasterick said as he walked past her and disappeared into thin air.

Rosalie was still a little rattled by how Dennis had shown up out of nowhere, when Vera, her mom, appeared beside her.

"You could've owned one of those homes if you hadn't thrown away your marriage. He didn't choose the divorce. You did." Vera shook her head disapprovingly. "I don't know what to do with you."

Rosalie opened her mouth in an attempt to explain how her filing for the divorce was all Peter's plan to make her the bad guy, but no words would come out. Then a cloud of shame hit her. Vera glared at Rosalie as if she could read her mind and knew her secret. Rosalie and Peter would have never worked because she'd never shown him the real her. Instead, she had created the woman he needed her to be so that she could be his girlfriend first and then his wife.

Rosalie frowned as she searched beyond her mother at the gas station that was right across the freshly tarred road. Chance Sterling was standing beside his SUV. His long arms hung by his sides as he watched her. Desire shone in his eyes; she was sure of it. Rosalie wanted to wave at him and test the waters by seeing if he would wave back. How embarrassed she would be if he didn't wave back. They seemed to be watching each other for far too long. She thought that perhaps she should say something, like maybe "hi."

Suddenly, her head was filled with the sound of light tapping. Rosalie opened her eyes to find herself still lying in bed. She sighed with relief. That was only a dream.

# Chapter Four

### Rosalie Stetson

"Miss, are you okay?" a tender female voice asked from behind the door.

Rosalie sat straight up and focused on the door through the dimness. Her head was spinning.

"Damn it." She pressed the home button on her cell phone. "Yikes," she whispered. Dinner had started thirty minutes ago.

The woman knocked again.

"I'm fine," Rosalie said in a gruff voice. She cleared her throat as she leapt to her feet, scampered to the door, and cracked it open. "I'll be downstairs shortly." She smiled.

The woman stared at Rosalie with a look of concern.

"I'm fine, really," Rosalie said.

"You'll be down soon?"

"Yes, thank you."

Rosalie waited until the woman walked away before closing the door. The way the woman had studied her left her rattled. It was as if she could tell Rosalie was still thinking about the Chance Sterling who was watching her in her dream.

Rosalie took a deep breath to steady herself. Jeez, she was losing it. "Chance and I are not an option," she whispered as she hightailed it to the bathroom to freshen up. She had to make it quick, which meant dousing her eyes with water until they appeared less tired and applying a light coat of concealer to hide the darkness on the skin beneath them.

The staff had carefully hung the clothes she'd brought to wear for the next five days. One garment was a black sweater dress that accentuated her curves. The embarrassing part about slipping into it was realizing that she wanted to appear sexy. The thought made her cover her face with her hands. Oh goodness, Chance Sterling was affecting her in a way she hadn't seen coming.

Rosalie didn't have time to stand there and make sense of her feelings. She brushed her long dark hair until it was fluffier and applied a light coat of pink lipstick to make her lips look naturally rosy. She took one last look in the mirror then rushed over to the closet to put on her red suede flats, which had the strap around the ankles, and hurried downstairs.

Before Rosalie reached the dining room entrance, a recognizable voice asked, "Where's my ex-wife? I heard she was here."

She stopped and pondered running in the opposite direction. Instead of doing that, she collected every kernel of bravery within her and sashayed into the dining room.

Conversation came to a grinding halt as she walked over to Edna and kissed her on one cheek. "I apologize for being late."

"Sweetheart, how are you?" Edna asked, offering her other cheek for a kiss.

Rosalie kissed her. "Fine. It was a long drive and a long week, and the bed and the temperature were just too delectable, I guess."

"Hello, Rose," Peter said.

"Hi, Peter." Her eyes glared at him, but her lips smiled deceptively. Gosh, she wondered what in the world she had ever seen in him.

The temperature of the room was moderately warm, which made it cozy, but there was no doubt everyone felt the chill the two ex-life partners emitted. Peter hadn't gained any weight, lost any hair, or developed any wrinkles, at least not yet, and that was a shame. If fate were kinder, then he would look like Humpty Dumpty.

"You drove all the way from LA to join us for dinner?" he asked.

Rosalie's glare circled the table as she looked for an empty seat. She was also surprised to see Baylor Sterling, who was sitting to the right of Chance, and his wife Ruby, who was directly across from her husband.

"Hello, Ruby," Rosalie said in a delightful tone as she sat in the chair on the woman's right.

Ruby barely smiled before taking a drink of wine. Poor Ruby. Rosalie rarely met people who looked as miserable as her. However, Rosalie didn't take her response personally. As far as the Sterling men went, she and Ruby arguably had matrimonial ties to the two worst of them. Rosalie stole a glance at Baylor, who had his general sour disposition written all over his face. The last time Rosalie had counted, he had four marriages under his belt. Ruby had been around for a little over six years, but by how miserable both she and Baylor appeared, she too would probably be looking at divorce papers soon.

"Hello, Baylor," Rosalie said, testing her supposition that he was avoiding looking at her.

"Hello," he mumbled as his eyes swept across her face and back down to his plate.

As Rosalie leaned forward to scoot her chair closer to the table, her eyes landed on the one face she had never seen before. A brunette woman was sitting to the right of Susan and to the left of Ruby. She was pretty but wore a lot of makeup, even those long and thick fake eyelashes that made her look as if she were wearing tarantulas over her eyes. The woman sat directly across from Chance. Rosalie found herself wondering if the brunette was his date.

"Darling, we're nearly finished with our salads," Edna said.

Rosalie raised a hand and smiled. "Don't worry. I don't mind starting with the second course."

Edna smiled graciously. "I also didn't know we would have four others joining us this evening. Cook had to make extra, so we were slightly delayed anyway."

Peter shifted his finger between Rosalie and Chance. "I didn't think the two of you knew each other."

"Chance came alone," Susan said. "Isn't that right?"

Chance frowned at her. By the way his lips were pressed together, Rosalie could tell he wasn't going to answer that question. However, it had just occurred to her that she was looking directly into his eyes. Her heartbeat sped up. It was as if the flow of air through the room had stalled.

Two servers entered from the kitchen to collect the salad plates and silverware. Rosalie found that once she ripped her eyes off Chance, she could breathe easily again.

She cleared her throat. "So, Edna, are you excited about your party on Saturday?"

"I can't say that I am." Her tone was so casual that for a second, Rosalie took her reply as a positive response.

"Oh, come on, Grandmother, it's going to be a blast," Susan said. "We have a lot of surprises in store for you. Lots of them."

Peter moved abruptly, causing his chair to scrape the marble. Rosalie knew exactly why he was so bothered. Earlier, Susan must have reported that she saw Rosalie and Chance together in the sitting room, which made him curious to know whether or not they were sexually involved.

Finally, the second course, which was cold beet soup, was served. Just for a moment, everyone at the table focused on the two men who served the food. It still felt sort of out-of-date to be served by a full-time kitchen staff. Edna may have considered herself someone who was flexible enough to change with the times, but her aristocratic tastes remained intact.

"So, Chance," Baylor started abruptly. "How's Lord and Lord working out for you?"

Rosalie almost choked. Certainly Baylor wasn't referring to _the_ Lord and Lord Enterprises. Her heart had once been set on applying for a job with them, but after having dinner with a group of recently graduated colleagues, she took the option off the table. Her colleagues had said that landing a position at the company as a newbie was virtually impossible. Competition was too high because almost every corporate lawyer in the world wanted to work for Lord and Lord. They were the Harvard University of corporations. If someone worked as a legal advisor for Lord and Lord Enterprises, that person would never have a problem finding another job.

Chance grimaced. "Fine."

"And they've made you general counsel?"

"Yes."

Baylor grunted as though he had something negative to say about it. "I thought you would've come running back to the trust by now." His eyes flickered to Edna. "Unless that's why you're here. Couldn't cut it for Jack Lord?"

Rosalie stifled a gasp as she watched Chance's face turn red. Then it sank in that she was sitting at a dinner table where _the_ Jack Lord was being casually mentioned. And goodness gracious, Edna had never told her that she had a grandson who was _the_ general counsel for Lord and Lord Enterprises.

Chance suddenly began tapping the table with the tip of his finger. It was obvious he wanted to blow a gasket. "Why are you concerned that I'm here, Baylor?" he finally asked.

It felt as if the air had left the room.

"I wouldn't call it concern."

Nephew and uncle glared at each other. It was evident that their relationship was filled with contention and blatant dislike.

"Well, this is not how I want to begin the celebration of my eighty-second year of being alive," Edna said.

The two men ripped their glares off of each other.

"I apologize, Grandmother," Chance said.

"Regardless, the company's doing fine without you." Baylor always made sure he got the final jab.

Chance responded by pressing his lips together. Rosalie thought that was big of him. She was sort of reeling from the fact that they were both lawyers. Again, it was just very strange that Edna had never mentioned him to her. Edna even knew that she was interested in working at Lord and Lord Enterprises but had steered her in another direction.

"So, Chance," Susan said, loudly enough to claim the attention of the table. "Do you still live in Russian Hill?" She turned to the brunette. "He has a Victorian, beautiful," she said as if his house was the fairest of them all.

The brunette smiled at Chance. "Wow. I would love to see it one day. Victorians are my specialty."

His eyebrows furrowed then released as he focused on Edna. "Grandmother, on my run, I saw the construction on the southwest grounds. That's at least an acre of premium vineyard land gone." Chance's curious tone hinted that he was requesting a response.

"It's the board's project," Edna said before calmly spooning beet soup into her mouth.

Rosalie could tell that Edna's energy was directed at Baylor, who checked the time on his expensive wristwatch, although she didn't look at him.

"What's happening on this vineyard is none of your concern," Baylor said to Chance.

"They've decided to start building a second winery and warehouse only three days ago," Edna said.

"Three days ago?" Chance asked as if he couldn't believe it.

"It's more than an acre. It's one and a half to start."

"And you approved this, Grandmother?"

"No. Actually, I did not."

Chance glared at Baylor as though he wanted to rip his head off.

"We're expanding the business, Mother, not hurting it. We're finally taking this company in the direction it should've gone a long time ago." Baylor quickly stood and looked at his watch again. "Unfortunately, we won't be able to stay."

"Mission complete," Chance said under his breath.

Baylor scowled at him then turned to Ruby. "Let's go."

Ruby stood right up. "Thank you for dinner, Edna," she said with an apologetic smile.

Baylor kissed Edna on the forehead as if it pained him to do it. He walked out without giving his wife a second look, and Ruby followed as though it was her duty to keep up.

"So, Rosalie, have you remarried yet?" Susan asked.

Rosalie was jarred by that question since it had come out of left field. Not to mention, she was instantly bothered by Susan's tone because the woman sounded as if she already knew the answer and it satisfied her.

Rosalie sneered at her. "Nope, but the second I decide to tie the knot, I'll send you the memo."

"Please do, so that Pete can stop paying you alimony."

She wiggled her head in disbelief. "Ha! Is that what he tells you?"

"That's what I know," Susan snapped.

"I really don't care what you believe."

Rosalie looked at Peter to see what he was willing to lend to the topic at hand. He was looking at her with eyes that dared her to contradict what his wife had said. He was the kind of person who would lie until the bitter end.

The fact was that Rosalie had revoked alimony soon after graduating from law school a year ago. When Peter was giving her money, his lawyers wouldn't stop harassing her. Before she'd learned how to fight them back, they would make her complete a quarterly form, which had questions that ranged from asking how much money she spent on a daily basis to how many times a month she went on a date. Peter had called her out of the blue exactly six times to inquire about a guy she was dating. It didn't take long to figure out he had someone following her. She found it interesting that when they were married, he'd behaved as if he couldn't get away from her fast enough, but after they were divorced, he'd wanted to punish her for leaving him. Regardless, instead of continuing to fight Peter's illegal, unorthodox, and mean tactics in court, she had decided to cut him out of her life like she would a large boil on her ass.

She wasn't afraid to stand toe to toe with Peter and box it out. He was obviously still lying to his wife, and Rosalie was willing to defend the truth if need be. It was a fight she would not lose. But out of respect for Edna, she grunted dismissively and put another spoonful of the delicious soup into her mouth.

"So, Rosalie, where do you work?" Chance asked.

She snapped her eyes to Chance. "Oh, I'm—"

"She's a lawyer. You didn't know?" Peter asked as if he couldn't believe it.

Rosalie rolled her eyes. She was positive that Peter still believed she and Chance were screwing each other.

"Is that so?" Chance asked.

"Yes."

"Where do you practice?"

"Claire is an interior designer in New York," Susan said.

"But I'm moving to San Francisco soon," Claire added, flapping her fake eyelashes and flashing her perfect dimples.

Chance watched Claire with a perplexed expression before turning his gaze back to Rosalie. "Where do you practice?" he nearly demanded to know.

For a second, Rosalie wished she had a more impressive answer. She sat up straight. "I'm a public defender for LA County."

"Oh, wow." Chance nodded as if he were impressed. "Then you live in LA?"

"Yes."

Tickling sensations leapt across Rosalie's heart and stomach. She looked down at her plate as she felt a flush creep across her cheeks.

"I'm very proud of her," Edna said.

Peter grunted with disdain. "Oh, come on, Grandmother, you should've left well enough alone."

Edna adjusted in her seat. "And what was well enough, Peter?"

Peter snorted dismissively.

"Do they pay public defenders enough to take care of themselves?" Susan asked.

Rosalie felt the switch flip inside her. She jerked her head in Susan's direction. "I told you this already; your husband does _not_ pay me alimony. I stopped the payments because I chose not to keep jumping through his goddamn hoops or keep putting up with his harassment. So if the money's missing, then check the bank and credit card statements. I'm sure you'll find a tie to the Pink Kitty." Her narrowed eyes landed on Peter. "It's his happiest place on earth."

Peter's nostrils were flaring. "Fuck you, Rosalie," he barked.

Rosalie could feel a vein pulsating in her neck. "Never again."

Edna clapped her hands. "Enough. Either we transform ourselves into nicer people, or I'll have to disinvite those who weren't invited."

"You're taking her side, Grandmother?" Peter asked. "Did you hear what she said to me?"

Susan glared at Edna with her mouth agape as though she'd just been slapped in the face. "You've never cared for me, have you, Edna?"

Edna rolled her eyes as she shook her head. Apparently, the dramatics were in full swing.

"It doesn't matter, honey," Peter said.

"No... It's been her." She aimed her finger at Rosalie. "I could never compete with her."

Rosalie hated the fact that she had allowed Susan to make her break poise. But for some strange reason, Peter was lying to his wife, and she suspected that it had a lot to do with his ancillary activities. Sure, she had stood up for herself, but she still mostly wanted to disappear into the fabric of her seat.

"Cut it out already," Peter shouted.

Susan aimed her finger at Peter. "No, you cut it out!"

"What's your problem?" he asked, just like Rosalie knew he would. Her ex-husband remained blameless as far as he was concerned. Whenever he engaged in bad behavior, he believed someone else had made him do it. He was also prone to throwing full-blown man tantrums, which consisted of cursing, standing over his target, and yelling accusations he knew weren't true just to win the argument.

Susan shot to her feet and stormed out of the dining room, passing the servers as they brought in the main course.

Unsurprisingly, Peter remained seated. It was Claire who excused herself from the table to go see after her friend.

Rosalie turned to Edna. "Forgive me for my disturbance, Edna. I didn't mean to disrespect your table."

"You're fine, darling."

Peter snorted.

"Go see about your wife, Pete," Edna demanded.

"She's fine, Grandmother."

Edna slapped the table. "Now!"

After looking at the faces watching him and ending with a glare at Rosalie, Peter threw the napkin that was in his lap on top of the table. But before he could stand, Susan and Claire reentered the dining room and took their seats. Rosalie noticed the look of relief on Peter's face, which once again confirmed he had a problem loving anyone other than himself. Although she wasn't sure Peter truly practiced self-love, either.

Dinner continued. Peter and Susan acted as though they had never caused a disturbance earlier. As long as Susan was in the room, she would make sure she was the center of attention. She mostly asked Edna question upon question about redecorating the house, asking Claire to interject with her expertise. Rosalie actually found Susan's interest in Sterling Manor sort of weird. It was as if it was written in the stars that very soon, she would be the new lady of the manor.

"Anyway, so, Grandmother, how does it feel to be free from the business?" Susan asked.

Rosalie sat up straight, and Chance coughed as they looked at each other then at Edna, who smiled graciously.

"It feels"—she turned her smile toward the big, open window, through which there was a view of the lit rows of grapevines stretching as far as the eye could see—"revolutionary."

Chance was unable to hide his shock, which was written all over his face. "You're free from the business?"

"Wait. You didn't know?" Peter asked.

Chance glared at Peter as though he wanted to rip his head off.

"That's right, you're out of the loop," Peter said, rubbing salt in his wounds.

Rosalie gritted her teeth. Peter was at his best when being immature and cruel. She hadn't planned on ever again sitting at a table with him and his crazy wife. If she had known they were present, she would've probably feigned cramps or something. His behavior brought out the worst emotions in her. For example, at the moment, she actually pictured her hands around his neck, wringing it.

She decided to focus on choking down the final entrée so that this dinner could be over and she could head upstairs and finish decompressing from the long day. Before being surprised by the extra faces at the table, she had been looking forward to having a nice intimate dinner with Edna and possibly getting to know Chance better, hoping to learn he was more than the dick she had met in the sitting room. He had tried to make her feel as if she didn't belong.

Rosalie glanced at Claire, who was asking Chance questions in the vein of "how did he like living in San Francisco" and "had he been here or there," then offering to experience her favorite places with him. Chance's answers were short, his tone was curt, and he hadn't accepted one of her invitations, but nevertheless, she kept trying to keep him engaged in conversation.

A server stepped up to Rosalie. "Would you like to move over?" he asked, pointing a hand at the seat abandoned by Ruby.

Rosalie hadn't noticed the empty space between her and Claire. After a moment of deliberation, she realized that she felt some comfort in the distance.

"I'm fine," she said.

The server nodded and continued clearing the unfinished glass of wine and soiled napkins.

Getting through the rest of dinner was grueling. Susan found it beneficial to continue monopolizing Edna's attention. Rosalie worked hard not to look in Peter's direction because she could feel his eyes on her. The minutes dragged by even after Rosalie finished her prime rib, which was flavored perfectly. She sipped on a premium red wine until the servers finally entered to collect their plates.

As soon as the table was cleared, Edna stood. "There will be no dessert. Good night. And please do not disturb me from this moment forward." She walked out of the dining room without looking back.

Everyone's mouth was left hanging open, even Rosalie's. Edna had never made such an exit from the table. She must have been very disappointed with everyone's behavior, including her own. Rosalie had let Peter antagonize her, and that had made her lose some manners.

"What the hell is going on with Grandmother?" Peter asked.

Chance replied by deepening his frown. Rosalie had never met someone who frowned more than him. He must have been a very bitter and miserable guy.

Susan huffed. "Is there any dessert in the kitchen?"

Rosalie rolled her eyes before rising to her feet. "Well, that's my cue." She walked fast. The last words she heard were Claire asking, "Is she leaving?"

When Rosalie's foot first hit the stairs, she felt free. Her mind was clear about one thing—tomorrow, after meeting with Frederick Holland, she was going to pack her things and go straight home. She was so over the Sterlings. Edna was the last of them that she ever wanted to deal with.

# Chapter Five

### Chance Sterling

### 3 Hours Ago

Chance studied Rosalie's figure as she strolled out of the sitting room. He had pissed her off, and admittedly, he had behaved like a dick. He had a propensity to lash out when things went awry.

"Are the two of you here together?" Susan asked.

For a second, he had forgotten his cousin's wife was in the room.

"No," he said in a barely audible voice.

Susan narrowed an eye as if she didn't believe him, but he didn't give a damn what she thought.

"So how are you, Chance? It's been a long time."

He turned toward the doorway. Damn, he really wanted to apologize to Rosalie for being a dick. "I'm fine."

"Well, you look fantastic." She flapped her eyebrows and watched him with googly eyes. His cousin's wife flirting with him wasn't surprising.

He figured the way she was standing there staring at him meant she had an angle. So he watched and waited for her to get to it.

"Then you've heard?" she asked.

"Heard what?"

She tilted her head. "Why do you frown so much?"

That question came out of the blue. "What?"

Susan shook her head. "Never mind."

"Have I heard what?"

"It's nothing. Forget it." She smashed her hands on her hips. "So, Chance, are you still with that girl? Jeez, I can't remember her name."

He had no idea who she was referring to, but he had a suspicion she was fishing.

Susan cleared her throat. "All right then... Do you still live in San Francisco?"

"Yes."

"Wow, I have a friend who lives there."

His frown intensified as he wondered in what direction she was taking their odd conversation.

"She's single too, I mean, if you're actually single."

Suddenly, Frederick Holland came to mind. Chance needed to talk to him before their meeting tomorrow and get to the bottom of his grandmother's big secret. Chance didn't like being blindsided. On the other hand, Fred was pretty trustworthy when it came to his grandmother's interests. In a short line of connections, Fred was the reason Chance was now working for Lord and Lord Enterprises. Fred had introduced him to Jet, who had gotten him in front of Jack Lord.

"Susan," he said sternly.

She touched her chest as if his tone caught her off guard. "Yes?"

"Good to see you. I have to go." He took his cell phone out of his pocket as he walked out of the sitting room, searching through his contacts for Frederick Holland's phone number. Once he found it, he placed the call. The line rang as he glided up the hallway on his way to the exit at the back of the house.

The olive groves were planted on the northeast side of the property. Concrete footpaths were laid around perfect lines of vines because his grandmother loved to take long walks on the property. When he got outside, he saw that the sun had gone down. Not only that, but his call had gone to voice mail.

"You've reached Frederick Holland," a female's voice said. "Please leave a message, and he will return your call as soon as possible. Thank you."

"Damn it," he mumbled before hearing the ding. "Hey, Fred, this is Chance Sterling. It's been a while since we've spoken. I had a conversation with my grandmother today, and I was wondering if you could shed some light on tomorrow's meeting. Call me as soon as you get this. Let's talk."

Chance shook his head and ended the call. He inhaled the cold night air and released it. Something told him that Fred wasn't going to call him back. Fred wasn't dumb. He would have known exactly what Chance wanted. If Chance's grandmother had asked him not to ask Fred any questions, then for sure, she'd asked Fred not to answer them. More importantly, Chance had given his word to his grandmother, but there he was, behaving like his father and uncles by not respecting her wishes. So he called Fred again. The line rang three times before connecting him to voice mail. After the female's voice asked him to leave a message, he said, "Fred, ignore my last message. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Have a good evening." This time when he ended the call, he felt satisfied.

Chance went back inside and straight to the room he normally stayed in when visiting the manor. Dinner was scheduled to start in about an hour and a half, so he put on his workout attire and went for a run up the country roads. The darkness made the neighboring vineyards impossible to admire. But the smell of damp soil fed his desire to reconnect with the region he loved. Chance always felt as though he was home when he visited vineyard land.

His father had counted on him being the one chosen to take the wheel and run the family business. There was no better strategist than old Doug Sterling. Doug had made his family fortune on a vineyard in Washington state. Chance had been required to spend summers with his grandmother in Blushing Green. His father would call daily to ask if he had spent two hours in the field, helping the hands. He also asked for updates on house activities, like who visited, how long they stayed, and if Grandmother was happy or sad after visitors left. Every summer felt as though Chance was being sent off to do the worst job ever, which was keeping tabs on Sterling Manor.

It was the year he turned twelve that Edna caught him on the phone, telling his father that Baylor had stopped by but he didn't know why. His father was laying into him about not being proactive. Chance should have anticipated the questions he would be asked and been ready with adequate answers. By the time the call ended, Chance was so down on himself that he wondered what in life he was good for.

So before he could go to his room and sulk away the afternoon, Edna called him to her sitting room. She sat against the open window. Sunlight flooded in from behind her.

"Darling, I've known for many years that your father wants you to spy on me." She sighed and shook her head. "And now it's finally making you ill."

He dropped his face. It had actually made him ill from day one. "Sorry, Grandmother."

"Chance?"

After a few seconds of silence, he lifted his face.

Grandmother smiled. "That's better. Don't be ashamed or embarrassed. You are only a child, and it's your parents' responsibility to guide you in the right ways, but that is rarely ever the case in life."

He was confused, and his grandmother could see that. She walked over to sit beside him. "Your father didn't have the best parents."

Chance looked up at her. "But Grandmother, you're Dad's mother, and you're the best."

Edna smiled slightly. "Darling, I'm flawed." She adjusted in her seat and looked him in the eyes. "I want you to really listen to me, will you?"

Chance nodded.

"I let your grandfather make our sons competitive and unloving. It took me a long time to find my voice, and when I did discover it, I was not allowed to say what I wanted. Grown-ups put so much pressure on us, don't they?"

All Chance could picture was his grandmother with tape on her mouth. As far as he knew, she was the smartest person in the world—smarter than his grandfather, who was rarely home, his mother, who rarely spoke, and his father, who showed no mercy. Envisioning his grandmother like that made his heart hurt, and tears rushed to his eyes as he nodded.

She cupped his chin gently in her hand. "If I had let my boys become who God made them to be instead of what their father required them to become, then you wouldn't be in such misery." She let go of his face and sat up straight. "So, here's what we're going to do about your father."

Grandmother came up with a plan that made him feel better about himself. He continued spending two hours a day in the vineyards simply to experience the things he enjoyed—being among the vines and the orchards. What he liked most was the smell of fruit percolating under the sun during the hot months.

She also said that she would speak to his father about his "little phone calls." At first, Chance was worried about ratting out his dad, but the phone calls stopped abruptly. When Chance returned home at the end of summer, his father never questioned him about anything regarding the time he had spent at the manor nor did he chastise Chance about whatever Grandmother had said to end his interrogating phone calls.

Chance breathed in deeply through his nostrils. He savored his favorite scent all the way back to the house. Even though he was sweaty and not smelling too great, he hoped to run into Rosalie in the hallway. Damn, she was a pretty woman. Actually, he had never expected to see her again. After she had divorced Pete, he figured she had moved on to a new situation. Women like her found lucrative marriages. With her dark hair and eyes, luscious red lips, and sexy body, she was definitely something to behold and probably a woman to beware of.

Chance wasn't in the business of using his money and stature to acquire beautiful women. Pita, his last girlfriend, was a psychologist. Along with her natural elegance and stunning beauty, Pita's brain had turned him on, but he'd tired of her relentless need to psychoanalyze him. He knew he had a cracked, anxiety-ridden childhood, so there had been no need for her to keep reminding him of that.

Then one day while they were having dinner, Pita had wanted to discuss why quitting the family business was a decision his inner-child had made and not necessarily his adult self. That was when it had finally clicked. Like the women who used their looks to nab their financially secure Prince Charming, Pita had been using her intellect to manipulate him into securing her happily ever after. She'd made it even more difficult for him to trust any woman other than his grandmother and cousin Halo.

Sure, he owed Rosalie an apology for acting like a dick, but he still wanted to know what her endgame was. Was she out for a piece of the Sterling pie? Or did she truly care for his grandmother to the extent that she would risk facing off with Peter and the rest of the sordid clan after she had successfully divorced the Sterling name and all the mayhem that came with it?

After divorcing Chance's father, one thing his mother had had to let go of was the money, and boy, was that hard for her to do. But her peace of mind had required her to do it.

When Chance got back to the house, he went to the kitchen, and a chef, who the family called Cook, gave him a bottle of water. Afterward, he was disappointed not to have encountered Rosalie on the way to his room. It was almost time for dinner, so he took a quick shower. Now that he was clean, he put on a pair of dark pants and a navy sweater. He sort of cared how he presented himself tonight, and that was different.

As he made his way to the dining room, he tried to deny the fact that Rosalie was behind his new drive to look extra appealing. Chance expected to see her sexy dark eyes looking at him when he walked into the dining room. Oh, what a surprise it was to see Pete, Susan, his bitter uncle Baylor, Baylor's wife Ruby, and another woman he didn't recognize already seated at the table along with Grandmother. He didn't know they were invited. If he had known, he would've still joined the dinner, but he would've been better prepared for their bullshit, because Baylor and Pete were the king and prince of bullshit.

Chance greeted his grandmother with a kiss, then Susan guided him to an empty chair, which was between Peter and Baylor. Feeling trapped, along with the desire to escape the entire situation, he loosened his shoulders and tugged at his collar.

Susan turned to Tony, the server, who was pouring wine in Grandmother's glass. "Could you serve a bottle of the Merlot 1980? Thanks."

Tony stopped pouring and looked at Grandmother for consensus.

Grandmother tapped the bottle of wine. "This will be fine. It's a Mes Fleur Premium, and it's just as good as our brand."

Tony nodded and continued pouring. Susan rolled her eyes. Chance could see that she still hated to be defied. He'd seen her go postal when she didn't get what she wanted, even when it came to the little things, like the choice of wine being served with dinner.

"Oh, and Claire, my guest, is vegan," she added. "No meat for her."

The woman sitting to the left of Ruby raised a finger. "That includes no dairy or fish." She chuckled. "I'll eat whatever naturally grows from the ground."

Chance had taken a moment to notice that Claire was smiling and watching him closely. He smelled a rotten, stinking setup on Susan's behalf and wanted to dart his finger toward her and yell, _it's not going to work._

Instead, Chance settled into his seat and said, "Grandmother, you didn't tell me we were having company."

She winked at him. "I'm just as surprised as you are."

Baylor grunted before taking a drink of wine.

Chance knew he should've been the bigger person in the situation and greeted his bitter uncle, but he wasn't in the mood to placate the man. So instead, he looked around the table then at Edna. "Someone's missing."

"Yes, Rosalie overslept. Maria went to wake her."

Chance nodded. He didn't want to seem too eager to see her.

"So, Chance, did you drive out of your way just to have dinner with my mother tonight?" Baylor asked.

"Oh, Chance, this is Claire," Susan said at the same time.

"Hello, Claire," Chance said, using the opportunity to purposely ignore Baylor.

Claire wiggled her fingers flirtatiously. "Hi."

He pressed his lips into a hard line. This wasn't the first time Susan had tried to set him up with a random woman who was a tragic carbon copy of herself.

Edna rang the crystal dinner bell. All eyes fell on her.

"Okay, let's get this show on the road." She dropped the bell back on the table. "The first course will be kale, apple, and bacon salad with a sweet and tangy balsamic vinaigrette." Edna looked at Claire. "No bacon for you, darling."

Claire smiled then flapped her eyelashes at Chance, who immediately looked down at the glass of wine in front of him. He didn't want to lead her on. Her chances of landing him were a number way below zero percent.

"For our second course, we'll have a beet soup. And our main course will be prime rib, roasted new potatoes, and sweet tomato over dill asparagus."

Claire raised her hand timidly. "That's no prime rib for me?"

"That's right," Edna said.

Tony and Rod, the two servers, placed a plate of salad in front of each person.

"So, Mother, are you planning any more trips during your free time?" Baylor asked.

"Well, if I do, I'll remember that I do not owe you a copy of my itinerary."

Baylor's face turned red. "I didn't say you did. I asked a question. That's all." He shoved a fork full of salad into his mouth.

"And I merely provided you with an answer. Chance, when was the last time you visited New Orleans?" she asked.

Chance finished swallowing the salad in his mouth. "Um, not since we went together."

"Oh, you travel with your grandmother?" Claire asked.

Chance frowned at her, wondering what in the world she had gleaned from that.

"Mom has gone a number of times without you," Baylor said.

"Then you had me followed?" Grandmother asked.

"No, Mother," he said, too emphatically for it to be true.

"That's okay, darling, because I'm smarter than you."

"That's true." Chance felt good about helping to get the better of Baylor. But deep down, he had to admit that his grandmother and uncle's exchange of words was strange.

Baylor dropped his head and muttered, "That means shit coming from you."

Chance snorted and cocked his head to the side. He wanted to unleash an arsenal of profanities on Baylor. Pita had been good for a lot of things, and one of those was helping him realize that blowing up when he got mad had to do with some unresolved issues from his childhood. Baylor was one big, unresolved issue in the flesh.

"Where's my ex-wife?" Peter blurted. "I heard she was here."

Rosalie entered right on cue. Chance couldn't take his eyes off her as she walked over to kiss his grandmother and greet Ruby and Baylor before sitting. Her acknowledging them spoke to the fact that she knew the hierarchy of things. Baylor was a son of Edna Jane Sterling, one of four direct heirs. Penelope, his grandmother's only daughter, had legally given up her claim to the family fortune. Chance had been the general counsel tasked with the job of cutting Penelope off.

"But why, Pen? I don't get it," he had said back then.

"I'll make my own, not my mother's or father's," she replied with spite.

His grandmother had never shown it, but Chance could tell by her lack of emotion that Penelope's decision broke her heart.

Chance pulled at the collar of his sweater in order to let some air through. He was getting hot and sweaty, watching Rosalie under the warm lights that illuminated the table. The fact that he had such responses to her baffled him. It had all begun at the gas station. Maybe all he needed to do was get a grip on reality. She was attractive, no, sexy. She was extremely sexy. He was a man.

Suddenly, all eyes were on him. He figured they were waiting for him to respond to something. Rosalie's deep, dark, delicious eyes watched him too.

Tony and Rod entered the dining room again to collect the plates.

"So, Edna, are you excited about your party on Saturday?" Rosalie asked.

"I can't say that I am," Grandmother replied.

"Oh, come on, Grandmother, it's going to be a blast," Susan said. "We have a lot of surprises in store for you. Lots of them."

Grandmother's answer wasn't surprising. The parties weren't for her; they were for her sons. Each year, they could honor her and pretend as if she wasn't more valuable to them dead than alive. In one of Chance's recurring fantasies, he found a way to make sure they never inherited a penny of the family fortune because his grandmother gave it all away to charity, or even better, to Romero, Garcia, Teresa, Mirabelle, and the rest of her employees. He could make it happen. But he would never get his grandmother to agree to it. She believed in duty before worthiness.

"So, Chance, how's Lord and Lord working for you?" Baylor asked.

Chance wondered what Baylor was trying to uncover by starting this line of questioning, especially since it smelled a lot like small talk, and Baylor never engaged in polite conversation unless he had something to gain from it.

"Fine," he said.

"I thought you would've come running back to the trust by now. Unless that's why you're here. Couldn't cut it for Jack Lord?"

"Why are you concerned that I'm here, Baylor?"

"I wouldn't call it concern."

Holy shit, he hated his uncle. If it hadn't been for Grandmother watching what was going on between them, he would have given Baylor a piece of his mind. Baylor liked to sit imperiously as if he were someone whose faults hadn't made the family fortune volatile. Chance wanted to list them all, starting with the fact that the man replaced his wife every five to ten years. There were also the many prostitutes and more than the occasional high-stakes gambling habit. Not to mention the fact that he was apt to making high-risk and bad business decisions, which he had done many times in the past, putting the company in financial jeopardy. Essentially, Baylor was the very definition of putting lipstick on a pig.

"Well, this is not how I want to begin the celebration of my eighty-second year of being alive," Edna said.

Feeling remorseful for allowing Baylor to drag him into unsavory dinner table behavior, Chance set his repentant eyes on his grandmother. "I apologize, Grandmother."

"Regardless, the company's doing fine without you," Baylor said.

Chance shook his head. The fact that Baylor couldn't kill the discussion by looking at his mother and apologizing for starting shit at the dinner table made Chance dislike him even more.

Susan asked him a question, and the Claire woman mentioned something about Russian Hill. His preoccupied mind couldn't keep his thoughts in order. Perhaps it was because he wanted to poke Baylor some more and see what came out. Whatever reason had made Baylor leave the comfort of his home, where he was king of the castle, to sit miserably at dinner with him had to be a profound one.

"Grandmother, I went for a run today and saw the construction on the south grounds. That's at least an acre of vineyard land gone."

"It's the board's project," Grandmother said.

"And none of your concern," Baylor said.

Grandmother raised her glass of wine to her lips. "They've decided to build a second winery and warehouse. It's more than an acre. It's one and a half to start." Very composed, she took a drink.

"We're expanding the business, Mother, not hurting it. I wish you could see that way." Baylor wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Unfortunately, I won't be able to stay longer." He shot to his feet.

"Mission complete," Chance muttered.

"Let's go," Baylor said coldly to Ruby.

Chance worked on cooling his anger as Baylor and his wife sauntered out. He barely paid attention to Susan laying into Rosalie. Of course she would. Susan was a jealous woman, and Pete's first wife was hotter and smarter than she was.

Susan indirectly accused Rosalie of lying about receiving alimony.

"I really don't care what you believe," Rosalie said with great composure before going back to spooning soup into her mouth.

Chance liked a woman who didn't feel as though she had to explain herself to the likes of Susan. Rosalie became more intriguing to him, and he had to know more about her.

"So, Rosalie, where do you work?" he asked.

Suddenly, her beautiful eyes were on him, and for a second, he forgot to breathe.

"Oh, I'm—" she began to say.

"She's a lawyer, like you," Pete said.

Despite Pete's sarcastic tone, Chance was intrigued. "Is that so? Where do you practice?"

"Claire is an interior designer in New York," Susan said.

"But I'm moving to San Francisco soon," Claire said.

Chance frowned as he focused more on Rosalie. "I'm sorry, where do you practice again?" His tone made it clear that only Rosalie should speak.

"I'm a public defender for LA County," she said.

Chance was taken aback by her answer. "Oh, wow." He'd expected her to name an upscale law firm in San Francisco. "You live in LA?"

"Yes."

He nodded.

"I'm very proud of her," Grandmother said.

"Oh, come on, Grandmother, you should've left well enough alone," Pete said.

Chance sighed. Goodness, his cousin was a grade-A douchebag with the brain capacity of a dickhead teenager.

"And what was well enough, Peter?" His grandmother's tone was tempered by the sort of curiosity one had when she knew the answer to a question but wanted the other person to fully express himself.

All Pete did was snort. However, Chance wasn't sure if Pete had a problem with Rosalie being a lawyer or leaving him first and becoming a lawyer later.

Susan decided to jump in and try to clobber Rosalie with more alimony crap.

"I told you this already; your husband does _not_ pay me alimony," Rosalie said. "I stopped the payments because I chose not to keep jumping through his damn hoops or putting up with his harassment. So if the money's missing, then check the bank and credit card statements. I'm sure you'll find a tie to the Pink Kitty. It's his happiest place on earth."

Chance stifled a laugh. Rosalie had just delivered the knockout blow.

"Fuck you, Rosalie," Peter barked.

"Never again," Rosalie said with a snarl.

His grandmother clapped her hands and threatened to disinvite the uninvited, which Chance thought was a great idea. Then, right on cue, Pete started in with whose side his grandmother should've taken in the matter. Susan then made it about her, and then, for a moment, it became the Pete and Susan show. They often tried to outdo each other in a game they consequently played called "who's the biggest victim."

Chance rubbed his temples. Pete's voice and Susan's whining were giving him a headache. Then somehow, the two started arguing with each other until Susan stormed out of the room like a child. And instead of Peter, it was Claire who got up to see to his wife's needs.

Chance fixated on Rosalie's pretty face as she apologized to his grandmother for her behavior.

Grandmother smiled. "You're fine, darling."

Pete snorted. "She's fine?"

"Go see about your wife, Pete," Grandmother said.

"She's fine?" he repeated as though he was offended by the sentiment.

Grandmother slapped the table. "Go! Now!"

Pete looked at Grandmother as though he'd been slapped in the face. But he was saved when Susan and Claire returned to the table. The main course was served shortly thereafter.

"So, Edna, I had some design ideas for the house," Susan said as though none of her provoking and whining, which had led to her temper tantrum, had happened.

Grandmother gave Susan a blank look, making Chance wonder what was behind that expression.

"No, but really, Edna, have you ever considered doing a major remodel?" Susan asked.

"Actually, I can tell there was a major remodel done to the structure," Claire said.

Finally, Grandmother's interest was piqued. "Is that so?"

As Claire explained how some of the original Spanish colonial features were still part of the frame, Chance tried to forget Rosalie was at the table. The prime rib was tasty enough to allow him to do that.

"Anyway, so, Grandmother, how does it feel to be away from the business?" Susan asked.

Chance coughed after nearly choking on the tender meat he had just swallowed.

"It feels revolutionary," Grandmother said.

Chance could hardly believe what he had just heard. "You're free from the business?"

"Wait. You didn't know?" Peter asked before shrugging dismissively. "That's right, you're out of the loop."

Chance had a boatload of questions for his grandmother, but it was not the time to ask them. Why hadn't she told him? By the look on Rosalie's face, she hadn't known, either.

"So, Chance, how do you like living in San Francisco?" Claire asked.

He glared at her. The question felt inappropriate, considering what he'd just learned.

"It's fine," he replied.

"Have you ever lived in New York?"

"No."

Claire asked questions, one after the other. At least they were polar questions to which the answer was either yes or no. He'd been in this situation before. Claire seemed to understand she was getting nowhere with him and was making her last attempt at catching his interest. But there was nothing she could say or do to turn his crank. It wasn't that she wasn't pretty enough. Claire was beautiful, but he just wasn't interested—that was it, and that was all.

He got a reprieve from her questions when Tony and Rod cleared the table.

"Dinner has ended. Thank you for your service tonight," Grandmother said to the servers before they went back into the kitchen. Soon after, she rose to her feet. "There will be no dessert. Good night. And please do not disturb me from this moment forward."

Chance couldn't believe what had just happened. His grandmother had never made such an exit, and all of the night's spats had been tame compared to how things usually went when the Sterlings sat down for dinner. He really wanted to have a conversation about what had happened earlier today in the sitting room. He also wanted to know more about why his grandmother had never mentioned how close she was to Rosalie.

Pete and Susan complained about there being no dessert. Chance hoped they would be the next to go, but instead, Rosalie said good night and left the table.

Chance's heart took a nosedive as his gaze remained on Rosalie's backside until she was out of sight. Now he was alone with a cousin he didn't like, his high-maintenance wife, and her friend. He couldn't see the need to sit there any longer. He set the napkin that was in his lap on the table and stood.

"Wait, Chance, um, are you sticking around for Grandmother's birthday party?" Susan had a look of desperation on her face, and so did her friend.

"Good night, Susan." He got out of there before she could throw a tantrum for not getting the response she was looking for.

He took long strides up the stairs, intending to leave the other guests in the dust. If Susan complained loud and long enough, Pete would get up and see to her needs, and that meant confronting Chance on her behalf. They were a tiresome duo.

"Excuse me, Mr. Sterling?"

Chance startled even though he recognized the voice. "Yes, Teresa." His heart was still pounding.

"I turned down your bed and started a fire. Would you like to end the evening with red or white wine?"

His grandmother enjoyed running the house like a five-star hotel for guests.

"No wine for me tonight," he said.

Teresa nodded. "Okay, ring the kitchen if you need anything."

He winked. "I'll be out of commission for the night."

She smiled tightly and turned to walk away.

Chance continued heading toward his room. However, there was a scent in the air, like sweet flowers and spice. The familiarity awakened his desire. He raced back down the hallway and stopped when he saw Teresa walking down the stairs.

"Excuse me, Teresa?" he called as quietly as possible. "The other guest, Rosalie," he whispered.

"Ah, yes. I already turned down her bed."

He opened his mouth to ask where her room was located, but he caught sight of a server who had just walked into the hallway from the service elevator. He was carrying a tray with a bottle of wine and a glass on top.

"Never mind," he said to Teresa.

Chance quickly turned to follow the server, whom he didn't recognize. Chance focused his gaze on the man's back until he knocked on the door across from his room.

"Wine service," the man said.

Chance was standing behind the server, who turned to acknowledge him with a nod, when Rosalie opened the door. Their eyes met. She was wearing a long, colorful kimono-styled robe made of silky material, and her raven hair was wrapped in a bun. Loose strands brushed against her face. He had never touched her bare skin, but he bet she was soft and warm.

Rosalie opened her door wider. "Thank you."

Their eyes remained on each other as the server entered the room. Chance knew that now was the time to apologize for being a jerk, and by the look in her eyes, it appeared as if Rosalie was waiting for it.

"Um, interesting dinner," he said to break the ice.

She rolled her eyes slightly. "Very."

They both watched the server as he finished pouring wine in the glass.

"Would you like to come in for a drink?" she asked.

Chance raised his eyebrows. Her invitation was unexpected. Was she asking him in for a nightcap? He wasn't one for one-night stands, only for the simple fact that he regarded them as soft illusions. Women seemed to always want more, whether they knew it or not. Everything within him told him to decline her offer, but he was past thinking with his brain.

Chance cleared his throat. "Sure."

Her room was comfortable and, like her, smelled delicious.

"Could you bring us another glass?" she asked the server.

"Yes, ma'am," the guy said before rushing out of the room.

Rosalie pointed her hand at one of the chairs in the step-down seating area, which was in front of a brewing fireplace. "Have a seat."

Chance still questioned whether he'd made the right decision coming into her room for a drink as he walked over and sat in the chair.

Rosalie walked over with the one glass of wine and handed it to him. "Guest first," she said smiling.

He rubbed his wet palms on the arms of the chair. "Ladies first."

She tilted her head contemplatively then grunted as soon as she arrived at some sort of conclusion. "Okay then." She sat with the glass and crossed her legs.

Chance cracked a tiny smile. He wondered what had made her not push the issue of insisting that he take the wine. "I want to say that I'm sorry for the way I behaved earlier."

"Do you mean when you were being rude and insulting?" She shrugged. "Basically, you were a dick."

He smirked. "Basically."

"But why?" She held up a hand. "Wait. Forget I asked."

"Forget you asked?"

"Distrust is the Sterling way."

Her eyes were big and brown, and she had perky lips that begged to be sucked. His gaze fell to her cleavage. She wasn't well-endowed in that department, but she had enough to make him want to indulge. Chance tugged at his collar and shifted in his seat. It had just turned unbearably hot.

He crossed and uncrossed his legs. "I don't disagree with you."

She took a sip of wine and grimaced as though she could barely tolerate the burn.

"Not a drinker?" he asked.

She smirked. "Not on the front end. The pleasure comes after the bite." Rosalie closed her eyes indulgently. "The Sterling Merlot 1996 is one of the best." She opened her eyes, and he would have sworn she had just cast a spell on him.

Chance shifted in his seat again. Shit, he had grown wood, a full-blown hard-on. He wanted to get out of there to cool off some, but if he stood, he was sure she would be able to see the effect she was having on him.

"Anyway, I accept your apology," she said. "Do you have any idea what's behind all the secrecy?"

He took a deep breath. "No."

There was a knock on the door, and the server announced himself.

"Come in," Rosalie said.

Thank goodness for the interruption. What in the world was happening to him? He was a better conversationalist than that.

"For you, sir," the server said, handing him a quarter-filled glass of red wine.

"Call me Chance, and, um"—he extended a hand toward the server—"we've never met."

"I'm Pedro," the man said, shaking Chance's hand.

"Nice to meet you."

Pedro nodded as they let go of each other's hands.

"If you need anything else, call the kitchen."

"Good night, Pedro, and thanks for bringing the second glass," Rosalie said.

"You're welcome, ma'am."

"Call me Rosalie," she said.

The server smiled before bowing out into the hallway and closing the door behind him.

Rosalie looked at Chance with a sexy lopsided smile. "A Sterling man who doesn't treat the staff like slaves."

He dropped his face to simper and raised his head just in time to lock eyes with Rosalie. Whatever was happening between them was unexpected, and for Chance, it was scary as hell.

Rosalie finally broke eye contact with a sigh. "Anyway, getting back to Edna. At first, I thought she was planning on dying or something."

Chance adjusted in his seat. His erection wasn't subsiding fast enough, so he focused on the flames before them. "I did too."

"I want to show you something. Can I?"

He watched her as she stood abruptly and walked up the steps to the sleeping area. As soon as she opened her purse, which was sitting on the desk near the window, Chance turned away from her alluring figure to study the flames again.

He had to get a grip. Rosalie hadn't invited him in for sex. She wanted to talk. It had become clear to him during dinner that she wasn't part of the vulture pack. To get relaxed, he circled his shoulders and took a swig of wine.

Soon, she had once again sat in the chair on the other side of the cocktail table. "It's a letter Edna sent me."

He turned away from the flames. She was handing him the letter. He took it, unfolded it, and began reading. None of what was written eradicated his suspicion of Rosalie. He was beginning to feel things for her but not at the expense of forsaking reason. One thing he had learned over the years was that every human being had a motive. And the surefire way to not be surprised when he discovered that a person was in it for his own interest was for him to assume right off the bat that everyone was actually in it for their own interests. Then he read the last sentence. _We have much to discuss before my final hours._ His grandmother was definitely up to something.

When he looked up, Rosalie was watching him intently.

Chance realized he was frowning and straightened his face. "I see." He handed the letter back to her.

She shrugged her forehead. "The last line?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'll try to get to the bottom of it all tomorrow morning."

It remained awkwardly silent between the two of them. Chance tried to think of something to say. Sure, he was tired after his run that evening, and the wine he'd had with dinner, along with the few sips in front of Rosalie's fire, made him extra sleepy, but he wasn't ready to leave her presence.

He cleared his throat. "You're a lawyer, hey?"

"Yep."

"Where did you go to law school?"

"UCLA."

He raised his eyebrows. It was hard to believe one of Pete's exes was smart enough to get into that school.

She grinned at him.

"What?" he asked.

"You have the most expressive face. I would pay a hundred bucks for your thoughts."

He would've told her what he was thinking if he wasn't so sure his thoughts were offensive. He wondered how a woman, who was as beautiful and smart as she was, could have ever in her lifetime been involved with Pete. He found it mind-boggling.

She continued to look at him as though she was amused by his very essence. His forehead and armpits were sweating profusely. If he were smart, he would escape before his body betrayed him once again and embarrassed him in every imaginable way.

"Can I guess?" she asked.

"Guess?"

"What you were thinking?"

He blinked because his head was dizzy. What in the hell was wrong with him? Chance stood but steadied himself enough to set the glass of wine on the cocktail table. "Sorry, I have to go."

Rosalie stood. "Okay." She looked puzzled.

He nodded spastically and rushed out of the room so fast that it felt as if he was walking on air. As soon as he entered his quarters, he stopped in front of the door. It was too late to go back and make a smoother exit. Chance wanted to kick himself for letting his nerves get the best of him. Only sleep could wipe away his embarrassment. His eyes gravitated toward the bed. He narrowed them for focus. An envelope was placed on top of the pillow with his name written across the front. He went over and opened it.

_Meet me in the lemon grove when you run in the morning. I must show you something._

The letter wasn't signed.

# Chapter Six

### Rosalie Stetson

Rosalie pressed her ear against the door and listened while Chance's door opened and closed. She was still confused by what had just happened. Maybe he didn't want to be friends. She was on her best behavior, figuring they would work better as allies after what had happened at dinner.

It was tough to download and unravel the craziness that had taken place at the table. She was pretty sure Chance wasn't interested in Claire, who was clearly on the hunt for him. Rosalie suspected that Chance might not be into women. Claire had had it all on display—cleavage, curves, and a dress so short that she might as well have shown up naked. As far as Rosalie saw, Chance hadn't admired any of Claire's assets, not once. She hadn't caught him admiring her assets, either, and she had looked really good in her dress, which had been a tad too itchy.

The day had been long. Regardless of not being able to shake Chance Sterling from her thoughts, Rosalie turned off the electric fireplace, stripped out of the night's outfit, washed off her makeup, and went straight to bed. As she nestled between the winter linens and closed her eyes, she couldn't forget that Chance was sleeping not so far away from her.

Rosalie slowly opened her eyes. She had been sleeping hard and for a long time. Someone was knocking lightly on the door.

She blinked the crud out of her eyes, and as her mind began to wake up, she remembered last night and sitting down with Chance before the fire. Rosalie gasped and pressed her hand over her heart. What if the person at the door was Chance?

"Yes?" she called.

"Good morning, ma'am, would you like breakfast?"

Rosalie recognized the voice. She hopped out of bed, grabbed her robe off the chair, and shuffled over to open the door. "Good morning, Teresa."

"Good morning, ma'am."

"Listen, Teresa, would you mind calling me Rosalie? Please." She really disliked all the formality, especially in a house in which she felt so at home.

"It will be no problem, Rosalie. For breakfast, we have eggs Benedict, country potatoes, and fruit salad."

"Thanks, I'll be downstairs shortly." It made her happy when she realized that Chance would more than likely be joining her at the table.

"No, ma'am, I mean Rosalie. Breakfast will be in room this morning."

Rosalie leaned away from Teresa. "Is Edna having breakfast in her room this morning?"

"She is not home."

"What?"

"She is gone."

"Where did she go?"

Teresa pressed her lips together then released them. "I don't know."

Rosalie watched Teresa with an unfocused gaze. She had become sort of an expert at detecting untruths. In her job, she had learned to let body language and facial expressions clue her in to whether clients or witnesses were lying or telling the truth. She could tell that Teresa knew where Edna had gone, but it wasn't her place to tell. The staff had always been loyal to Edna, so Rosalie was positive she would get no answers from them.

"Okay then." Rosalie looked across the hallway. "Then I'll wait for breakfast."

It would've been nice to sit down for another meal with Chance, but last night had ended so oddly that she didn't feel comfortable asking him to join her. Plus, it was time to power on her cell phone yet again to check voice mail and text messages and determine if she wanted to return any of them.

It was slightly chilly in the room, so Rosalie kindled the fireplace and sat in a chair before the flourishing flames. She pressed the button to awaken her phone. The device beeped and vibrated in her hand. She had forty-nine voice mails, seventy-two missed calls, and thirty-three text messages.

The first text was from her boss, telling her that the DA wanted to meet with her immediately. The next ten or eleven were from Dennis, asking where she was. He demanded that she return his calls or else. Linda Ashton, a fellow public defender and fairly good friend, also left her a text message.

_Dennis is on a warpath. What happened with the superintendent Perry Clark's case?_

Rosalie didn't believe Perry Clark was all that innocent of the charges, which were thirteen counts of misuse and theft of funds, but investigators had no right to falsify evidence for every single charge. Perry was hard to catch because he was good at burying the bodies. Of course she knew where to find the money, but not because Perry had confessed. Perry Clark had a lot in common with the Sterling men. He needed to be in charge and required loyalty in every aspect of his life. Followers rarely trailed without the distribution of fish and loaves. All Nick Lyons had to do was get off his lazy buttocks and track the goodies.

Rosalie replied to Dennis's message.

_I'm away on a family matter. I will call you when I'm available._

She pressed Send, and just before she powered off the phone, it rang. At first, she thought it was Dennis, but he never responded to any message that fast, even the important ones. She rolled her eyes when she saw the name on the screen. It was Vera, her mother.

The phone rang three more times before she decided to answer.

"Hello," she said briskly.

"Hello, where are you?" Her mom's tone was just as devoid of warmth as her own.

Every muscle in Rosalie's body tightened. "I'm visiting Edna."

"Edna Sterling?"

"Yes."

"What for?"

"Her birthday party."

Her mom went silent.

There was a knock on the door. "Breakfast," a man called.

"Come in!" Rosalie replied.

Vera still hadn't said a word.

"Mom, are you still there?"

"You didn't come to my birthday celebration or your aunt Candace's."

Rosalie rolled her eyes as she stood so that the server could set up breakfast on the cocktail table.

"Okay," she said as she walked over to the French doors and opened the curtain to gaze out over the lemon trees. An interesting sight caught her attention.

"Okay? Is that really all you have to say?"

Rosalie watched Chance and a small woman wearing a pair of jeans and a gray hoodie as they engaged in a conversation. The woman's head was covered, and she was facing away from Rosalie. Chance stood with his legs spread and arms folded, which meant he wanted to convey authority.

"I know they have more money than God, but we're your flesh and blood."

Rosalie shook her head. "Mom, what do you want to hear from me? Could you hurry up and tell me so I don't have to guess?"

Chance moved to stand next to the woman. He was remarkably taller than she was, so Rosalie could tell the woman was showing him something on a handheld device, perhaps a cell phone.

"Just forget it," Vera said.

Chance was still viewing whatever the woman was showing him.

"Okay. Did you call for any specific reason?" Vera sure wasn't the type that would call to say I love you.

"Your job called, concerned about your whereabouts. I've called you several times and left messages. Did you get them?"

"Sorry, I just checked my phone." Rosalie was halfway distracted by Chance hugging the woman. Then she watched the woman walk away with a timid posture.

"You're going to lose your job if you don't call them back, and then what?"

Rosalie wasn't going to humor her mother, not today. Breakfast had arrived, and she was starving. "Mom, I have to go."

Vera continued. "Unless you're making up with your ex-husband. That wouldn't be so bad."

Rosalie shook her hands in frustration. "But you just accused me of loving the Sterlings more because they had more money than God, who, by the way, has no money at all. Currency is a human concept."

"But he'll be your husband again, and that's the difference."

Rosalie shook her head as if she'd just become dazed by confusion. "Huh? What difference are you talking about?"

"It wouldn't look so bad that you're there if you were making up with Peter."

"He's married, Mom."

"But he loves you more."

Rosalie was ready to end the call right there and without saying goodbye. If it weren't for her mother, she would've never married Peter in the first place. Vera had a love-hate relationship with the Sterlings, which was born out of envy. The few times Peter had visited their house when he and Rosalie were in high school, Vera would flirt shamelessly with him. She would start by telling him what a great athlete he was and say that she could tell he was destined for greatness. It was creepy, and he had tried to avoid her mother as much as possible because of it.

However, it wasn't as if Rosalie and Peter had spent the majority of their time at his house, either. His parents had never approved of Rosalie. As a young couple, she and Peter would mostly hang out at the Dairy Queen after school, or catch a movie, or go for long drives in his truck. Deep down, Rosalie had ignored the truth. They'd made out a lot and had a lot of teenage sex, however mostly protected. Peter had been so afraid of getting her pregnant, and the thought of being inseminated by him had actually scared her more. Whenever they would have conversations, he would mostly talk about himself. He hadn't been curious about her at all, which was why it later shocked him that she was first accepted at UCLA as an undergraduate transfer student and then to the school of law. She'd graduated both programs summa cum laude. Peter's ability to love anyone, even himself, was nonexistent.

It felt distressing to tell her mother for the hundredth time that she was never getting back with Peter Sterling, so she decided not to.

"Mom, I have a day. Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Vera said and ended the call.

Rosalie fell back on the bed and let the phone roll out of her hand. It began to ring. She looked over at it, thinking it was Dennis, but then she saw her mother's name on the screen.

She watched it ring three more times before answering. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

Shocked, she sat up straight. "You are?"

"I am."

"Well, okay. Thanks." She waited for the other shoe to drop.

"Enjoy the birthday party."

Rosalie narrowed an eye suspiciously. "Okay."

"Love you. Goodbye."

Rosalie paused, waiting for her mother to hang up before she could respond.

"Mom?" she asked timidly.

"Yes?"

Her eyes widened. "Love you too. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

This time, Rosalie ended the call.

"Well, that was strange," she whispered as her gaze gravitated toward the eggs Benedict and pot of coffee. She avoided deconstructing the entire conversation she'd just had with her mom. After all, she did have a day.

Her phone rang again, and this time, it _was_ Dennis. Anxiety gripped her. So she chose not to ignore what her body was telling her and powered down her device. Perhaps the time had come to look for another job. She didn't have to worry about getting a bad reference from Dennis because her record spoke for itself. Everyone knew that public defenders had to play politics and ego-preserving.

Rosalie took a series of deep breaths until she was able to not think about work. She finished breakfast and turned on the television, allowing a morning show to play as she showered and prepared herself for the meeting with Frederick Holland. Once again, she was self-conscious about what to wear. She was meeting with another lawyer, but she hadn't brought any business attire.

She would never admit it out loud or more than once, but she wanted to appear attractive. What if Claire showed up today? She would put on her sexiest best for Chance Sterling. Rosalie didn't want to be as obvious as Claire would be, so she split the difference and put on a pair of black skinny pants, her white V-necked cable-knit sweater that didn't itch, and a pair of low-heel black leather booties. It had rained last night, and it was always a little nippy outside of the bedrooms at Sterling Manor when it rained, so she put on her black leather jacket.

Rosalie took one last look in the mirror then headed out to meet Frederick Holland in the sitting room. To her surprise, she and Chance walked out of their bedrooms at the same time.

Her hand flew to her chest. "Oh."

He closed his door. "Meeting time."

"Yes, it is." Why did it feel so awkward between them? If she had known him better, she would've asked about the woman he'd met in the lemon grove. That would've broken the ice between them.

At the moment, they were just standing there, looking at each other.

Chance checked his watch. "We better head down, or we'll be late."

"Right," she said.

After realizing he was waiting for her to move first, Rosalie started walking. He was behind her. Other than his footsteps and the sound of his breath, he was quiet. His silence made her nervous.

Rosalie slowed her pace so they could walk side by side. "So, any guesses what this meeting could be about?"

Chance kept his eyes focused straight ahead. "None."

She didn't believe him. "I saw you in the lemon grove this morning." She looked up at him to gauge his response.

He nodded. She waited for him to have more of a response than that. Four more steps later, she realized that was all the reaction she was going to get out of him.

Rosalie could be a bulldog when she knew someone was withholding information from her. "Who was she?"

They reached the stairs.

"It's none of your concern."

She could tell by the pinch of skin between Chance's eyes that whatever he was keeping inside may have in fact concerned her.

"Was she a friend of yours?"

Chance glanced at her from the corner of his left eye. He opened his mouth as if he were going to speak but then closed it as though he'd changed his mind.

They reached the bottom of the stairs.

"All right, you win," Rosalie said.

"It's not a matter of winning or losing. The conversation I had in the lemon grove was private."

"Did it have anything to do with Edna?"

He clenched his lips.

"Not answering that, either?"

"Not answering that, either."

She sniffed bitterly as they reached the entrance of the sitting room. A tall, lean, handsome man in a well-tailored gray suit stood, looking out the window. His hands were clenched behind him as though he didn't have a care in the world.

"Fred, how are you?" Chance asked, officially bringing an end to Rosalie's questioning.

Frederick turned to face him. "I'm fine." He pointed to his briefcase on the table. "I guess we should get down to business."

The room wasn't that large, but Rosalie still searched every corner, looking for Edna, who was not sitting in her usual chair.

"Where's Mrs. Sterling?" she asked.

"She won't be attending this meeting," Fred replied.

"Why not?"

He opened his briefcase. "Did Mrs. Sterling advise you on asking questions?"

"Yes, she did," Chance answered before she could.

Fredrick stood up straight and took his hand out of his briefcase. "Did you agree to that condition?"

Rosalie wanted to argue until she got a little more information regarding all the secrecy, but she could tell by Frederick's expression that he was not the quarreling type.

"Yes." Her tone indicated how dissatisfied she was about giving in so easily.

Frederick nodded briskly and reopened his briefcase.

Rosalie and Chance stole dubious glances at each other. Admittedly, she was slightly embarrassed to have not gotten the disclosure she was seeking.

Fred handed them each a multiple-page document clamped together by a paper clip.

"Initial or sign where indicated beside the yellow tabs."

Rosalie sat on the sofa, and Chance took a seat beside her. She flipped the top page. The next page was the start of a contract, only the language was blocked out with cut-out pieces of red paper.

Chance looked up at Frederick, who was using Edna's favorite chair as his table. "Signing blindly?"

"That was the agreement," Frederick said.

Chance glanced at Rosalie. He must have felt the same trepidation as her. No lawyer worth his or her salt would advise a client to sign a contract without reading it first, let alone sign one themselves.

"My grandmother stepped down as chairman of the board," Chance said. "Does signing this have anything to do with that?"

Fred kept his poker face as he looked from Chance to Rosalie. "I can't say."

Chance hesitated for a few beats. "Do you have the pens?"

"I have two." Fred took two shiny silver pens out of his briefcase. He handed one to Rosalie and the other to Chance.

Rosalie didn't know about Chance, but a large part of her wanted to back out of the deal. However, it was more from a matter of principle than trust. There was no way in the world Edna would intentionally screw her in the end. With each signature or scribbling of her initials, the rate of her heartbeat increased. Every now and then, she would steal at glance at Chance, whose hand moved diligently.

She finally reached the last page and inked it with her signature. She and Chance handed the pages back to Frederick at the same time.

Frederick collected the contracts. They sat in silence as he looked over each page.

"Now what?" Rosalie asked.

Frederick carefully placed the papers in his immaculately ordered briefcase. "This." Frederick took an envelope out the pocket inside of his briefcase and handed it to Chance.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Mrs. Sterling wanted you both to have it."

Chance tapped the envelope against his palm and got ready to rip it open along the edge.

Frederick raised a hand. "Not while I'm here." He pointed to the envelope. "What's in there should only be shared between the two of you." He finished closing his briefcase.

Chance's arm dropped, and he held the envelope against the side of his thigh.

Rosalie wondered if he felt the same heaviness as she did. Edna had tethered them together with thick and heavy chains. The secrecy was the troublesome part. Edna had always said what she meant, meant what she said, and let the chips fall where they may.

"Is she sick?" Rosalie asked Frederick. Her tone was too sad, even for herself.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to answer any questions."

Rosalie's sigh was tempered by frustration.

Frederick securely gripped his briefcase. "Thank you both. I have a flight to catch."

Chance clenched his jaw as he nodded.

"Have a good day," Frederick said as he walked out of the sitting room. Intention fueled his steps.

Now that Rosalie and Chance were alone, the air turned extra thick. Her gaze dropped to the letter in his hand.

"Right? This?" He lifted the envelope and held it as if he was deliberating whether he should open it or not.

"You still don't trust me, do you?" she asked.

He walked over and sat down on the sofa. "Would you join me?"

Rosalie folded her arms defiantly. Her question had gone unanswered, and on the inside, she was screaming, shouting, and kicking for an answer. But then reason struck her, and she unfolded her arms. Fighting with Chance and demanding that he not use every little opportunity to control the situation was not conducive for the long run. Plus, she could have been wrong about his intentions. More than likely, she was wrong. Marriage to Peter had left her traumatized when it came to dealing with men. There wasn't a man alive whom she didn't read as being naturally controlling and manipulative.

Rosalie had one best friend in her life, and it was her cousin Skye. Two years ago, Skye had suggested that she see someone about her distrust of men. It took blowing up on her own dad for Rosalie to listen.

A year and a half ago, she had gone on a three-week vacation to Tenerife in the Canary Islands. Everyone who knew her knew that she would have her cell phone off and would not be reachable until after the last day of her trip. While she was gone, her father had her childhood home in Blushing Green demolished. The only thing her parents had ever agreed on since divorcing was the house, which wasn't to be sold or touched because it belonged to Rosalie. That was how they'd settled disputes during their marriage—if they couldn't agree on who got it, then they gave it to the kids.

However, in this case, Rosalie's brother Norman declined to have anything to do with the house. Two years ago, their parents had insisted on them paying the taxes or else they would sell it. Norman had a wife, two kids, and a Golden-State-sized mortgage, so he'd declined. Rosalie picked up the tab because, for her, the home had sentimental value. So she received a call from her mother only hours after her flight touched ground in Los Angeles.

"Rich demolished the house and sold the property," Vera said.

"What? Why?"

"You have to ask him."

Fueled by anger, Rosalie ended the call without saying another word and dialed her father. She let him have it, accusing him of never caring about anyone but himself, which was why he'd divorced Vera in the first place.

Rich waited silently for her verbal assault to end. "Did your mom tell you the house was infested with mold?"

She felt so embarrassed. "No."

"Did she tell you the mold endangered the health of nearby neighbors?"

Rosalie couldn't bring herself to answer that question.

"I don't know why she didn't tell you the whole story, because she knew it all."

"She did?"

"She always does, Rose."

And that was it. For the first time, she had heard his indirect accusation against her mom. After that conversation, Rosalie knew Skye was right. It was imperative that she sought help. That wasn't the first time she went ham on her father because of something Vera had led her to believe. Therapy had been a tremendous help, but she was still a work in progress.

So Rosalie battled her first inclination, which was to resist Chance and insist that he open the letter stat. Instead, she calmly sat down beside him on the sofa.

"The answer to your question is I don't know," he said. "I've been taught to not do a lot of trusting. After all, I'm a Sterling." His strained smile said it all.

Rosalie nodded understandingly.

Chance watched her with a steady gaze, and she wondered what he was thinking.

He cleared his throat and focused on the envelope. "Let's see what this says." Chance finished ripping the envelope open.

Rosalie admired his clean fingernails and the soft skin of his strong hands. It had been so long since a man had felt her up. Only for a moment, she imagined how those hands would feel sliding up the inside of her thighs.

Rosalie closed her eyes as she took a deep breath to purge the lust.

"Are you okay?" Chance asked.

She opened her eyes and dipped her chin, unable to meet his gaze. "Sure. Yes."

Chance slid a folded page out of the envelope. She was now on the edge of her seat with curiosity. His sexy hands unfolded the paper. "James Hague. 1997," he read.

She saw it too. The name and year were the only words written on the page. Rosalie shook her head. "What the devil is going on?"

"Good question."

# Chapter Seven

### Chance Sterling

Rosalie sagged against the couch. Chance glanced back at her only to be distracted by her cleavage protruding out of the V-shape of her white sweater.

His mind was working on the cryptic message his grandmother had left for them. For a second, he needed to forget Rosalie was in the room. So he shifted forward and rested his arms on his thighs.

"Okay, okay, okay," he whispered as he tried to make sense of all that had occurred up until that point.

"Okay what?" Rosalie said.

He jumped, got ahold of his composure, and sat back. His time to ignore her was up. "I'm positive Grandmother's making some kind of power play."

"Me too."

"And about the woman in the lemon grove..."

Rosalie sat up. "Yeah?"

"Chance Sterling," an excited voice called.

Chance and Rosalie snapped their attention toward whoever said that.

One look at the face he hadn't seen in years, and he couldn't stop smiling. There she was—a beautiful, elegant, and tall breath of both fresh and wayward air.

"Halo," he sang as he leapt off the sofa.

She shook her finger at him. "I told you not to call me that."

They hugged. The fibers from her white fur jacket tickled his nose.

"But it's the name your mother gave you, and she's our bright ray of sanity."

"Ha! I don't know about sane, but she does lack the maniacal gene that cursed her brothers." She punched him in the arm. "But what are you doing here?"

"I'm here for Grandmother's party."

She nudged herself in the chest with two fingers. "Me too!"

Halo wanted to be called Marie, which was her middle name, as of two years ago when she retired from being a fashion model to become a principal chemist for the Reed Corporation, which was the biggest chemical company in the nation.

Suddenly, Halo tilted her head and studied Rosalie. "New girlfriend, Chance? No. Wait..." She tilted her head to the opposite side. "I know you. You're, um..." She shook her finger. "You're Pete's wife. Ex-wife, I heard, and the lucky escapee." She snickered at her own joke.

"Be nice," Chance said.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Chance, you know he's high maintenance as hell, as well as immature, and he's got the mean streak of a bratty ten-year-old."

Chance pressed his lips together. He had no idea why he felt the need to chastise Halo. Out of everyone in the family, she was the one who reacted to everyone as they were. Once, his father had been yelling at Penelope, Halo's mother, for never being the right kind of Sterling, especially when she'd married Roger Boyd, whom he referred to as street scum. They were at the dinner table, and all the Sterling men were, as usual, on their worst behavior. Halo shot straight to her feet, threw her napkin at his father, and called him an escapee from the pits of hell.

"I'm done eating and knowing you people," she had said before strolling out of the dining room.

Chance had to take a moment to think, but he was sure that was the last time Halo had interacted with any Sterling besides their grandmother, her own mother, and him. Halo had never attended one of the birthday parties. Like him, she would make her own personal celebration with Grandmother.

"At least that's how I remember him," Halo said.

"He hasn't changed," Chance said.

"No, he hasn't," Rosalie concurred.

Halo's happy eyes shifted between him and Rosalie. "So... are you two together now?"

"No," Chance and Rosalie said at the same time.

This time, she studied them with a curious frown. "Humph."

Chance knew she'd meant something by grunting, but he wasn't about to ask. Halo was probably the only person on the planet he couldn't hide his true feelings from. She was too intuitive and spent way too much energy on studying people.

Halo searched over her shoulder and out into the hallway. "Where is she, anyway?"

"Who? Grandmother?" he asked. "The hell if we know."

"But she should be home soon, I believe," Rosalie said.

Once again, Halo's curious gaze bounced between Chance and Rosalie. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. It was as if someone had turned up the heat.

"Well, my mom should be here soon, you know. Apparently, she's planning the party this year along with Susan. She'd rather keep Susan out of it, but the battle's on for Grandmother's attention."

Chance crossed his arms, figuring he would get Halo's take on something that had been bothering him. "Hey, last night, Pete and Baylor showed up for dinner, unannounced. I also learned that Grandmother's backing away from the company."

"Yeah, I heard," she said.

"You had?"

Halo gestured animatedly with her hands. "Yeah, cousin, it's all connected, you know. That's why Mom is coming to shove her head up Grandmother's ass. She's over her little temper tantrum, and now she wants her stake back in the company. What you're witnessing is the beginning of the bloodbath, and may the shark with the bigger brain win."

"Not the sharpest teeth?" Rosalie asked.

Halo shook her head while cynically rolling her eyes. "Nope. All of their molars are equally pointed."

Chance nodded thoughtfully. Halo was rarely wrong about their family's evil intentions. She'd called it when Baylor had made a contract to have Penelope sign away her rights to collect on assets that were acquired after the "modern" estate was established. Chance had never heard of such a thing as a modern estate before then. His uncles had just been making up shit to weed out the competition so they could claim more stake in the company.

Back in 2014 when the company had reported record losses, a family dinner was called. Grandmother had strongly urged all family members be present, even Halo. After dinner, Halo and Chance went into the garden to share what was supposed to have been their last ever cigarette together.

"What did you think about all of that?" Chance asked Halo.

She finished taking a drag on the cigarette and handed it back to Chance then slowly blew smoke out of her mouth. "I think Carlton's going for the gold."

"Please elaborate," he said.

"He's going to try to oust Baylor, but he'll lose because Baylor's too dug in."

Chance understood exactly what she meant. "Right." Even though the two brothers were equally formidable, Baylor still held all the cards because he was number two under Grandmother.

Chance took another drag on the cigarette. "But how do you see all this?"

"Body language. You know how Carlton gets all squirmy when his little brain is planning evil?"

"No, I don't." He handed the cigarette back to Halo.

"Well, as general counsel, you better start noticing shit like that."

He just grunted curiously. It was sort of embarrassing that she was the fashion model and he was the lawyer, yet she was better at reading people than he was. Two weeks later, her prediction had come true.

Chance stopped nodding as the memory from three years ago faded. "You're right. The bloodbath is about to ensue."

"Hell yes, I'm right. Now"—Halo smashed her hands on her hips—"you guys want to go into town and grab a drink? I'm going to need to be buzzed by the time my mom gets here."

Chance and Rosalie looked at each other with wide eyes.

She giggled in that naughty way of hers. "I promise to not leave the two of you unchaperoned."

Chance tugged at his collar. "Huh? No. I mean I'm okay with drinks."

"So am I," Rosalie said.

"Alrighty then." Halo shot her finger at Chance. "You drive. I'm zapped from my Passenger First ride from SFO. The guy was a horrible driver. He shot my blood pressure through the roof."

Chance was thankful Halo had shown up. She did most of the talking on their way to a bar. For some reason, she insisted on Rosalie sitting up front with him, while she sat in the back. Rosalie tried to pass on the option, but Halo was determined.

Halo was halfway through an account of why she preferred working in a corporate environment rather than jet-setting to the same old cities around the world season after season.

"Spring collection, winter collection, fall and summer—same cities, same people. Everyone thinks they're"—she drew air quotes—"fabulous, but they're all fake. No one's real. And if you're not like them, then they would exclude you like mean high schoolers. I got tired of dumbing myself down just to be accepted. As you know, Chance, I was always smarter than I was pretty."

"But you're very beautiful," Rosalie said.

"No, I'm way smarter. Tell her, Chance."

"She has an IQ of one hundred forty-one," he said.

"Wow, that's high."

"Right," Halo said with a sigh.

"So what do you like about your new job?" Rosalie asked.

Chance cut a tiny smile. He could hear intrigue in Rosalie's tone. It was her chance to learn something new and experience someone who had something that less than two percent of the population had. He admired an intellectually curious woman. More and more, he was beginning to see why Rosalie and his grandmother had grown so close. They were much alike.

"First, I like the fact that I can eat as many cheeseburgers as I want and not have to worry about my ass expanding past the size of the samples, which were way too small for any adult woman."

The sound of Rosalie's laugh expanded the size of Chance's smile.

Halo sat back again. "But what I like most are the projects. Currently, I'm working on a waste reduction program, wherein we're testing chemicals that eat all types of solid waste but have no damaging effect on the environment."

"Wow, that sounds interesting."

"Yes, it is. However, what I don't like about my new career is that my colleagues are more apt to be hindrances than help." She sighed wearily. "Egos and ambition will always be a barrier to progress. I'm this close to giving up." She grunted facetiously. "And oh boy, would Grandmother like that."

Chance turned in to the parking lot of Dave's Bar. Since it was still early, there weren't a lot of cars parked in it. However, Halo's last statement burned a frown on Chance's mouth. Why would Grandmother want Halo to give up on her new gig? His grandmother had called him as soon as she'd heard Halo got a job with Reed Corporation.

"She's finally using her God-given gift to move on in this world," Grandmother had said.

He'd always felt that Grandmother lived vicariously through other smart women. It wasn't until Grandfather died in 1997 that she spread her wings and morphed into the shrewd businesswoman she was today.

"1997," he whispered as he threw the gear into park.

"What did you say?" Rosalie asked.

Chance glanced at Halo in the rearview mirror. She was watching him expectantly.

"It's nothing," he said.

"1997 is the year Grandfather died," Halo said.

"Yes, it was."

Her curious gaze went from his eyes to Rosalie's profile. He knew Halo was reading their reactions.

Chance quickly opened his door. "Let's get a drink. All of a sudden, I could use one."

Halo scooted across the backseat and opened her door. "Stay away from the hard stuff, though. Your tolerance has never been high enough for anything above fifty proof."

Chance laughed because she was right. There was something in his body that had an aversion to alcohol. He usually stuck to one or two glasses of wine, which was easy to do because Chance never succumbed to peer pressure. If his friends or colleagues got shit-faced, that was their personal choice. He chose to remain sober since it was the frame of mind in which he was at his sharpest.

As Chance opened the door of the tavern to let Halo and Rosalie pass, he was overcome by the sound of loud and bad rock instrumentals coming from inside.

Halo rubbed his cheek on her way in. "I'll handle that God-awful noise."

His frown intensified as Rosalie passed—not because Halo had once again eerily read his mind, but he felt something like tiny wings fluttering in his stomach. His head spun as Rosalie smiled gently then quickly averted her eyes from his. Maybe she was feeling something more for him than contempt for him being such a dick yesterday.

Halo pointed to a tall, round cocktail table near the window. "Over there," she said before heading to the bar.

Rosalie and Chance communicated with a look before going over to the table that Halo had picked from across the room. As soon as they sat, he could see why she had chosen it. The sky was cloudy, and a soft billow of lukewarm light flowed in through the window, which made the cold, dreary place feel warmer. As Chance took off his coat, he noticed that, other than two barmaids, the only other people in the room were guys, and they couldn't figure out whether to gawk at Rosalie or Halo.

Rosalie leaned across the table after taking her seat. "You said 1997," she whispered.

The music changed into something resembling eighties soft rock then, after a few beats, changed again.

Chance moved his face closer to Rosalie's. Her skin smelled like sweet flowers and citrus. It would've been nice to plant a soft kiss on her lips, but the idea frightened him just as fast as it invaded him.

"It's the year my grandfather died."

She sat up straight. "I know, I heard."

Now a smoother rock instrumental was playing, and Halo was heading toward the table.

Rosalie gazed into Chance's eyes with focus. He suspected she was trying to figure out the missing pieces to a complex puzzle. He tried to do the same but couldn't get past being distracted by how sexy she looked when she appeared to be deeply contemplating something.

"Now we can hear ourselves think," Halo said as she took a seat. "So do either of you have any idea where Gran went this morning?"

# Chapter Eight

### Rosalie Stetson

Goodness gracious, was Chance Sterling an enigma. She guessed he knew more about the clues on the note that Edna had left for them than he had let on. But he wasn't going to say much, because he didn't trust her, and heck, he probably never would. A few minutes ago, when she'd passed him on her way into the bar, Rosalie felt butterflies in her stomach. But she had quickly talked herself out of having any relationship with sour Chance Sterling.

It wasn't as though he was interested in her in the first place, and more importantly, she probably had to watch her back. She hadn't met a Sterling man who hadn't wanted the fortune all for himself. She wanted to tell Chance that he could relax. Edna may have had uncertainties about leaving her fortune to her direct descendants, but she would never betray her family. So Chance, nor any other Sterling, had to worry about her taking what was theirs.

"I have no idea where she went," Chance said, answering Halo's question.

Halo looked at Rosalie. "And you don't know anything, either?"

Rosalie shook her head. "Nope." She made sure her tone was adamant enough to convince Chance, which made her disappointed in herself. Why did she care what he thought about her? But the fact that she did just proved one thing—she was not yet ready to be in a relationship.

She used to always care what Peter thought about her, which had once upon a time cost Rosalie her self-esteem. Peter had never made her feel smart or pretty enough. As soon as she'd divorced him, she regained all of her confidence and more. However, she would never forget how she had been made to feel two feet tall by someone who was supposed to have loved her.

Perhaps that was why she was cautious when it came to entering new relationships. And for certain, that was why it bothered her that she cared to convince Chance Sterling she was trustworthy. _Screw him._ If he didn't believe he could trust her, then it was his issue, not hers.

"But it's such a mystery, you know. Gran has been full of secrets lately. If my instincts serve me right, then I'd say a man's involved."

"A man?" Chance asked.

"A boyfriend," Halo said.

"I'm pretty sure that's not the case," Rosalie said. If Edna was seeing a gentleman, then Rosalie was certain she wouldn't have kept it secret from her.

Halo tilted her head to study Rosalie. "Grandmother and you are close, aren't you?"

"Very."

"She talks about you a lot, you know."

"She does?" Chance asked.

His remark was so unexpected that Rosalie and Halo looked at him.

He shrugged. "It's just that Grandmother never said anything about Rosalie to me."

Halo grunted thoughtfully.

"What are you thinking?" Chance asked.

"Well, she mentioned Rosalie to me a number of times." Halo turned to Rosalie. "You're a lawyer, right?"

"Right."

"Public defender?"

"Yep."

"You hate your boss because he's a lazy ass, and you can do his job ten times better than him."

Rosalie laughed. "Edna said that?"

Halo raised her right hand. "I swear it." She put her hand down. "She really believes in your talent. I'm surprised she never recruited you to work for the company."

"I always thought it was because she saw Sterling Enterprises as a human-eating universe."

Halo scoffed. "No, that's not it. Maybe she doesn't think you're ready."

"Ready for what?"

"To fight with the big boys."

Chance shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You're saying Grandmother wants to hire Rosalie?"

Rosalie studied the look on Chance's face. It was quite clear that he respected Halo's opinion.

"And me. And you too, Chance."

"No way. She's the one that landed me the job with Lord and Lord Enterprises."

Halo shrugged indifferently. "Yeah, well, what a complex web we weave when first we practice to deceive."

Rosalie was confused by everything Halo had said. "First of all, Edna doesn't deceive."

"Don't worry. Grandmother uses her power mostly for good and rarely for evil. At least that's what I know."

"Rarely?" Rosalie asked.

The waitress showed up to take their drink orders. Realizing that she had leaned toward Halo, Rosalie sat back in her seat. Both Halo and Chance waited for her to order first. Her mind was still reeling from Halo's last statement about Edna. To her, Edna was the angel who had saved her life. Without Edna Sterling, where would she be? Probably married to the wrong guy and completely miserable and dissatisfied with every aspect of her life.

"After you, Rosalie," Halo said.

Rosalie blinked her mind back into the moment. They were treating her like the guest, and she didn't know if she liked it or not. Deep down, they felt more like family to her because she still saw Edna as family.

Regardless, she shifted in her seat. "Do you serve Bloody Marys?"

"Yes, we do," the waitress said to her, although she was looking at Chance.

"Then I'll have one of those."

Halo drummed her fingers on the tabletop to get the waitress's attention. "Scotch straight up for me."

Chance studied Halo with wrinkled eyebrows before saying, "I'll also have a Bloody Mary."

"We also have our favorite morning appetizers of tater-tots, steak skewers, sunshine sliders..."

"Woo-hoo," Halo sang to get the waitress's attention.

The woman ripped her eyes off Chance and looked at Halo.

"Do you still have a basket of french fries?"

"Um, yeah. We have garlic fries, cheese fries—"

"Just regular steak fries," Halo said.

"Your drinks and steak fries are coming up." The waitress sauntered away from the table, seemingly happy to have effortlessly taken their order.

"It's kind of early for Scotch," Chance said with his eyebrows drawn together.

"I told you, I need an effective buzz for when Penelope shows up."

Chance grunted skeptically.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Forget it."

Halo looked down at the table, tapping her fingers. Gosh, she was gorgeous. Her cropped sandy-brown hair showed off her swan's neck and creamy caramel skin. She had an elegance about her that commanded all the attention when she walked into a room. She was also pretty tall, probably about six feet. If she was more smart than beautiful, then she must have been a modern-day Einstein. However, all of her physical perfection couldn't hide what was glaringly obvious to Rosalie, who had represented enough alcoholics in court to know when someone was trying to hide the shakes.

Halo slid her hands under the table. "So, Chance, what's the update on your love life?"

He shifted in his seat, apparently taken aback by her question. "There's nothing going on with my love life."

"Still working too much?"

He shrugged. "What's too much?"

"Every day, more than sixteen hours a day, seven days a week."

He grunted.

"Then I guess you're still working too much."

"I guess."

Halo turned her curious gaze to Rosalie. "And why haven't you ever remarried?"

Rosalie jerked her head back. She still had questions about Halo's strong drink order and shaky hands. If Halo were her client, she would call her out on it. But she wasn't, and Rosalie didn't want to rock the boat.

"I'm looking more for a new job than a new husband," she muttered while thinking about having to face her boss on Monday.

"Is that so?" Chance asked, to Rosalie's surprise.

She went on to explain how tough it was doing her job in such a politically charged environment. She was almost done explaining how she'd won her last case, which everyone had wanted her to lose, when the drinks and fries arrived.

"Was he innocent?" Halo asked before taking a healthy swig of her drink.

"I can't answer that."

"Sure, you can. I won't tell. Will you, Chance?"

"No, but it doesn't matter if her client was innocent or not." He set his sexy eyes on her, and Rosalie forgot to breathe. "You did your job and defended him to the fullest. I could use a person like you on my team. But why did you choose white-collar crimes?"

Rosalie watched him scoot to the edge of his seat as her heart thumped hopefully. Had he seriously just offered her a job when he'd said he could use a person like her on his team? Or was he speaking in general?

"Um..." Her skin ran hot. "I focused on corporate in law school. Edna's suggestion."

"I figured," he said.

Halo signaled the waitress, who was three tables away. "One more Scotch."

The waitress glanced at Rosalie's and Chance's barely touched Blood Marys. "One Scotch coming up!"

Halo's request seemed to trouble Chance. Rosalie could tell he wanted to say something about Halo's second drink but chose not to.

"Okay, well." He sighed. "My offer still stands. I'd be happy to look at your résumé."

So it was an offer. Rosalie fought the urge to smile from ear to ear. "Thanks. I just might take you up on that." Feeling good, she finally took a sip of her drink.

"I hope you do."

She avoided looking into his eyes. One second too long, and she would pass on his offer. A chance to work for Lord and Lord Enterprises was a beautiful temptation, but falling for Chance Sterling scared the daylights out of her. She didn't know why exactly, but it did.

"Well, that would be interesting," Halo said, downing the rest of her drink.

Neither Rosalie nor Chance asked what she meant by that. As far as Rosalie was concerned, he was offering her the chance of a lifetime. She continued sipping on her drink as if she hadn't a care in the world, but inside, she was turning cartwheels and doing a victory dance. Come Tuesday, she would send her résumé to Chance Sterling. Then she had a thought.

"Oh yeah, I probably will need your email address."

Halo tossed her head back and let out a laugh. "Hot damn, it's going to happen. I can't wait to see how this turns out."

The waitress brought her second drink, and once again, Rosalie and Chance decided not to ask her what she meant by that.

On the drive back to the estate, Halo remained quiet in the backseat as she answered emails on her cell phone. Rosalie noticed that as soon as she'd finished her second drink, her shakes calmed. The last thing she wanted to admit was that Halo was an alcoholic. How was that possible? She was a beautiful chemist who appeared to have her life together.

Of course, Rosalie had had clients that looked as if they had their lives together as well, and some of them had been cocaine, heroine, crack, food and even sex addicts. Most of them had more than one addiction to contend with. Nearly all of them abused alcohol. One huge life lesson she'd learned was to absolutely, positively never judge a book by its cover.

Chance asked her about other cases she had worked on, and she recited two cases that led up to her last. They were almost back at the estate by the time she'd given him a rundown of what he could expect to see on her résumé.

"So you're a really strong litigator?"

She pressed her lips together then released them. "I'm not sure yet."

"What do you mean?"

"The other side is usually so ill-prepared that I'm not sure they're good enough to challenge me."

He laughed.

Rosalie narrowed her eyes, wondering what he found so funny. She wanted to ask but didn't want to sully her chances of landing the job of her dreams.

"Sorry," he finally said. "I'm laughing at the poor slob who walks into the courtroom, looks across the aisle, and sees you standing there. I know the culture in which you work pretty well. You know you're in trouble, right?" He quickly glanced at her, wearing a sexy lopsided smile.

She thought her heart would beat out of her chest. What in the world was wrong with her? There was no way she could work for Chance Sterling and focus. Plus, she had to admit that deep down she had her doubts about the legitimacy of his offer. Maybe he wanted to keep her close so that he could ruin her bond with Edna.

"I'm in trouble?" she finally asked after a long pause.

"Yep. You both are," Halo said with a snicker.

When Rosalie turned her chastising eyes on Halo, the woman was still smirking while punching out a message on her phone.

The conversation between Chance and Rosalie came to an abrupt halt. The silence between them was awkward and uncomfortable.

Chance made it to the carport and stopped behind another SUV. It was cream colored, and Rosalie recognized the woman standing at the back, pointing and directing the staff. She was Penelope Sterling, Edna's only daughter. Every time Rosalie saw Penelope, the woman looked different. This time, Penelope had straight brunette hair flowing down to the small of her back. She wore tight white pants, which made her pencil-thin legs look skinnier, and ultrahigh heels.

"Oh, great. She's here," Halo said sarcastically.

Chance turned to glance at her. "Give her a break, Halo."

"Marie."

"Who's Marie?" he asked.

"I told you to call me Marie. Get used to it."

Chance shook his head. "What the hell is wrong with Halo?"

"It's a stripper's name, plus it's associated with a past that..."

Rosalie and Chance waited for her to finish her remark.

"Forget it. Call me Halo if you have to."

"I have to," Chance said.

Halo shrugged as though it didn't bother her. "Whatever."

Penelope waved in their direction, and Chance waved back.

"You want to be called Marie? Okay, but it still doesn't make sense."

"Well, it does to me. And like I said, it's no problem. Call me whatever the hell you want, Chance." She sighed. "But now it's time to get this show on the road."

Before Chance could say another word, Halo opened the back door and hopped out.

"Hey, Mom," she said in a semi-deadpan voice.

Penelope's face lit up as she opened her arms. "Ah, my angel!"

Despite the trepidation she'd felt seconds ago, Halo gave her mother a big hug.

Rosalie glanced at Chance. "Oh, by the way, thanks for the drinks."

"You're welcome."

She opened the door.

"Oh, and I'm serious about you sending me your résumé. I think you'll be an asset to our team."

Rosalie smiled tightly and nodded. She agreed. They stared into each other's eyes for a few seconds too long, then they both had to look away.

Rosalie quickly opened her door and stepped out of the vehicle. Her pulse was racing. She was definitely attracted to Chance Sterling, but it wasn't because he was a tasty hunk of hotness. He had a way about him that she was finding hard to resist. He was a thoughtful man, slow to speak, but he seemed to listen to and consider all that was said on any subject. There was no doubt that he was intelligent and didn't feel the need to prove it to the world. Rosalie found that sexy, and not in the way that meant she wanted him to throw her on the bed and make mad, passionate love to her. She wanted him to fill her mind with his observations of the world and make love to her intellect by pointing her in directions that she would've never thought to take it.

She and Chance converged at the front of his vehicle.

"Chance, my love, how are you?" Penelope held her arms out, and he walked over to give his aunt the obligatory hug.

Then Penelope held her arms out toward Rosalie. "I'm a hugger."

Rosalie wasn't a hugger, but after a brief hesitation, she hugged Penelope anyway.

"Do you remember Rosalie, Mom?" Halo asked. "Pete's ex-wife?"

"Wait." Penelope stepped back to observe Rosalie. "Yes, I do. But you look different. Womanly."

Rosalie smiled, remembering that when she had last seen Penelope, she was such a different person—a little girl, really—who was stuck in the Blushing Green bubble. She had enrolled in Pacifica Community College during the last of the four years she was married to Peter. The only reason he didn't raise a huge stink about it was because Edna had urged her to do it. Plus, he was finishing his obligatory undergraduate degree at San Francisco University. The fact that she scored high on the aptitude tests surprised her. She was three years out of high school, but fortunately, all the calculus and advanced English came back to her as if they'd never left her. So during her first year of college she had been allowed to enroll in a statistics class, English 104, Chemistry 101, Psychology 101, and an interesting class titled Subconscious Art, which had taken her mind to places it had never gone before.

So Penelope's observation made her smile warmly even though she could tell Penelope had gotten her greeting out of the way and was done displaying super niceties. Rosalie knew this because she had met Penelope at least four times, and each time, the woman behaved the same—hugs and kisses at first then snubs later. And each time, Rosalie had to reintroduce herself to her. It finally dawned on Rosalie that Penelope was just the sort of fashionista that Halo had said she'd grown wary of—fake and superior without even realizing it.

"Has Grandmother returned?" Chance asked Teresa.

"No, not yet."

He frowned. "And do you know where she went?"

Rosalie realized that he had asked Teresa that question earlier. But this time, his question was quick enough to catch the maid off guard.

"No, I do not," she answered.

Teresa did not hesitate, and that was what he was looking for.

"Mom isn't home?" Penelope asked with concern.

"No, and she won't answer her phone and apparently hasn't told anyone where she went," Halo said.

"Don't take that out!" Penelope shouted. Her voice was so jolting that everyone turned to see one of the men in the back of the SUV put down a large black case. She turned back to face them. "Well, don't worry about Mom. She's just being dramatic."

"Dramatic how?" Halo asked.

"Oh, come on, angel. You already know the answer, or is your grandmother still your only blind spot? You know what? Don't answer. So, are you still drinking too much?"

Halo crossed her arms. "No."

If Penelope were astute, then she would've been able to hear the truth in her daughter's high-pitched tone.

"Good." Penelope pointed into the cab of her SUV. "Not that one, either."

"Well," Rosalie said. There was something quite unnerving about Penelope's energy, and she needed to escape it. "I'm going inside. Thanks again for the drink, Chance, and the company, Halo."

"I'm going to find a room too," Halo said. "It's been a long morning."

"No, angel. I need you to help us make calls and get the grounds ready for the party. We don't have much time and... That's all. Close the trunk."

Another SUV turned the corner and rolled up the drive, stopping behind Chance's. Susan was driving, and Claire was in the front seat. The Sterlings had always had a thing for big gas-guzzling cars.

"But Mom, I'm tired," Halo complained in the voice of a child half her age.

"Shit, she's already here?" Penelope asked through a painted-on smile.

Rosalie turned to make a quick escape.

"Rosalie," Chance said. "Would you mind taking a walk with me?"

Rosalie's head felt dizzy as she spun around to face his impatient gaze. It was clear that he also wanted to make a quick escape. The engine of Susan's SUV turned off, and the car doors opened.

"Sure, why not," she said.

"This way." Chance took off, and she had to shuffle to catch up to him. They walked in the opposite direction of the carport. As soon as they rounded the front of the house, he slowed his pace as they walked past the gorgeous lawn. Most grass grew excessively green in Blushing Green but none as green as the grass on Sterling Manor.

Susan called Chance's name. They sped around the corner and entered the rose garden then slowed to a normal pace as they moved up the redbrick footpath. Being near Chance made Rosalie feel way past nervous, so she focused on the limestone fountain, which sprayed trickles of water from the middle of an ornate bowl.

"About this morning," he said as they walked past the garden and farther along the west side of the house. They stayed on the pavement, which ran along rows of winter-barren pomegranate trees.

"This morning?" Her brain was still cloudy from being so close to him.

"What you saw from your window?"

"Oh, yes."

"The woman you saw me with, her name is Kathy Lunsford."

Rosalie jerked her head back. "I know Kathy. That was her?"

Kathy had been Edna's secretary for years. But Rosalie couldn't picture Kathy in baggy jeans and a gray hoodie. She was a very polished woman in her early thirties, and she always wore the most fashionable attire.

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "She came incognito."

"That's what I was just thinking. But why?"

"My grandmother resigned, and my uncles initiated mass firings."

"I'm not surprised."

"Me, either. They fired everyone who was loyal to Grandmother without notice and gave them five minutes to pack up their desks and leave the offices. They were also watched closely by security to make sure they didn't take anything with them or touch their computers."

She grunted inquisitively. "They were like the Gestapo."

"Yes. Now watch this." Chance took a cell phone out of his jacket pocket and turned it on. The device was old and scuffed. It certainly wasn't a nice, new, sleek phone that she would have expected a man of his stature to carry.

"Kathy gave me this."

Now, that made more sense. Rosalie stepped over to stand by his side. Their arms were touching, and she wasn't too far into discovery mode to notice how thrilling it felt to stand so close to him.

Chance showed her a video on the phone. "This is the San Francisco office."

The place was a disaster. Drawers were pulled open. Piles of files were stacked on desks and the floor. One long desk had at least fifty laptops on it.

"What in the world were they looking for?" Rosalie asked.

"Kathy says she knows. I'm meeting her tonight. I think you should come with me."

She didn't hesitate. "I will. Yes."

Chance powered off the telephone and put it back in his pocket.

"But I have another question," Rosalie said.

"Yes, and what is it?"

For some reason, she felt as if she was the student and he was the professor.

"How did Kathy acquire that video? You would think they would've taken her keys too."

"That's a very good question," he said pointedly.

"Okay," she said impatiently, waiting on him to elaborate like his tone suggested he would.

"I asked Kathy how she acquired the video. She didn't have time to tell me, but she will tonight."

Rosalie smiled tautly.

He narrowed an eye. "Grandmother wanted you and me to sign those contracts for a reason."

"True." She waited for him to say more, but he pressed his lips together. Rosalie cleared her throat and folded her arms. "Um, it seems sort of strange that she's not here. I wanted to spend time with her. She's the only reason I'm here."

Chance's frown deepened, and curiosity got the best of Rosalie. She unfolded her arms. "Why are you looking at me that way?"

Chance crumpled his forehead. "In what way is that?"

Rosalie felt her eyes expand. Had he found her question contentious? She felt more sensitive about offending him because she didn't want to jeopardize her opportunity to work for Lord and Lord Enterprises.

She shook her head. "Forget it."

"No. I want to hear what you have to say." He smiled sincerely. "Please."

Her heart went pitter-patter, and she had to look away from his eyes to gather her bearings. After taking a deep breath, she said, "It's nothing, really. It appears that you're thinking deeply about something I said or did. I just want to know what you're thinking." She scratched the back of her neck nervously. "I mean, if you're even thinking about me at all. And if you're not, then forget it."

Rosalie wanted to die. Did she really just say all of that? Did she sound lucid at all? She was certain she had screwed up her opportunity to work for him.

"Yes," he said. "You were on my mind."

Her mouth fell open. "I was?"

"I think you're smart and..." He frowned again, proving her point—he was thinking. "It's strange that I never knew my grandmother and you were close. I wonder why she never told me."

Suddenly, she felt defensive again. "Are you still doubting my intentions?"

"Rosalie, I do not distrust you."

Silence fell between them. Rosalie crossed her arms and gazed into the trees. The air carried the scent of damp earth, and above the tops of the fruitless trees, thick clouds moved swiftly across the sky. Hearing Chance say he didn't distrust her meant a lot. But she still couldn't look him in the eyes, so she studied the sky.

"It's going to rain again," she said. "I can smell it."

Chance looked up. "Every year, it rains on Grandmother's party." He lifted one side of his mouth into a sexy lopsided smile. "It's sort of fitting. Grandmother hates the parties."

She snickered. "I know."

They smiled at each other. It felt like the moment when the two people who were falling for each other exchanged numbers or made a date to see each other soon. Rosalie would've settled for a hot and sexy kiss. More importantly, she really wanted to let down her defenses. But could she?

"Chance, get over here!" Susan's voice yelled in the distance.

They both gazed toward the west garden. Susan stood at the entrance with her hand up, gesturing wildly for Chance to come.

"It'll be after dinner," he said, still frowning.

"Do you mean we'll leave after dinner?" Rosalie asked.

"Yes."

Without another word, he walked toward Susan. Rosalie watched his magnificent frame move. What a man. And he respected her intellect. Peter couldn't have given a damn about how smart she was. Suddenly, she remembered Chance's last name—Sterling.

Rosalie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Don't ever trust a Sterling man until you're sure you can trust him," she whispered.

Those were definitely words to live by. Defy the Sterlings, and they would be words to die by.

On the way back to the carport, Rosalie passed Penelope and Susan, who pretended Rosalie was invisible. It was clear that they didn't want her to help with the party, which wasn't a shock. They were both looking to score points with Edna, and the fewer the people in the competition, the easier it was to win. Only for a moment did Rosalie let herself wonder where Chance was. She had a feeling it was Claire's job to keep him occupied. Rosalie didn't want to stick around and risk running into the two of them.

She asked Mr. Garcia to have her car brought around. As she waited, a cargo truck with the words _Party Rentals_ written on the side rolled slowly toward the carport and stopped before reaching the cover. One of the staff jogged toward the truck, speaking in Spanish.

First the guy greeted the driver then directed him back toward the lawn, where the tents would be set up. The truck had cleared the driveway by the time Mr. Garcia was back with her car.

The first thing Rosalie did after buckling up was place a call to Edna, using the electronic system in her car. The line rang twice then went to voice mail. She called three more times and got the same result. This time, after the beep, she left a message, asking Edna to please call her and let her know she was safe. All Rosalie could do at that point was get out of Dodge and wait for Edna to return her call.

On the way off the property, Rosalie passed the party truck and Chance, who was standing on the green grass next to Claire. For at least a solid two seconds, they made eye contact. He had a strange look on his face as if he wondered where she was going. Claire on the other hand pretended she didn't see her. However, Rosalie did catch sight of a tall, slender figure in smoky-gray skinny jeans and a black bomber jacket with a fur hood, running toward her car and waving like crazy. She recognized the outfit. It was Halo.

Rosalie slowed to a stop and rolled the window down after Halo tapped on it.

Halo's anxious energy rushed into the car. "Where are you going?"

Rosalie shrugged. "Out."

"But where?"

"Just out."

Halo glanced over her left shoulder. "Can I come?"

She shrugged. "Okay." Her tone was lackluster.

Halo tried to open the door, but it was locked. Rosalie pressed the button to unlock it. She really wanted to be alone for this part of her day. Only seconds before she made eye contact with Chance, she had made a decision to return to her old neighborhood. The land her childhood house had stood on had been sold for a quarter of a million dollars, and what remained after taxes she had put into an investment fund. However, the old neighborhood held all sorts of memories—good ones, bad ones, and confusing ones.

Halo buckled her seat belt and took a deep breath as she rested the back of her head against the seat.

Rosalie continued driving off the property. Now that Halo was in the car, she questioned whether she should change her plans or not. Returning to the old neighborhood was something she wanted to do alone. She quickly glanced to her right. Halo's eyes were closed.

"Is everything okay?" Rosalie asked.

Halo took another deep breath. "I seriously don't think so."

Rosalie was driving the car at a comfortable fifty miles per hour, five miles under the speed limit. She slowed down even more since there was no one behind her and Halo looked as though she was burdened by inner turmoil.

"What's wrong?" Rosalie asked.

"It's my mother. I always forget who I am around her."

"Don't beat yourself up over that, because it's normal."

"And I don't know why I do it," Halo said as if she hadn't heard a word Rosalie said. "I mean what came first? The chicken or the egg?"

It finally dawned on Rosalie that Halo was too much into her own thoughts to hear anything she might have had to say. But she did have experience in the matter of pleasing a mother who could never be satisfied.

"The chicken," Rosalie said.

Halo faced her. "The chicken?"

"Your mother's the chicken. I used to think that my mother felt she owned my life. Actually, there's no thinking to it. She believed that, and so did I."

Halo made a sudden move and turned her body toward Rosalie. "Do you know what my mom just asked me?"

Rosalie shook her head. "No, what?"

"You know she's a fashion designer, right?"

"Penelope Di Rossi."

"Agostino Di Rossi, her third husband." Halo's severe scowl didn't escape Rosalie's attention. "He was a pig. I hated him."

"I can see it on your face," Rosalie said as she navigated the car over the mountain.

"My mom divorced him but kept his name because there was value in it for her."

Rosalie felt as if there was something Halo wasn't telling her, such as details about why she hated her stepfather so much.

"A multimillion-dollar value," Rosalie said, suggesting she knew just what Halo was referring to.

"One point one billion, to be exact," she muttered as she faced forward again. "But..."

Rosalie waited for her to finish what she was going to say. She took a quick glance at Halo, who was gnawing on her bottom lip.

"I drink too much," Halo finally said.

Rosalie raised her eyebrows. That had been evident earlier that day at the bar.

"I should get help. I want to get help." She sighed deeply. "I contacted someone today, you know, when we were driving home from the tavern."

They reached the stoplight at the bottom of the mountain.

Rosalie turned to Halo. "Who did you contact?"

"A treatment center."

"Are you going?"

"I don't know."

"What's stopping you?"

"My job. The embarrassment. They all think I'm something special because I'm a Sterling. Sometimes I think it would've been better if I had never..."

The light turned green, but Rosalie didn't go. "Had never?"

Halo sighed. "Nothing. Forget it."

The car behind them honked deliriously. Rosalie started driving again, but as soon as he could, the crazy driver crossed the broken line to speed past her.

Rosalie took a quick glance in Halo's direction.

Halo's eyes were closed, and tears were streaming down her cheeks. Rosalie hadn't realized how emotional this conversation had gotten for Halo.

She rubbed Halo's shoulder with her free hand. "You'll figure it out."

Halo sniffed. "I think I already have."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Rosalie was overly curious to learn what Halo had decided to do about her grief. She didn't know Halo well, but she sure hoped the woman wasn't contemplating suicide.

"Don't worry, Rosalie. I'm not going to kill myself."

Rosalie quickly glanced in her direction. "Can you read minds or something?"

"No, but the question is written all over your face."

Rosalie observed her expression in the rearview mirror. Her frown was just as intense as Chance's. "Oh, it is, isn't it?"

Halo chuckled. "Yep." She rested her head on the seat and closed her eyes again.

"So you're not going to tell me what you've decided?" Rosalie asked.

"Yes. Rehab. I'll lose my job, but I need rehab."

For some reason, Rosalie's heart swelled. Perhaps it was the steadfast tone of Halo's voice.

"And hey, can you not tell anyone about our discussion? I don't want anyone to try to stop me."

There were only two people she could spill Halo's secret to, Edna and perhaps Chance, considering they had a mission to attend to tonight. But neither would attempt to stop Halo from seeking help for drinking too much.

"Sensationalistic news travels through our family like herpes through a frat house," she said.

Rosalie sniffed, chuckling. She realized Halo had once again read her expression.

Blushing Green was like many other California coastal towns. It was imprinted by Spanish colonial architecture. Many of the buildings and homes had red clay roof tiles, arched doorways, and walls made of white stone. There were also lots of tall palm trees, aged oaks, and jacaranda trees in yards and planted along the streets. But it was winter, and the jacarandas were bare, and that was a shame.

Rosalie decided it was safe to bring Halo along on her trip back to the old neighborhood. Although after their conversation, she felt less of a need to go. There was something about Halo's state of mind that cautioned her about revisiting ghosts from the past.

"Where are you headed to?" Halo asked.

"My old neighborhood."

"Ah... I see."

They smiled at each other, and Rosalie was pretty sure Halo comprehended all the emotions and questions that were deep inside of her. Rosalie's family used to live on Lindy Street. Rosalie could read the sign up ahead. The same overgrown oak tree that used to be nestled up against the green placard with the word "Lindy" written in white was still there. Her father used to complain about how the tree was growing out of control. No matter how many times he had called the city, they refused to put in the money and effort to rip the sucker out of the ground by the roots. He'd called it a safety hazard, but Rosalie called it beautiful. The neighborhood kids used to love to climb its thick branches. She and a bunch of kids from the neighborhood used to play on and around the tree regardless of how dangerous it was.

Once, a kid name Robbie Hamm had climbed to the tallest branch and fell to the ground. He hit the pavement so hard that he lost consciousness. Everyone thought he was dead. And since all the kids were in a panic, adults came out of the houses, asking what happened.

"He fell," someone cried.

Then suddenly, Robbie opened his eyes. He sat up. And finally, he stood.

One of the Kidd twins asked him if he was okay. He said he felt fine. Of course the adults made everyone go home. Rosalie heard about what happened next through conversations her father had with neighbors and from rumors by other kids. Apparently, Robbie's mother was a nurse, and when she heard he had taken a long, hard fall, she put him in the car and drove him to the hospital. Good thing she did because he had internal bleeding in his brain and three broken ribs. He could've done more damage if half his body hadn't landed on a mound of thick grass. He was in the hospital for a week, but ever since then, none of the neighborhood kids had been allowed to play on the tree, and all the parents had tried their hardest to get the city to rip it out of the ground.

Like then, Rosalie was happy they never succeeded. Playing with neighborhood friends during the early years before high school, when everyone had changed for the better or worse, were some of the best times of her life, and that tree reminded her of those times.

She made a left onto Lindy and slowly crept down the street. Many of the homes had undergone remodeling makeovers. The neighborhood looked more expensive than it had when she'd lived there. Of course they hadn't been poor. Her father's job had paid pretty well, although there had hardly ever been enough extra money to do anything fun.

Rosalie stopped in front of 3425 Lindy. A brand-new, dark-green craftsman home had been erected on the lot.

"And here is where the house used to be," she whispered.

"Used to be? There's a house there."

"The old house was demolished because it had a severe case of mold infestation."

"Oh, I see. The new house is nice, though."

Rosalie's eyes took in every square inch of the property she could see. She especially loved the wraparound porch, which seemed to have been preserved from the old house. They'd also kept the low hedges around the yard. She pictured how they would look in the spring. Orange flowers would sprout beside the leaves, and tiny butterflies would sniff the petals.

"You're smiling," Halo said.

Rosalie took a moment to notice her expression. "I guess I am."

"Then you had a good childhood?"

Rosalie shrugged. "It depends on what you mean by good. Did my parents argue a lot? Yes."

"What did they argue about?"

Rosalie focused on the large white wooden door with four glass panes up top. The door was stylistically the same, only the new house, also a craftsman, was painted light blue, and the wood was blonde oak.

"My mom was demanding, and my dad was exhausted."

Halo grunted curiously. "What did she demand?"

"Everything she wanted for herself."

"And what exhausted him?"

"Everything she required."

Halo chuckled. "I see. She wanted your father to shit bricks of gold for her."

"Yeah. And, you know, I thought that's what a man was supposed to do for me too until I married Peter."

"Oh, well, Peter wanted you to shit bricks of gold for him."

Rosalie laughed.

"The men in my family are entitled pricks. All but Chance."

She quickly turned her gaze on Halo, who immediately tilted her head curiously. "I like you two as a couple."

Rosalie jerked her head back. "Huh? A couple?"

"But Chance doesn't have a lot of faith in love and, by the sound of it, neither do you." Halo looked past her at the house. "But all that shit that went on in the old house you used to live in—that wasn't love; that was coupling."

"Yeah," Rosalie said with a sigh. "I know. Therapy."

"Yeah. Me too."

Silence fell between them. Rosalie had seen enough, so she pulled away from the curb and continued down Lindy. Once they were back on the main road, Halo suggested that they go antique shopping to find Edna the perfect birthday gift.

"My grandma loves old shit," Halo said.

Rosalie laughed because it was true. Edna's taste was a cross between Liberace and Michael Jackson. Halo knew of an antique shop in Napa that Edna frequented, so they decided to go there. On the drive to Napa, Halo talked about how difficult it had been to tell her mother that she no longer wanted anything to do with the fashion industry. It was as if Penelope had taken it as a rejection of everything she stood for.

"The only reason I ever became a model was because it made her happy."

"Therapy?" Rosalie asked.

"Yep."

"Thought so."

Halo snickered as she adjusted in her seat. "Goodness, I hated that job. I hated the makeup and how photos were touched up to make me look like some sort of beautiful alien."

"But you are beautiful."

She shook her hands. "And so are you and just about every other woman in the world. Plus, beauty is subjective. Even the standard of beauty itself is subjective." She shook her head. "I can't believe I had anything to do with convincing people otherwise."

It was clear to Rosalie that she and Halo were meant to be in the car together. They were meant to have the conversation they were having. Earlier, they had been meant to drive to her old neighborhood together. For some reason, she felt as if they were probably always meant to be friends. And so they continued their drive to Napa. Rosalie shared every dirty detail of why she hated her job and her boss but not her profession. She loved being a lawyer.

"And so are you going to take Chance up on his offer?"

"Absolutely! He works for Lord and Lord."

Halo snickered. "Well then, I'll have to give you my number because you're going to need a Chance-o-meter."

"A Chance-o-meter?"

"No one knows him better than I do, and he's pretty hard to figure out, but I can help you navigate his crotchety disposition."

Rosalie chuckled. "Crotchety?"

"Make-you-cry crotchety."

Rosalie grunted thoughtfully. Did she want to work for a man who was grumpy but hot?

"Fine, then. Let's exchange numbers."

The answer to the question was yes.

# Chapter Nine

### Chance Sterling

Chance watched the back end of Rosalie's car make a left onto Grove Road. Halo was with her, and by the way Penelope was walking toward him, asking if he had seen her, he knew Halo had just made an escape.

"She left with... What's her name again?" Claire asked.

"Rosalie," Chance said.

"Yes, her."

He could hear the disdain for Rosalie in Claire's tone.

Penelope rubbed her narrow chin. "Is that so?"

Chance had always thought his aunt was extremely thin. Her eyes were sunken in, and the skin of her face hugged her cheekbones. He gathered that she preferred to look that way, but he had always wanted to offer her a few cheeseburgers at eight o'clock at night to put some fat on her.

Regardless, he was pretty much over helping with the party. Never before had he involved himself in the setup or the planning, and he didn't want to start now. Since he knew Grandmother well, Susan asked if he could confirm whether she would like Claire's plan for where the grand canvas would be set up. She also wanted him to approve Claire's design scheme, which he knew was a ploy to get them to spend more time together. There was no way Susan was going to give him that kind of say-so. So he told Susan that he wouldn't provide any feedback on the design scheme but that he could sure let them know where Grandmother would definitely not like a tent to be erected. She was very particular about her lawn. The grass was the greenest in the county for a reason. He had actually tried to ask Susan to move the party to the east side of the estate, where it was always held, but she insisted on doing it differently this year. And since she insisted, he suggested that flooring be laid over the grass.

"That's a good idea, Chance." Claire turned to the man who was setting up the tent. "Do you have parquet flooring?"

"Yes, we do," he said. "It's going to cost more, though. A lot more."

"That's not a problem," she said as if money was no object.

Chance watched the guy's eyes light up. Susan and Claire had just become money trees to him. Chance guessed that by the end of it all, the company would have bloated their prices and collected more than a few hundreds of thousands of dollars from them.

Chance looked at his watch. An hour and a half had passed since Rosalie and Halo left, and he had things he wanted to accomplish for his own interests. He figured his job was done as far as the party was concerned.

Claire was still in sight, but it seemed as though impressing Susan and Penelope with her design abilities was more important to her than keeping tabs on him. He wasn't the slightest bit interested in her romantically, but if he were, that would've been a quality he would've liked—a woman who was too busy with her own interests to worry about him.

He reached into his pocket for his phone, but it wasn't there. He'd left it in the car. "Damn it."

Chance made a quick about-face. "Damn it," he said again under his breath. Virginia Sterling, Pete's mother, who was wearing a pretentious black-and-white-checkered skirt suit, had just cleared the hedges and was on her way to the lawn. It didn't surprise him that she wanted in on the planning even if she looked as if she had just come from a tea party or somewhere.

If they did so happen to impress Grandmother, then Pete's mother couldn't stand by and let Penelope and Susan get all the accolades. It was a dog and pony show, really. He knew what his grandma liked, and it sure wasn't a stuffy party on the lawn full of pretentious jerks.

The time to escape was now or never. Since all the women were occupied, Chance put his head down and walked quickly to where all the cars were parked. He went to his SUV and found his phone in the caddy between the seats. The faint scent of Rosalie's perfume softened the air.

He climbed inside and flopped down in the front seat. The last thing he wanted to think about was Rosalie. The shit he had pictured himself doing to her on the drive back from the bar... It was becoming increasingly harder to control his desire to get something started with her. He could've asked her out on a date. However, if she ended up working for him, then he would have to be professional and continue admiring her from a distance. Chance shook his head rapidly, hoping to expel thoughts of her from his mind. He had work to do.

It started to rain, so he closed the door but cracked the windows so he could breath fresh air. He looked in the rearview mirror. Garcia was parking another black SUV. As soon as Garcia hopped out, Chance opened his door.

"Who does that belong to?" he asked.

"It's William's."

Chance raised a hand, thanking Garcia for answering. It was his uncle William's, the youngest of the Sterling brothers. He wasn't as ambitious as Baylor, Carlton, and Doug, but for every extreme, there was an equal response. William was the poster child for who not to be if your last name was Sterling. He had never married and, as far as anyone knew, had produced no heirs, male or female.

Chance hadn't seen William since the last time he'd attended a birthday party for his grandmother, which was three years ago. Back then, William had been over three hundred pounds and rising. He'd also kept his glass topped off with mostly vodka.

William wasn't a boisterous or happy drunk, but he wasn't a mean or angry one, either. The more intoxicated he became, the longer he would sit in one chair, expressionless and staring out into nowhere.

His brothers would pretend as if he didn't exist, especially since dignitaries were always present. Chance's father and uncles wanted to give the illusion that William wasn't part of the clan.

At the party three years ago, Chance had been struck by an illumination. He had just resigned as general counsel for Sterling Family Enterprises, and he really hadn't wanted to lay eyes on any of his uncles or his father for a long time. But his grandmother had strongly requested that he attend the party. He figured she wanted to make sure he didn't do something rash like walk away from the family and never come back. He would've never left his grandmother in the lurch. And that ended up being the night she introduced him to Jetson Gordon. While he was getting to know Jet, his eyes had glanced over at William. Chance counted the empty glasses on his table. There were three. Usually, Grandmother kept a service around William to clean up the glasses before guests could count his drinks for the night, but the servers weren't moving fast enough.

Jet finally said the magic words—"call me on Monday morning, and we'll talk"—and gave Chance his card.

Once Chance had his next opportunity securely in hand, he walked over to William's table and asked if he could sit.

William shrugged indifferently and took another swig of his drink.

Chance slouched in his seat. "What a shit show, huh?"

William glowered at him then took another drink.

Chance's attempt to bond on a relaxed level didn't work. So he just sat there. Soon, the waiter came to collect William's empty glasses.

"Another," William said.

"And I'll have the same," Chance said.

William looked at him with one eye narrowed. Chance winked, slouched deeper in his seat, and continued to gaze out over the sea of guests.

The ensemble band struck up another song from the fifties. A woman with a smooth, jazzy voice sang about love and some guy being the perfect one for her.

"What the fuck do you want?" William finally asked.

Chance threw up his hands. "I just want to sit."

After studying him for a few beats, William adjusted in his seat. "Can't fault a man for wanting to sit."

"Sure can't," Chance said. "By the way, do you golf?"

"Never."

"What about tennis?"

William scoffed. "What are you looking for, kid?"

"Kid? I haven't been a kid in a long time."

William snorted. "True."

"I'm just making small talk, that's all."

"I don't make small talk."

"That's fine. So I'll just sit here and share a drink with you. Is that all right?"

William shrugged. "It's a free country."

The waiter set a drink in front of Chance, who picked it up and lifted it to the sky while William was being served.

"Now that's a true statement," Chance said.

William chuckled as he lifted his fresh glass of booze. "Indeed."

Chance took a big gulp of his drink. The heat. The bite. It was vodka, straight up. He choked and spit what was in his mouth all over the table. Through his own coughing, he had heard William laughing while slapping Chance on the back.

The memory brought a smile to Chance's face. He wished he'd kept in contact with his uncle. But William lived in Boston. Chance rarely visited Boston, and William hardly ever flew home to California. So just for a second, he felt excited enough to hop out of his SUV to go inside and say hi to his uncle. Instead, he tapped the icon on his cell phone that allowed him to check his voice mail. He was hoping one of the sixteen messages was from his grandmother.

He listened to the messages one by one. He was happy the issue in Florida had been resolved. They were having problems with litigation in San Diego. Tristan Thomas was a weak litigator.

Chance really hoped Rosalie was serious about sending him her résumé. He could use someone who was comfortable in the courtroom. He had the feeling Rosalie was comfortable with going for the jugular. He had ascertained that she simply wanted to win.

All the messages were more of the same, reminding him that he had a lot to get done next week. However, there wasn't one peep from his grandmother.

Chance tried calling her again, and again, and then some more. Not once did she pick up the phone. Grandmother had never ignored a call from him. He was worried.

Another car was driven into the spot next to his. It was a silver Mercedes, an expensive model. Instead of Garcia, Manny popped out of the driver's seat.

Chance opened his car door. "Hey, Manny?"

The young man in his midtwenties stopped and squinted. "Chance, is that you, brother?"

Chance flowed out of the front seat and trotted over to shake Manny's hand. "How are you?"

"Everything's good," Manny said.

"So, is my grandmother finally home?"

Manny tilted his head. "I don't know. I'll check."

"You didn't drive her?"

"I just got here."

"Do you know who drove her to wherever she went this morning?"

Manny's frown intensified. "Nobody drove her anywhere. Her car is still in the garage."

"But—"

"Wait. Maybe she took a Passenger First. She does that, you know."

"The car service?"

"Yeah."

"Why would she take a car service when she has her own car and driver?"

Manny shrugged as if to say it didn't make sense to him, either.

Chance folded his arms and nodded. "Thank you, Manny."

"No problem. Hey, it's good to see you."

"Same here."

Manny trotted away from him.

"Oh, Manny?" Chance called.

He turned.

Chance pointed to the Mercedes. "Whose car is that?"

"Oh, it's your father's."

Chance's chest tightened as he raised a hand. "Thanks," he said in a lackluster tone.

"No problem." Manny turned and continued on his way.

He didn't want to make running into his father an option, so he entered the house through the rear entrance and used the service hallways to make it back to his room. There were thirteen bedrooms in the manor. By the end of the night, the house would probably be full of people he didn't want to see.

He could stay and put up with the rest of his family or pack his things and check into the Blushing Green Inn. But then his room wouldn't be across from Rosalie's. He only had another full day to share the same living space with her. Chance didn't want to put distance between them, not yet at least.

As soon as he made it back to his room, Chance turned on his computer and went to the Passenger First transport service website. He'd used the service before when he had business in cities like New York or DC. Patrons could actually see the profiles of all the drivers. The list of drivers that serviced the Blushing Green area was short. Chance started from the top and called each driver, asking if they had made a pickup at the manor earlier that morning.

Five calls later, he had a hit. He reached a woman named Myrtle Bigman. She had a gruff smoker's voice.

"Sterling Manor?" she asked.

Chance scooted to the edge of his desk chair. "Yes, Sterling Manor."

"The owner—I guess it's Edna Sterling—doesn't use local drivers anymore."

"Then where does the driver come from?"

"Santa Rosa."

"Do you know anything about the person?"

"His name is Cliff. I raised a complaint. He shouldn't be in our area, taking our business."

"What's his last name?"

"Hanover."

"Thank you, Myrtle," he said with a sigh of relief.

"Alrighty then, if you're at Sterling Manor and you need a driver, then you've got my number. Call me anytime, day or night."

"I will."

"I mean it."

"So do I. Have a good day." He ended the call.

It didn't take long to locate and contact Cliff Hanover. The first time Chance mentioned Edna Sterling, the call got disconnected. He thought Cliff had hung up on him, but a few seconds later, his cell phone rang.

Chance answered. "Hello?"

"Sorry about that. I drove Mrs. Sterling up to SFO last night."

"Last night? What time?"

"About three in the morning. Hey, I thought it was kind of strange, though."

"How's that?"

"She usually flies into the Sonoma Airport and takes her charter, but this time, she had me drop her at Plus Travel Airlines."

Plus Travel was a new economy airline. It wouldn't have been out of character for his grandmother to fly economy. She liked meeting people she wouldn't otherwise encounter all cooped up on her private flight. "I like assorted people with an assortment of problems," she used to say.

On one of their trips to New Orleans, she had insisted they have a drink in a strip club, which was across the street from their hotel in the French Quarter. The memory made Chance chuckle. There was _the_ Edna Sterling hamming it up with strippers, who were very curious as to why he and his grandmother were in the establishment. A few of them thought he was her awkward, impotent grandson, who needed a sexual charge in the form of an interactive lap dance or special favors that went on in the depths of the club. According to a young stripper named Cindy, it was a scenario they'd seen many times before.

"No, darling, I'm merely curious and practicing nonjudgment," Grandmother said.

It was then that the talent seemed to have noticed the complete picture he and his grandmother presented. He was beyond uncomfortable, and she wasn't. He tried to avoid looking at the pussies rubbing on the poles and the fake tits bouncing in the air. There were no windows. The music was loud and unappealing. He could smell the mixture of perfume and twat in the air. Chance couldn't stop thinking about his dad, Pete, Baylor, and even his grandfather, Conrad, who had patronized those sorts of places when he was alive. Seriously, Chance wanted no part of it all and could never fully understand his grandmother's fascination with the place.

Then he heard Cindy say to his grandmother, "They think we're fucked up? The guys we shake our asses for are way more fucked up than we are. But the sad part is they don't even fucking know it. And what's sadder is that everybody doesn't even fucking get it!"

Grandmother nudged herself on the chest. "Well, darling, I get it."

Cindy cocked her head to the side and narrowed an eye. "But do you really?"

"For sixty-two years, my money funded establishments just like this all over the world, starting with my dead husband."

Cindy laughed out loud. "Then you must be a rich bitch."

Grandmother winked. "I'm a loaded old bitch."

Even Chance had joined in with the laughter.

That was the kind of person his grandmother was, which was why the fact that she was missing wasn't cause for alarm. She was surely capable of running off to an exotic destination, even while knowing people were planning a party for her on Saturday.

But he was at the house, and so was Rosalie. Grandmother wouldn't have just taken off without letting them know she was leaving. He was sure of it. William had even shown up early, and he never did that. Chance recalled what Penelope had said about Grandmother not too long ago—she was just being dramatic.

Chance stared at the cell phone in his hand as he thought about the blind signing of the contract and how he had received that letter from Kathy last night on his bed. Who had put that letter on his bed? And Kathy had picked a meeting spot in the lemon grove, which happened to be right in front of Rosalie's window. If Kathy had wanted to have a private meeting, then why hadn't she asked to meet at the far end of the north vineyard, where the vines were higher and there were three distilleries to hide between?

Something was definitely going on. At this point, all he could do was follow up on his next clue, which he was supposed to receive at midnight in room 117 at the Oak Motel. The motel was located on the east outskirts of town on Old Oak Highway.

Chance made one last check to satisfy his curiosity. He checked the Plus Travel flight schedule for all the flights that had departed after three a.m. The first flight had left at 8:15 a.m. on its way to Pittsburgh. Could his grandmother have flown to Pittsburgh? He doubted it.

There was a knock on the door, then it opened before he could respond.

"There you are," William said.

Chance sat watching him with his mouth open. His uncle had lost a solid hundred pounds, leaving him stocky but not obese. William's skin wasn't as red and patchy as it used to be either, and as he smiled, he flashed teeth that were more white than mustard yellow like they used to be.

"Hey." Chance shot to his feet. "How are you?"

"Teresa told me you were here. I usually stay in this room. Did you know that?" William's gaze rolled around the space. "I like it. It's my favorite."

Chance could feel his eyes expand. It sounded as if William had stopped by to claim his domain. Chance would've had no problem giving it to him if the room wasn't directly across from Rosalie's.

William grinned and winked. "Just messing with you, kiddo. The room is yours. Want to grab lunch?"

"Um..." Chance scratched the back of his neck. What just happened was weird as hell and very Sterling-like. It was a way to walk into an environment and claim dominance. It was fucking with the other person's head. He never knew William had the ability or desire to play that game, and he was curious to find out how deep the rabbit hole went.

"Sure. Lunch. Let's do it."

# Chapter Ten

### Rosalie Stetson

The antique shop resembled a junk store as far as Rosalie was concerned. The shopkeeper was a thin woman, who looked to be in her seventies or eighties. She had a full head of white hair and wore bright-red lipstick and dark shades, presumably to protect her eyes from indoor light. Her name was Kitty, and Kitty moved at the speed of a snail as she gave them a short orientation on what felt like every item in the shop that cost over ten thousand dollars.

Rosalie knew Kitty had recognized Halo "Sterling" the moment they'd walked through the door, and she was working Halo for a big sale. Her efforts paid off. Halo ended up looking at the online catalog and buying an original Moore family crest from the sixteenth century. The final purchase price was sixty-five thousand dollars with special delivery from Ireland.

Halo waved on the way out. "Don't forget to have it delivered, wrapped, and with a card on it tomorrow morning before ten!"

The woman waved back. "I surely will. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"Jeez, Marie, sixty-five thousand dollars?" Rosalie asked once they were back in the car.

"It's what you buy a woman who needs nothing."

"Ancient junk?"

"Ancient shit."

They laughed.

Halo clicked her seat belt. "And thanks for calling me Marie."

Rosalie chuckled as she started the engine. "You're welcome, but I still don't see what's wrong with Halo. It's a beautiful name."

She was waiting for Halo to repeat what she'd said to Chance earlier, calling it a stripper's name. Instead, Halo sighed, closed her eyes, and rubbed a hand on her chest over her heart. "There's a lot of pain in here, Rosalie. Shit I can't undo. And it's all associated with being Halo."

Rosalie knew when not to push for more details, and that time was now. "I understand."

Halo turned her watery eyes on Rosalie. "No, you don't."

"Pain is pain, you know? And if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here. I'm pretty trustworthy too."

Halo studied her for a few beats. "Humph. I actually believe you."

They smiled at each other.

"There's a really good restaurant on First Street," Rosalie said.

"I know a better one on Main. It's Grandmother's favorite. Hell, we might even run into her there."

The thought made Rosalie's eyes light up. Boy, would that put an end to worrying. "All right then, let's go. Navigate when you're ready."

"Make a left out of the parking lot."

Rosalie backed out of the parking space, made a left out of the lot, and they were on the road.

Six miles later, they were downtown. Rosalie made a left turn onto Third Street and headed toward Main Street. Napa was such a charming little place. The architecture had the European flair of most old mining towns. But it was the picturesque green hills, which swallowed the charming architecture, that gave it its unique beauty.

"You know, once she threw a tantrum because Grandmother invited Ruby over for Sunday morning tea and not her."

Somehow Susan had become the topic of discussion.

Halo circled her finger around her ear. "She's mental, that one."

"She and Peter run tit for tat," Rosalie said.

"True," Halo said with a sigh.

Rosalie glanced at her. Her head was resting on the seat, eyes closed, and one of her hands clutched the other as they sat on her lap.

"Are you okay?" Rosalie asked, looking at Halo's shaking hands.

"Not yet."

Rosalie pressed her lips together. For some reason, she didn't want to step on Halo's toes. But she certainly wasn't the sort of person who ignored an elephant in the room, regardless of who sat on top of the beast.

"Need a drink?" Rosalie asked.

"Yep."

She nodded as she made a right turn. "I'm on Main Street."

"Start looking for a parking spot."

Rosalie got lucky that a car was pulling out just as she approached a spot. It was hardly ever so easy to park in Los Angeles. She parallel-parked and turned off the engine once the car was in position.

"Voilà," Rosalie said.

Halo took a deep breath then another. "Food will help." She opened her eyes and faced Rosalie. "And it's good food."

Rosalie shrugged her eyebrows. "Well, I'm starving, so let's get to it."

The smile she had come to like so much returned to Halo's face.

Halo nodded. "Sorry about this. I'm going to take care of me very soon."

"So you're serious about rehab?"

"One hundred percent."

Rosalie rubbed Halo's shoulder. "Good for you."

They smiled at each other one last time before getting out of the car.

The name of the restaurant was Glory, and it specialized in modern American cuisine. The rustic atmosphere was pleasant, down to the fresh bouquets of yellow and white roses, which were placed in the center of each pale oak table. The lighting was a perfect blend of yellow and orange, giving the atmosphere that morning-glory aura. Rosalie had been to Napa a number of times and wondered how she had missed the restaurant.

"It smells good in here," she said as the hostess showed them to their table on the second floor near the big windows.

Rosalie smiled at the view of the Napa River then turned her expression to Halo.

"Nice call?" Halo asked before her face collapsed into a frown. She hugged herself while pressing her lips into a hard line.

A waitress, who looked barely twenty, showed up at the side of their table. "Would you like anything to drink?"

Halo looked at Rosalie like a deer trapped in headlights.

Rosalie shook her head and mouthed, "No judgment."

Halo smiled mildly. "I'll have a vodka and cranberry juice with seventy percent juice and the rest vodka."

"Okay." The waitress turned her attention to Rosalie.

"I'll have the same, and two glasses of water for the both of us."

"Thank you." The waitress sauntered away to have their order made.

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Thank you," Halo said.

Rosalie smirked. "You're only welcome if you let me call you Halo."

She laughed. "I'll see how I feel about your request when I'm out of rehab."

Rosalie grunted curiously. "So you've picked out your program?"

"New Eyes Treatment Center in Palm Springs."

"Ah, the desert."

"Yep."

"Hey!" a voice called.

The two women looked toward the opposite end of the room. Rosalie felt as if a beautiful apparition was walking in her direction.

"Chance? What are you doing here?" Halo asked, all smiles.

It took a moment for Rosalie to realize that the reason she was staring so deeply into Chance's eyes was because he was doing the same to her. Then she noticed the familiar person walking beside him. It was William, Edna's youngest son, but he looked different than she remembered, except for the frown.

"We're out for lunch." Chance turned to his uncle. "Do you mind?"

Rosalie noticed how Halo frowned at William while he pondered joining them. There was a clear lack of warmth coming from her, and him too.

Halo patted the seat of the empty chair to her right. "Just sit, Chance. Jeez."

That was enough to convince Chance. He turned to the hostess. "We're going to sit here."

"Okay, well, Lacey will be over to take your order," she said.

William hesitated before sitting. The fact that he would have rather sat elsewhere was conveyed in the expression on his face and the energy he emitted.

"Grandmother put you on to this place?" Halo asked Chance.

"It's one of her favorite restaurants," Chance said.

"Rosalie and I thought we'd get lucky and run into her, but that hasn't been the case."

The waitress was back with Rosalie's and Halo's drinks along with stars in her eyes for Chance. "What can I get you?" she asked Chance. Rosalie detected sexual suggestion in her tone.

"Coffee," Chance said.

"Decaf or caffeinated?" She was now shamelessly flopping her eyelashes. It was as if the girl was on automatic pilot—see a good-looking man, seek attention.

"Regular caffeinated."

"And you, sir?" The woman's eyes searched William's face.

Rosalie noticed that he had clearly lost over a hundred pounds, and that was enough to carve out his good looks, which all the Sterling men had. Edna had given birth to him when she was forty-two, so he wasn't that old. Rosalie could see the waitress trying to figure out if he was young enough to be option number two if Chance continued to not take the bait.

"Orange juice," William said.

"Can we also start with four orders of baked crab cakes?" Halo asked, looking at Chance for consensus.

"Sounds good to me," he said.

Halo turned to Rosalie.

"Sounds good to me too."

"I don't eat seafood," William said.

"But I've seen you eat lobster before," Halo said.

He ignored Halo. "I'll start with the encrusted meatballs with tomato chili sauce."

Halo clenched her jaw, and William looked out the window defiantly.

Chance adjusted in his seat. "William said he's been asked to take over the distribution arm of Sterling Enterprises." He quickly connected eyes with Rosalie but not long enough for it to be noticed by anyone else but them.

Halo took a swallow of her vodka cranberry. Apparently, she couldn't care less about William.

"No need to broadcast it," William said.

"Well, this sort of thing certainly will make Grandmother happy," Chance said.

"I doubt it."

Rosalie comprehended that Chance wanted her to know William was put into the position after Edna's resignation.

Halo snorted. "Well, if she were around, you could ask her."

William narrowed an eye at her. "I heard you made a friend out of Harvey Keith."

At first, Halo frowned as if she had no idea who or what he was talking about. "Oh yeah. Him."

"Him?" William laughed sarcastically. "He's a hell of a lot more important than that."

She jerked her head. "The winemaker?"

He chuckled sarcastically as if he didn't appreciate Halo's shocked reaction to whatever he was assuming.

"You met with Harvey Keith?" Chance asked her.

She threw her hands up indifferently. "Yeah, but it was a chemistry thing."

"What do you mean?"

"Grandmother wanted to make an economy brand of one of her most popular wines without losing its richness. As you know, soil and climate determine the taste of the grape." She took another swig of her drink then sat back in her seat. After a moment, she took another drink.

"So what did you tell her?" Chance asked impatiently.

"That's between us."

William's facetious snort made Halo tilt her head defiantly. "But that's not all Grandmother was concerned about. She also wanted to know about diversifying product. And I was pretty helpful to her in that regard. Which is why it's so baffling to me that she would just resign. Can you shed some light on the matter, Bill?"

"Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to me that way?"

"More than you'll ever be, you sorry-ass loser."

"Cut it out," Chance barked.

William shot to his feet. "I'm out of here. Chance, catch a ride home with the girls."

"Good riddance," Halo said under her breath.

William scowled at her and stomped across the room.

Rosalie watched in awe. "What in the world just happened?"

Halo smiled as if she really wanted to cry. "I'm hated. No wonder I fucking drink too much."

"You're not hated," Chance said, although his tone was unconvincing. "I love you." Now that _was_ convincing.

Halo wiped an escaped tear from the side of her face. "I know you do."

Rosalie wanted to say that she loved Halo too but thought it unwise to infringe on their moment. Soon, Chance's coffee and the crab cakes came. They decided to share William's meatballs, which were so delicious they ordered another along with their entrées. It didn't take long for Halo and Chance to put the incident with William behind them. However, it remained at the back of Rosalie's mind. Never in her lifetime would she develop such a contentious relationship with any of her uncles. And the way Halo had to accept being hated by her uncle made Rosalie wonder how deep Halo's pain ran.

However, Halo seemed to be in a full state of happiness as she talked about the last trip she'd made to Napa with Edna. They had visited the same antique place, and Kitty had sold Edna everything but the kitchen sink.

"Have you been to the storage unit?" she asked.

"The one on Route 39?" Chance asked.

Halo snapped her fingers. "That's the one."

"It's a fire hazard, that place."

They all laughed, and then it was Chance's turn to share about a trip he had taken with Edna. He mentioned a strip club across from a hotel in the French Quarter.

"Oh, then you know Cindy, Riley, and Shauna?" Rosalie asked, wondering if any of them had given him a complimentary lap dance or had taken him back to one of those rooms in which patrons paid for sex.

"Yes," he said without squirming in his seat. "You met them?"

"Yeah, I have."

"It seems as though Grandmother has introduced all of us to her stripper friends," Halo said.

"And she made me promise not to talk about it," Rosalie said.

"Me too," Chance said.

Halo raised a finger. "Me three."

They laughed.

"So which skank tried to lure you to her sex den, Chance?" Halo asked with a shrewd smirk. "I know Cindy did for sure." She tilted her head in the opposite direction. "Or did you even notice? I bet you didn't even notice she was coming on to you, did you?"

"Why would they come on to me? They're strippers."

Halo let out a loud laugh. "You're smart in every way of the world except women, Chance. And you know what? I think it's by choice."

Chance chuckled. "Maybe."

Halo smiled at him. "But the woman who lands you will be a lucky one for sure." She winked at Rosalie, who quickly looked away, hoping Chance didn't see that.

The conversation turned to the time Chance had visited Paris and how women had come on to him from all angles, and he hadn't noticed any of them.

"He could've gotten laid on every corner of every avenue," Halo said.

Chance's chin dipped down as his skin turned red. "I'm well aware that personalities are attached to pussies."

Rosalie laughed, mainly because what he said was so funny and so true. "I feel the same way about penises."

Halo slapped the tabletop with both hands. "All this talk about penises is making me crave the molten lava cake. I think it's time we have some dessert."

Rosalie and Chance agreed.

She learned a lot about Chance as the minutes turned into four hours. He was shy when it came to women, which was probably why a guy as beautiful as him was still single. She also learned that his last girlfriend was a nut job who tried to shrink him into marrying her.

"There was one thing she was right about. My mother did scare me away from intimacy."

"Hell, so did my dad," Halo exclaimed. "He still can't stop sticking his dick in places it shouldn't go. To him, every woman is a groupie with her legs wide open, inviting him for a thrust. He was so busy trolling for vagina that he couldn't..." She turned her face toward the window.

It was as if time had stopped, waiting for Halo to face them again. Finally she turned, wearing her perfected smile.

A veil lowered over Chance's expression. Rosalie could tell he wanted to say something comforting, but instead, he flagged down the very willing waitress.

"What can I get you?" she asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"Lava cakes all around," he said.

She glanced over at Rosalie and Halo. "Three of them?"

"Yes," he said.

Her eyes were as bright as the moon. "Great, and please let me know if you need anything else."

Rosalie and Halo looked at each other and rolled their eyes at the situation. The waitress was shameless. She had already come to the table eleven times and asked Chance if she could get him anything.

Soon, the next topic of discussion began. But this time, Halo pelted Rosalie with a barrage of questions.

"So you've never lived anywhere but Blushing Green and LA.?" she asked.

"Nope, but I've traveled, and a lot with Edna."

Halo tilted her head curiously. "Oh yeah, like to where?"

"New Orleans, of course. We've also gone to Portugal, toured the Amalfi Coast—"

"Has she taken you to Rome?" Halo asked. "Grandmother loves Rome."

"Yeah, she has."

"Hot damn," Halo said, shaking her head. "I wonder why she never mentioned the two of you were so close."

"I had the same question," Chance said.

Rosalie felt as if she'd been put on the spot. However, their question was valid. It seemed as if Edna had kept her relationship with each of them compartmentalized. It was a strange choice to have made. And after getting to know Chance and Halo, Rosalie was beginning to wonder if she knew Edna as well as she had thought.

Another hour passed. At a few minutes before eight, Chance asked for the bill, refusing to let either woman chip in. The waitress took the opportunity to write her number on the back of the customer's receipt, along with a message that read, "if she or she isn't your girlfriend, then call me."

Halo got a kick out of it. Rosalie would've been surprised if the waitress's tactic had worked. She was beginning to realize that turning Chance Sterling's head was no easy feat.

On the way back to the manor, they talked about Edna and where she might be.

"My guess is New Orleans," Halo said.

Chance was sitting in the backseat.

"Why New Orleans?" he asked.

"It's the place where Grandmother's secrets live."

"What secrets?" Rosalie asked.

"Don't you think it's strange for Grandmother to befriend strippers?"

"No," Rosalie and Chance said, both sounding pretty sure of themselves.

"I'm only saying that I've never known Grandmother to do much without a clear purpose in mind."

They let silence prevail during the rest of the drive back to the manor. Rosalie tried to sneak peeks at Chance in her rearview mirror, but he was sitting too far to the left. When they made it back, it was strange to learn that Edna had not returned. However, the house was full of guests, who were all having dinner in the main dining room.

"Will you join them?" Teresa asked as they headed inside.

"Thankfully, no." Halo rubbed her stomach. "I've eaten enough for the day."

"I won't be joining them, either," Rosalie said.

"I'll be in for the rest of the night," Chance said.

They all walked up the stairs, lost in their own thoughts. The word "midnight" repeated in Rosalie's mind. That was the time she and Chance were supposed to meet Kathy.

Halo said good night to them both and walked down the hallway nearer to the stairway, which led to rooms that also faced west.

Rosalie and Chance didn't speak as they made their way down the hallway that led to their rooms. Rosalie found herself wanting to be as bold as the waitress and ask Chance into her room for a roll in the hay before hitting the road later that night. But she quickly banished the yearning that washed over her. Plus, come Monday morning, she was sure she would be completely over him, especially by the time she hit the send button on the résumé she was going to email him.

They made it to their respective doors.

She smiled tightly at him and waved her hand. "Good night."

"Later." He winked, opened his door, and disappeared behind it.

# Chapter Eleven

### Chance Sterling

Chance had to hurry and get inside of his room. The longer he was in Rosalie's presence, the more he wanted her. Dinner was enjoyable. The way the lighting had fallen over her soft skin gave him the incessant desire to reach out and touch her, which had lasted from the moment he'd sat down until they left.

He sat on the edge of his bed and took one deep breath after another. Never had a woman had this effect on him, but then he remembered the first time he had seen Rosalie. He'd wanted her then too.

One by one, Chance kicked off his shoes then took off his jacket. _Do not think of Rosalie_ , he repeated to himself. Instead, he focused on tonight. Grandmother was obviously not returning home anytime soon. He recalled what William had revealed at the restaurant earlier. He'd wanted to know more about the time Halo had spent with Harvey Keith.

What in the world was his grandmother planning? The fact that she had resigned made less sense now than it had when she pretended to be thrilled by her decision to quit last night at dinner. Then there was the fact that Baylor thought he had enough control to tell her that she must accept the construction on the southwest grounds. Chance sniffed facetiously. Talk about cojones. Nothing was adding up. Nothing made sense.

For a moment, he wondered if he should file a missing person report with the police department. But the fact was that his grandmother had seemingly left the house of her own will, and there was a record of her being dropped off at SFO by a Passenger First driver. However, Chance made a pact with himself. If his grandmother didn't return by the next day, then he was going to do a deeper investigation into her disappearance.

Chance lay back on the bed and thought about the story she had told him and Rosalie yesterday. What was its significance? Grandmother's father had been the one with the wealth, and the Sterlings had the son. Chance couldn't imagine being his grandmother, knowing how ambitious and adventurous she'd always been.

When he was general counsel for the family business, his father had pushed him to find out if a rumor was true. His grandmother supposedly had kept a lover in New Orleans, one that she might have been married to. This news had been music to his father's and uncles' ears because they believed that if she had remarried, then upon her death, the entire Sterling fortune would be left to them without dispute.

Chance quickly opened his eyes and sat up straight. "No way," he whispered.

His thoughts had gone too far. There was no way his uncles had murdered his grandmother. But the thought wouldn't leave his mind, so he took his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and tried calling her again.

This time, it didn't even ring before going straight to voice mail, which usually meant her phone was either off or out of power. Without further ado, he slipped quietly out of his bedroom and tried to soften the sound of his footsteps as he tiptoed down the hallway. The other family members rarely used the service elevator, so he dipped into the one nearest his room and took it up to the third floor.

The doors opened, and he was glad to see that the hallway was clear. He moved quickly down the hallway to his grandmother's bedroom. The door was closed but not locked. He opened it, slowly stepped inside, then gently closed it behind him. Other than a slash of light flowing in from the slit between two curtain panels, the space was dark. He'd been in her room often enough to remember where everything was, even the reading lamp attached to the headboard of her bed. He tiptoed over and turned it on.

Now that there was a bit more light, he looked around. The bed was perfectly made, of course. The manor had a cleaning staff that worked around the clock. He walked over to the closet and opened it. There were some items that his grandmother always took with her when she traveled, and one of them was a red silk pillow for her neck. In the past, she had asked him to fetch it for her a few times.

He walked deeper into her large closet, turned a corner, and observed the black antique dresser. He opened the second drawer from the top. There was the red silk cloth box. He opened the lid, and his heart sank. The pillow was in it.

Chance breathed briskly as he put the lid back over the box. The uneasy sensations running through his body alarmed him. She never left that pillow behind. He walked out of the closet, sniffing the air. Whenever his grandmother left for a trip, she would spray the same sort of perfume. He walked over to her vanity desk and sniffed some more. The odor of her perfume was so strong that it would sometimes remain in the air for days. He smelled nothing. So if his grandmother had actually taken that ride to the Plus Travel terminal, then she must have done it in a rush.

Chance folded his arms and gave the room another once-over.

Then something happened. "What in the hell..."

The doorknob turned. Chance's eyes expanded in horror. It was too late to run and hide. The door opened, and he made a decision to face down whoever the visitor was. The person walked in, and he was facing Rosalie.

"Oh," she said, her eyes wide with surprise. "I just wanted to..."

He was both happy and afraid to see her, especially with the lights so dim and a huge comfortable bed in front of them. She had taken off the jeans and T-shirt she had sported earlier in the day and put on the same kimono robe she had worn last night. It took every cell in Chance's body to not walk up to her and ask if he could kiss her. He would start with her lips then kiss her neck until he reached her clavicle. Her skin would be sweet and soft and smell like a bed of gardenias. He didn't even have to guess if that was the case; he just knew it was.

"She's not here." He kicked himself for stating the obvious while sounding funny.

"I know. Did you check for the pillow?"

"You know about the pillow?"

"Yeah." She sounded impatient.

"It's there."

She sighed. "What the hell is going on, Chance?"

"I don't know."

"I'm worried." The sadness in her eyes jarred him.

"Me too," he barely said. He cleared his throat. "But we better get some rest before midnight."

She nodded. He wanted to hug her, but instead, he walked over to the door and checked to see if the coast was clear. It was.

"After you," he said.

Rosalie tiptoed out of the room, and he exited right behind her.

After Chance called Myrtle, the Passenger First driver, to schedule a pickup, he couldn't sleep, work, or watch TV. All he could do was lie across the bed and try to suppress what he really wanted to do, which was be alone with Rosalie and wait. Two hours had finally passed, and Chance jumped off the bed, put on his shoes and jacket, and crossed the hall to rap gently on Rosalie's door.

She opened it.

She had taken off her sexy kimono robe and had on a pair of blue jeans, a thick black sweater and, thank goodness, tennis shoes. The outfit was plain but looked sexy on her. Rosalie would be sexy to him even if she wore a potato sack.

"Ready?" he whispered.

She nodded.

He stepped out of the way so she could walk out. However, he led the way. Being seen was not an option. So he made sure to lead by example. Their steps were silent all the way to the service elevator, which they took to the ground floor. They didn't speak until Chance led her out of the southeast exit.

As soon as they walked outside, they were hit by cold, brisk air. Rosalie hugged herself as they walked around to the front of the house on their way to the driveway. He wished he had thought about keeping her comfortable before he asked Myrtle to meet them along the side of the main road where the vines were the highest.

"Where are we going?" she whispered.

Chance turned to look at the house. The lights were still on inside, which meant people hadn't gone to bed yet. He pressed a finger against his lips, asking her to keep quiet.

Rosalie glanced at the lit windows and nodded. She hugged herself tighter, which made Chance feel even worse than he did before. Out on the grounds, Chance could see that the men had managed to set up the five-thousand-square-foot tent. It was a beast, and he remembered one of the men saying that it couldn't be done, but Susan had insisted. The walls around the edges were rolled up so he could see the stage in the middle of the tarp. He had expected that Susan, Penelope, and his mother, along with Claire's help, would make the venue something elaborate and unique, but boy, they had outdone themselves.

Chance and Rosalie cleared any area where they could be heard or seen shuffling up the long driveway before they spoke.

"Are we walking there?" Rosalie asked, breaking the silence. Frustration was evident on her face.

Chance smiled. "A Passenger First driver is waiting for us."

She grunted inquisitively.

"I didn't want anyone to know we've left." Chance realized he was walking too fast, but he was impressed by how easily Rosalie kept up with him. And as usual, she smelled good.

"So, who don't you trust?" she asked.

He jumped. "Huh?"

"There's Penelope and William. Who else is here?"

He turned to face her. The moon had broken through the night, and its rays illuminated her pretty face, which took his breath away.

"My father," he barely said.

"He's here?"

He shook his head. "He was earlier. I'm not sure he stayed. I probably should've checked."

"Right," she said as if she understood the gravity and depth of what he was feeling. "What about your mom? Are they still married?"

Chance shook his head. "No."

"Oh."

"We're not close."

"No?" she asked as if his admission disturbed her.

Hell, he didn't even know why he'd said that. He didn't have to say it. Maybe he wanted her to understand the magnitude of how fucked up his family truly was.

The silence between them was heavy with thought, and he wondered what was going through her mind.

"What do you think about that?" he finally asked.

"About what? The fact that you're not close to your mother?"

"Yes."

They were almost to the edge of the road, and he could see the driver's black car parked with the lights out just as he had directed.

"Truth?" she asked.

"Please."

"I'm not familiar with your mother, but I am with Virginia, Ruby, and even Susan, so I assume she's not much different from them."

"Not much but slightly. She's changed, I think."

"Change can be good," Rosalie said with a smidgen of optimism.

They reached the car, and he opened the back door for her.

Chance felt dazed when she passed him—her face was so close to his—but he managed to smirk anyway. "Yes, change _can_ be good."

Rosalie smiled as she dipped into the backseat. "I'm scooting over," she announced.

She was making it easier for him, and that turned him on even more. Loving her would be easy. This, he knew. But why was he still so afraid to go for it?

Myrtle turned to look at them as soon as he got into the car and closed the door.

"To the Oak Motel?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

Her eyes shifted between Chance and Rosalie. Actually, Myrtle looked just how he'd pictured her. She had wiry blond hair with flyaway strands, and her cheeks, chin, and forehead were red and chafed. When she turned her critical gaze toward the house, Chance knew Myrtle wondered whether they were going to the fleabag motel on the outskirts of town to get it on.

"All right, then." She drove off the dirt along the side of the road.

Chance was electrically aware of how close Rosalie sat next to him. Nervousness made him want to strike up a conversation, but since privacy was an issue, he just dealt with his emotions.

"So are there no more rooms at the inn?" Myrtle asked.

Rosalie frowned questioningly at Chance.

"No more rooms at the inn?" he asked.

"You have a party every year around this time, but most of the guests stay at the Blushing Green or Bay View Inn."

Chance nodded. "That's right."

It didn't take Myrtle long to realize that was going to be the extent of his response.

"You don't live at the house, do you?" she asked.

"No, we don't," Rosalie replied.

"So where are you folks from?"

Chance glanced at Rosalie to see if she wanted to answer first.

"I'm from Los Angeles, and he lives in San Francisco," Rosalie said.

"So you're not married?" Myrtle asked.

"No."

"You, though..." She was looking at Chance in the rearview mirror. "You're a Sterling, aren't you?"

He frowned. Then Rosalie patted him on the knee as she laughed jollily. Her touch sent volts of giddy energy up his thigh and to his stomach.

"How could you tell?" Rosalie asked.

"The men are good looking, you know, but..." She shook her head.

"But?" Rosalie urged.

Myrtle eyed Chance in the rearview mirror.

"Mean as the devil?" Rosalie asked.

"I heard something like that." Myrtle shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "But I don't ever listen to rumors."

Rosalie grunted curiously. "Rumors? What sort of rumors?"

"Small towns carry gossip like pollen in the wind."

"Well, I assure you that Chance here isn't like the others. So the gossip isn't about him."

Chance couldn't stop feeling her hand on his knee. Rosalie's and Myrtle's voices were fading behind the sound of his pounding heart and the purring of the engine. The scent of ground-in dirt and dampness intermingled with fruity shampoo began to overtake the rich and rounded sweet smell of Rosalie's perfume. He wanted to pull Rosalie closer and take a deep whiff of her to remember that she was the only one he wanted to experience at the moment. _Focus, Chance._

This was not about getting his rocks off. There were two types of relationships he was willing to have with Rosalie—a colleague at Lord and Lord Enterprises or a lover. One was more lasting than the other. She was close to his grandmother, and all day long, Rosalie had already felt as though she were a sane part of the Sterling clan. He had to get a goddamn grip. Colleagues, he had chosen colleagues.

Finally, she took her hand off his thigh, and he could relax.

"But there's always a grain of truth to rumors," Rosalie said.

Chance wanted their conversation to end. There was no need to hear about how his grandfather and uncles had lied, stolen, and stripped people of their livelihoods and dignity to get whatever they wanted. The stories were many, and the risk of retribution was always looming.

"You heard what happened today, didn't you?" Myrtle asked.

"No." Rosalie's tone was highly inquisitive.

"There was a woman that used to work for the grandmother. She ended up dead in a ditch."

Chance and Rosalie widened their eyes at each other.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "What's her name?"

"Don't remember, but my nephew is a deputy in town. He knows her name. He knows what's going on too. He called me earlier to ask if I or anybody else picked her up. You mean to tell me none of you know?"

Rosalie leaned forward to hug the back of the passenger seat. "No. We've been in Napa for most of the day."

"I'm not sure if the story's been on the local news tonight or not, but I can call Barry and find out."

Rosalie grunted. "Barry? What's his last name?"

Chance was impressed by how thick Rosalie was laying it on. She was controlling the tone and texture of the conversation like any lawyer worth her salt would.

Myrtle glanced toward her shoulder as though she was thrown by Rosalie's question. "Fitzpatrick."

"Barry Fitzpatrick, I know him. We went to school together."

"But you said you were from LA."

"I live and work there now, but I grew up in Blushing Green."

"Oh!" Myrtle sounded really excited. "What about your parents?"

Rosalie glanced at Chance. The conversation threatened to veer off the path she was taking. What Chance saw in her eyes was a slight moment of panic and recovery.

"No, my dad's from Hartford, Connecticut, and my mom's from San Diego. But gosh, I hope it wasn't someone Barry and I knew who ended up in that ditch."

"I'll just call Barry now and see what he can tell us."

"Wow. Okay. Thanks."

Rosalie sat back and flexed her eyebrows at him. He winked at her to let her know he was impressed. She did good work. Chance couldn't shake the unsettling feeling in his gut that the dead woman was Kathy Lunsford.

Myrtle turned against a red light onto Old Oak Highway with one hand on the steering wheel while the other fidgeted with her cell phone. She was breaking three laws at once—speeding, running red lights, and using her cell phone while driving. It finally occurred to Chance that those were probably the reasons why his grandmother had never called for her services.

"Barry?" Myrtle asked in her gruff tone. "It's me. I want to ask you about that woman they found in the ravine this morning."

Chance could faintly hear Barry ask, "What about it?"

"What was her name?"

"Christine Valdez."

"Didn't she work for the Sterlings? The grandmother?"

"I don't know about working for them, but I think she knew them."

"Oh, okay, well, I heard she worked for them."

"Aunt Myrtle, you're not supposed to be talking to anyone about this. Are you?" he asked.

"No, no, no..." she lied.

"Good. Is that it?"

"That's it."

"All right, good night, then." He hung up.

It wasn't a surprise that Barry was curious about why Myrtle had asked all those questions. Chance had already pegged Myrtle as a habitual gossip. Her nephew was probably used to her trying to acquire information that was none of her business.

"Her name was Christine Valdez," Myrtle announced.

Chance grunted. "Never heard of her," he said, purposely pretending as if he hadn't already heard the entire conversation.

"It'll all be on the local news soon enough, but keep it to yourself for now."

He and Rosalie glanced at each other.

"Definitely, yes," she said.

A sense of relief was displayed on Rosalie's expression as the car made a left off the highway and into the motel's driveway. The establishment resembled the average cheap motel. There were two floors of no-frills rooms. In the windows of a few rooms, Chance could see light outlining the edges of the curtains. But most of the rooms were dark.

Myrtle stopped the car under the carport near the double glass doors.

"Could you park in the lot while we see if we want to check in?" Chance asked.

Myrtle turned around to look at them the same way she had when they first climbed into the backseat. Chance was impressed by how Rosalie couldn't give a damn about Myrtle's apparent judgment.

"Well, do you want to get out here?" Myrtle asked.

Chance flung two fingers back and forth as though he was directing her. "Just park so we'll know where to come find you."

She frowned then straightened her face. "Okay," she sang, sounding reluctant and suspicious.

Myrtle drove out from under the carport and made a hard right to park in a temporary spot.

Chance and Rosalie got out of the car and walked around to the front of the building, out of Myrtle's sight.

"Ever heard of Christine Valdez?" Chance asked, keeping his voice low.

Rosalie shook her head as they passed the double glass doors and headed toward the rooms. "Never."

They passed a door with 101 tacked on it in brass material. They reached 110 before turning the corner. The rooms on this side of the building had a view of an empty dark field. Chance and Rosalie passed 111, 112, and kept going until they reached 117. There was no light outlining the curtain, which meant Kathy was either waiting awake in the dark or asleep.

"Here we are," Rosalie said as they took a few more steps and stopped in front of the door.

They faced the chipped green paint. After a moment, Chance lightly knocked.

They waited with their ears aimed at the door and watched each other expectantly. Not a peep came from inside, so Chance knocked again. A substantial number of seconds later, it was clear that no one was coming to let them in.

"What now?" Rosalie asked.

Chance turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open. They looked at each other with wide eyes. Chance entered first. He cautiously stepped one foot across the threshold then the other. Nothing or no one stirred, so he turned on the lights, using the switch next to the door.

The bed was made, and other than the scent of an old room abused by the daily flow of strangers, the room looked unoccupied.

"Are you sure she said 117?" Rosalie asked.

Chance's gaze rolled around the space. "I'm sure."

Rosalie walked over to the scratched wooden desk and picked up a thin notepad. She flipped through the pages. "What was she supposed to tell you?"

"She was to elaborate more on the video she gave me."

"More? Like what?"

"That's the million-dollar question."

Rosalie sighed as though she was frustrated. She folded her arms. "I've got a feeling we're supposed to find something."

Chance also sighed. "So do I."

They stood very still as they looked around the room. There wasn't much to the space—the bed, the desk, the dresser, and two nightstands, one on each side of the bed.

"How about we start from the middle?" Rosalie asked. "You go left; I go right."

Chance smirked a little. "That's exactly what I was thinking." He liked anybody who took initiative, especially a smart and sexy woman.

She smiled. "Well, you know what they say about great minds."

Chance and Rosalie stared into each other's eyes for a fraction of a second too long while smiling. They ripped their starry-eyed gazes off of each other and began the search. Chance pulled the drawers open on the dresser, making sure to slide his hand across the wood at the bottom of the drawer and above it. One by one, he searched the drawers and found nothing. Next, he searched the nightstand. He pulled out a Bible from the top drawer.

Rosalie chuckled. "Ah, you got the Bible."

He chuckled too. "Indeed."

They both dropped to their knees and looked under the bed. He could see her pretty face searching then smiling at him.

"Nothing down here," she said. "Pray that my hand doesn't catch cooties. I'm going between the mattresses."

"I'm right behind you."

At first, he thought he might've slid his fingers across Rosalie's hands, but then Chance realized that whatever he was feeling couldn't have been her soft flesh.

"Got something," he said.

# Chapter Twelve

### Rosalie Stetson

Even though it was pouring rain, the car cut through the night like butter. Chance had the file folder hidden under his shirt. Rosalie found it nerve-racking trying to guess what information was so important and secretive that Edna's ex-secretary had had to hide it between the mattresses in a motel room on the outskirts of town.

"All the green was the most stunning part," Chance said.

It was his turn to keep Myrtle's mind occupied with arbitrary details so that she wouldn't question how strange it was for them to ride to the motel then ask to be returned to the manor. She seemed to accept Chance's explanation that the rooms weren't up to their standards and that they would do better sleeping in the den.

Myrtle offered to drive them to the Blushing Green Inn, which would've been more suitable for folks like them, but Chance declined without explanation. Then he remarked on how much he used to like visiting the town during the summer when he was a kid, which was enough to send Myrtle's thoughts in the direction he wanted them to go.

"That's why it's called Blushing Green, because this town is always blushing green," Myrtle said.

Chance snickered. "Yes, it is. Plus, the weather's always better in California, even when it's raining. Our current conditions prove it."

"It's supposed to rain for the rest of the weekend and all through next week. I'm surprised that you're having a party on the grass. It's going to be pretty sloshy."

"Well, you know, experience is always the best teacher," Chance said.

Myrtle chuckled. "It certainly is. So are you two a couple?"

Rosalie and Chance glanced at each other. She found Myrtle's question very interesting. She was sharp and the kind of person that paid attention to detail, which meant that deep in the back of her mind, she had all kinds of questions about their little trip to the motel.

Rosalie squeezed Chance's knee. He seemed to understand what she meant. She had come up with a way to manage the situation.

"Funny story," Rosalie said, chuckling. "We're cousins, and we invited a surprise guest for our grandmother, but if everyone else is staying at the Blushing Green or Bay View Inn, then we run the risk of our surprise being ruined."

Rosalie was encouraged by the sound of Myrtle's laugh. It was loud and tinted with relief. She knew Myrtle had wanted their backstory from the moment they entered the car. So she gave her one that seemed sufficient.

When they reached the manor, Myrtle was fine with passing the main entrance and driving alongside the gate until they reached the dirt road used by the field hands to enter the property. The backseat ride was bumpy, and Myrtle complained about the stress on her tires. But since they were dropped off closer to the house and her car had suffered in the process, Chance gave her a hundred-dollar tip for her troubles. The extra cash filled her with glee.

When they made it inside, Chance and Rosalie were less wet than they could've been since Myrtle had dropped them off closer to the house. With the file folder in their possession, they decided to waste no time. Rosalie's heart thumped out of control as she went to her room to get out of the damp clothes and put on something more comfortable. She suffered quite the conundrum as she stood in front of her hanging garments. She could wear her robe, but she had already noticed Chance's eyes light up when he saw her in it. Although she was beyond attracted to him, she didn't want to play cheap. That sort of behavior was confusing to men. She wanted Chance Sterling to respect her as a sharp lawyer, one he would be proud to have on his team at Lord and Lord Enterprises.

So she walked away from the closet, still pinched for time, and went to the drawer to quickly take out and put on a pair of vintage boyfriend jeans and a gray sweatshirt. She had brought the outfit just in case Edna needed her to help prepare for Saturday night's party.

What a strange turn of events. Edna had been gone since that Friday morning, and Rosalie couldn't deny the odd feeling she had that her ex-grandmother-in-law wouldn't be returning anytime soon.

As she put on her fleece-lined socks, Rosalie put together a list of reasons why Edna would screw over her family by not showing up to her own party. The number-one reason Rosalie could think of was Edna's resignation. Edna would have never released the wheel that was guiding Sterling Family Enterprises into the future, not without being forced to do so. She would be ninety-nine years old and still calling the shots. Nope. The reason she had disappeared was because she was shoving the big middle finger in the faces of those who had pushed her out of the driver's seat. However, Rosalie had never known Edna to be the sort of person who would take that finger and ram it up their rectums, and that was exactly what she was doing by not being home on party day. Something was wrong, and Rosalie wouldn't be able to rest until she saw Edna's regal face again.

She was ready. It was time to dig into that file and see what it had to say. Rosalie cautiously opened her door and peeked her head out into the hallway to make sure it was clear. It was. The plan was to not knock. She carefully walked into Chance's room then closed and locked the door behind her.

A fresh fire was brewing in the fireplace. He was sitting in a comfy armchair before it, next to a round table similar to the one that was in her room.

Chance's lips parted as he watched her approaching. "You look nice."

Rosalie felt herself blushing, and she wished she could have stopped herself from doing it. "Thank you." She looked away and then back at him.

"I just started reading."

Rosalie got ahold of herself and sat in the chair on the other side of the table. "Any idea what's in there?"

Chance handed her a form that resembled lab tests. "Look who they belong to."

She read the name. "Christine Summers Valdez?" She continued scanning the document until she reached the part indicating the probability that Conrad Bartholomew Sterling was Christine Summers Valdez's father was 99.9 percent and above.

Rosalie's mouth fell open. "Edna's husband?"

"My grandfather, yes. And this one." He handed her another page.

The probability that Carolyn Edmonds was Conrad Bartholomew Sterling's daughter was also at 99.9 percent.

"Who's Carolyn Edmonds?" she asked.

"I don't know, but there are others."

There were three more DNA reports: Charles Wentworth, Liam Roberts, and Regina Smith, all children or likely children of Edna's deceased husband.

Rosalie was flabbergasted as she looked up at Chance. "What the hell does any of this mean?"

Chance sighed. "It could mean a lot, but definitely not a little."

Rosalie gathered the forms and put them back into the folder. She pinched her lips as she pondered. "Do you think Edna had anything to do with Christine Valdez's death?"

He shook his head. "I don't know."

His answered worried her. "Well, do you think Edna is capable of something like that? Because I don't."

"Grandmother..." Chance massaged his temples as if he was stressed by whatever he was going to say.

Rosalie wanted to hear it, which was why she was on the edge of her seat.

"Grandmother what?"

Chance stood. "How about we get some rest and talk about this tomorrow?"

Rosalie sat back in her chair and squeezed the arms of it, pondering whether she should let it drop or not. She wanted him to say what she needed to hear. But she had evolved enough to understand that the truth she wanted to believe wasn't always such. Chance had left her hanging. Did he think she couldn't handle hearing anything negative about the woman who had mentored her into the person she had become—a strong, successful, confident, independent human being?

Finally, she stood to face him. "When I asked if you think Edna is capable of murder, you had an answer. I want to hear it. Please." She watched him with a soft and open gaze. Rosalie wanted him to see that she was being sincere more than pushy.

Chance studied her for a while. "Yes. I do," he said in a tone that made him sound sure of himself.

Her heart dropped. "But why?" She sounded so sad to her own ears.

"Because tyrants are complex, and monsters aren't real."

She frowned harder as she began to make sense of his words. "Are you saying she's a dictator? A bully?"

"I'm saying that I've known Grandmother to be the sort of person who would maintain her power and control by any means necessary."

Rosalie shook her head, not because she doubted Chance's assessment of Edna but because she had never known the woman to behave like a tyrant. "How? Please explain."

Chance looked deep into her eyes and sighed. "How about we just get some sleep and talk about it in the morning?"

Rosalie wasn't moving an inch until he explained. "Please, how?"

He sat back in his chair. "Okay..."

Rosalie sat too.

"You know part of who she is, and that part is truly her. She's not a dictator of a country, but she is the ruler of Sterling Family Enterprises." He patted the folder that was sitting on the coffee table. "What's contained in this folder and the fact that Grandmother has it don't surprise me."

Rosalie shifted in her seat. Chance was saying a lot, but she really wanted a direct answer.

"Chance?" Her voice was strong yet controlled.

"Yes," he responded.

There was something in his eyes, perhaps fear, definitely vulnerability, or perhaps he was mirroring her expression back to her.

"Has she killed before?"

He sighed hard and collapsed deeper into his seat. "I can't prove it, but I've had my suspicions."

"Could you name some instances that may support your beliefs?"

He narrowed an eye. "Am I on trial?"

It took Rosalie a moment to realize he was joking.

She chuckled. "No, but I certainly would like for you to shed more light on the subject of Edna being a murderer." Just saying that made every muscle in her body grow tense and her head feel floaty as though she was no longer on earth.

Chance cracked a tiny smile. "You have a subtle way of getting what you want. I like it."

Rosalie had to struggle to breathe evenly. There was fire in his eyes. Was he coming on to her? She had her suspicions, like earlier when they had been in Edna's room and she could've sworn Chance wanted to throw her on the bed and screw her brains out. But again, she passed off her suspicion as transference, only reflecting what she wanted him to do to her. If only Chance Sterling would make a move on her. He had no idea how far he could get. All of the walls of caution were beginning to crumble.

Rosalie dropped her bashful face. "Thank you."

Chance crossed his legs, which let Rosalie know that he would be open but only to a certain point.

"There was a guy named Kurt Ballantine, who was passing inside trader secrets to Baylor. The Feds were catching wind of it. The whole ordeal made Grandmother very upset... Humph." He tilted his head inquisitively.

"What?" Rosalie asked.

"I had never seen Grandmother that angry. It didn't make sense to me then. I was general counsel. I was ready to go to war for the company." He shifted abruptly in his seat, uncrossing his legs in the process. "But it just occurred to me that Grandmother didn't want anyone to know how the company's assets were legally structured." He shook his finger at Rosalie. "Remember what she told us the other day about the deal between Stuart Campbell and Andrew Sterling?"

"Yes. She said there were provisions to protect the Campbell family's interests."

"Right. Getting back to Kurt Ballantine. I was prepared to fight the charges in court because I knew Grandmother wasn't involved with insider trading. I planned on shifting the blame to where it was due."

"To Baylor?"

"Yes. But then Ballantine flipped and said Grandmother was the inside trader. She used her contacts to hire her own investigator. Frederick Holland stepped into the picture, and I was out. A few weeks later, Kurt Ballantine was found dead in his bed. He was fifty years old, in great shape, but he died of a sudden heart attack."

Rosalie felt herself shrug indifferently, but her mind truly didn't commit to the action. "People die young every day of a heart attack."

Chance nodded thoughtfully. "True, and that's what I've chosen to believe."

"Chosen?"

"Yes, chosen."

Silence fell between them.

"So why do you think Edna had this Kurt Ballantine killed?"

"No information came to me directly, but I believed that Ballantine had been paid a lot of money to pin the illegal act on Grandmother. So I asked myself, why would anyone do that? The faces started playing through my mind like a police lineup."

"Baylor, Carlton, and Douglas, but not William and Penelope?" she asked.

"Definitely not Penelope. I used to think William had no ambitions, but not after today. I'm beginning to think he was just the runt of the litter without a teat to suck on, and that kept him starved. But now, it seems he's feeding. Anyway, your list was spot-on."

Rosalie gulped. Goodness, the way he said that made her wet. "So, um..." She had to get her thoughts together. "So Baylor wanted her out so he could take over?"

"Maybe it was Baylor. He denied having anything to do with Kurt's flip and blamed it on my dad."

Rosalie widened her eyes and mouth. "Do you think your dad had anything to do with it?"

"Yes, but I don't think he acted alone."

Rosalie realized that she was leaning toward Chance, so she flopped back in her chair. "Just like that folder doesn't surprise you, none of what you're saying surprises me."

"Just remember, apples never fall far from the tree."

Rosalie tilted her head curiously. "Does that mean you're like your father?"

He shook his head. "No, I am not."

"Then, let's rephrase that. Apples _rarely_ ever fall far from the tree."

Chance smiled as his bright gaze danced around her face. Finally, he slapped his knees and stood. "I think it's time we get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be a long day. We have a grandmother to find."

She stood. He was so close that the energy flowing from his body washed over her.

She could barely speak past her tight throat. "Yes, we do." Should she kiss him? Rub his muscular bicep? Ask if he wanted to just do it and get it over with?

Rosalie took a step back before she fainted from desire. "See you in the morning," she said.

Chance nodded.

Goodness, she didn't want to leave. She turned her back to him, anyway. Each step made her feel as if she were walking on air. Her heart was a magnet, and it wanted to draw her back to him so that she could find solace in his strong, manly arms. However, one step led to another. She opened the door, and soon, she was back in her own room.

A feeling of longing settled over Rosalie. She wasn't a teenager anymore, yet that was exactly how she behaved when it came to men she liked—a scared, shy, and unconfident girl, who was afraid of rejection.

Regardless, it was too late to go back now. Rosalie took off her jeans, sweatshirt, and comfy socks. She turned off the lights and crawled into bed. Memories of Chance's sexy smirk and manly physique competed in her mind with thoughts of all she had just learned about Edna, as well as the information about Conrad's illegitimate children. The fact that one of them had been found dead in a ditch sounded shady. No one ended up like that unless they were in a car accident and ejected from the vehicle or someone killed them and put them there.

Rosalie blinked in the pitch-black room. Her eyes had yet to adjust enough to give form to the objects around her. What in the world had Edna tricked her into signing? Had she been set up to take a fall? If so, how hard would she land?

Regardless of the anxiety that surged through her, Rosalie could barely keep her eyes open. The day had been drawn out and eventful. Before long, she was out like a light.

Someone was knocking on a door. For a moment, Rosalie wondered where she was. She had been sleeping so hard that it felt as if she were home in her own bed. Her head was loopy, and since she had gone to bed at about three in the morning, she felt as if she hadn't been asleep long enough. Then she recalled Chance Sterling and all they had discovered before she went to bed. Was it him knocking on her door?

She sat up straight, feeling as if a thousand volts of pick-me-up surged through her. "Who is it?"

"Me, Halo," she tried to whisper.

The tension flowed out of Rosalie's body as she rested against the headboard, raised her knees, and pulled the covers up around her shoulders. "Come in."

Every time she looked at Halo, one word came to her head—stunning. Rosalie also noticed that her friend had on a black bomber jacket and platform sneakers.

"Going somewhere?" Rosalie asked.

"I'm heading out. You know Grandmother's not going to show up at that party, don't you?"

Even though Rosalie already knew the answer, she asked, "She's not here?"

"No, she isn't." Halo thumbed over her shoulder. "My PF ride is here, though. I just said goodbye to Chance, and I wanted to say goodbye to you too. It was nice getting to know you, Rosalie. Let's stay in touch."

"Sure, yeah. But are you leaving because of lunch yesterday?"

She frowned as though she didn't understand what Rosalie was referring to.

"How William treated you?"

"Oh," she said with a laugh. "I don't fucking care about him. I'm leaving to take care of myself."

"Oh, rehab?"

"Yes."

"But so soon?"

"There's no time better than the present."

Rosalie wanted to hug her but then looked at her near-nakedness under the linens that covered her. "I would hug you, but I'm only in my bra and panties."

Halo rolled her eyes. "OMG, I used to be a model, remember? We walked around naked all the time. Actually, I wouldn't think you were normal unless you get out of that bed so we can give each other a big, tight, you-naked, me-not hug."

Rosalie laughed as she flew out from under the sheets to hug Halo. They embraced tightly. It felt as if they had known each other forever.

As they let go of each other, Halo slapped her on the butt cheek. "Chance is going to have a time hitting that ass."

Rosalie gasped and covered her mouth bashfully as Halo laughed. "It might not be today, but it will be soon," she said as she backed out of the room, waving goodbye.

Still stunned, or maybe thrilled, by Halo's prediction, Rosalie pulled herself together enough to wave back. When the door had closed and Halo was gone, Rosalie looked down at her thighs, crotch, abdomen, and tits. "It won't be today?" A minute past the day felt like a wait that would last forever.

Rosalie took a few steps backward until she collided with the bed and sat. She needed to put things into perspective. There was nothing going on between her and Chance.

Someone knocked on the door. She figured it was Halo returning to get her number, since once again they had forgotten to do the exchange.

Rosalie ran to the door and cracked it open. "Oh!"

Chance was standing there. His eyes dropped downward then made their way back to her face. "Um..."

"Sorry." Rosalie quickly shut the door and repeated "oh my God" as she scrambled all over the room, trying to find her robe. She finally found it in the bathroom. She quickly put it on and rushed back to the door. "Sorry about that."

Chance raised a hand. "It's okay." His gaze dropped down to her body again then worked its way back up to her face. He cleared his throat. "I was going to tell you, there's breakfast downstairs. But I wanted to warn you, we have a full house."

She nodded and gulped nervously. "Thank you."

They stared at each other.

"I better put some clothes on, then," she finally said.

"Unless..."

"Yes?"

"You want to go and grab a bite together."

"Yes," she said without worrying about finessing her reply.

His eyes ran down her form once again. "How long do you think you'll be?"

"Five minutes." She cursed herself for sounding too eager. "I mean I can be ready in about five minutes."

He bobbed his head. "Okay."

"Okay." She looked down to break eye contact and closed the door.

Rosalie raced around the room like a chicken with its head chopped off. She ran into the bathroom to brush her teeth, wash her face, and put on a light coat of lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara. She wanted to make a bold but subtle statement, so she slipped into her black, fitted crewneck sweater dress, which extended just past her knee. It was a sexy length and flattered all parts of her figure. The thought of wanting to attract Chance Sterling made her put her hands over her face.

She couldn't date him and work for him too. _Sure, you can._ However, Rosalie didn't want to use sex appeal to affect him. She couldn't stand those kinds of women. So she quickly took off the dress and put on the jeans she had worn last night and the white V-neck sweater she'd worn yesterday, which at least made her cleavage look good. Then she put on her gray Chucks since, from her window, it looked sort of wet and soggy from raining all night.

"My hair," she muttered.

She was sure five minutes had already passed or was close to passing. If only she had time to wash and blow-dry. Her mane was limp and dull. She quickly wrapped her hair into a bun. She looked sporty, cool, and admittedly sexy. Rosalie smiled, grabbed her purse off the chair, and hurried out of the room.

The walk down the hallway was stressful. Then she heard a door open behind her and close quickly. Hers were still the only footsteps that could be heard. But still she was curious, so she looked behind her. Whoever had come out of their room must've gone back inside when they saw her. Then she remembered that none of the guests were particularly fond of socializing with each other. She would have bet that not one person was having breakfast at the main table, especially since Edna wasn't home. But then she thought that maybe they were, simply because Edna was missing.

As she walked down the steps into the foyer, her eyes connected with a familiar face. He was one of two men who were wearing law enforcement uniforms. The men were facing Chance and Penelope. As Rosalie descended the steps, she was still trying to identify the officer with the curly, light-auburn hair, overly pale complexion, and slight frame. Then it hit her. He was Myrtle's nephew, Barry, and he hadn't changed much since high school.

Chance and Penelope looked behind them to see who or what had caught Barry's attention. The moment felt awkward, so Rosalie looked down and watched her careful feet take the stairs one step at a time. When she reached the bottom, they were all looking at her as if she had infringed upon their privacy, even Chance. However, she was not going to retreat.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

The officer standing beside Barry looked at Chance.

Penelope's face was stern and red, and her eyes were teary. "This is a family matter."

"She should hear this," Chance said.

Penelope's mouth dropped as she glared at him.

Rosalie wasted no time in joining the circle and took her position beside Chance. It felt good to stand beside him. His height and stature made her feel safe.

"These are Officers Bunting and Fitzpatrick." Chance raised his eyebrows when he said "Fitzpatrick," which appeared to be an attempt to clue her in that the man was Myrtle's nephew.

She shook Bunting's hand and then Barry's.

"I know you," Barry said.

"Yes, we went to school together."

"You're Rosalie Stetson. You used to be married to Pete."

"Yes."

"But they're divorced now," Penelope said.

"Okay, so here's another picture we found at the scene." The older gentleman, Officer Bunting, handed Chance a photograph. "We also found these items that belong to Edna Sterling in the home of Christine Valdez."

Rosalie stood on one side of Chance and Penelope on the other, viewing the image. Rosalie wanted to gasp in shock, but she knew better. She needed the officer to confirm that Christine Valdez was deceased first. However, she was looking at photos of Edna's driver's license, credit cards, and her favorite tiny black Chanel bag. When she saw Edna's engagement ring and wedding band on the gold chain she had put them on so she could wear the pieces around her neck, Rosalie's heart sank.

"Oh my God! Where's my mother?" Penelope grabbed ahold of Chance's arm.

"Mrs. Sterling wasn't found in the home," Officer Bunting said.

"Is there any physical evidence to point to the fact that she was there?" Rosalie asked.

Officer Bunting narrowed his eyes inquisitively.

"I'm a lawyer," she said, answering his expression.

"I see." He eased the tension out of his shoulders. "Well, Christine Valdez's body was found in a ravine off Rivers Road."

"Oh no," Penelope whimpered. Her body was trembling. "I just thought Mom was, you know, being Mom. I had no idea. We haven't even tried to look for her." She clutched her stomach as though she was going to be sick.

Chance set his eyes on Rosalie. "Could you call Halo before she gets too far?"

Rosalie nodded spastically. "Sure." Her brain was about to explode because of all the processing it was doing. "Shoot, I don't have her number."

Chance called off the numbers, and Rosalie made sure she memorized them. "Got it."

"What was the cause of the woman's death?" Chance asked as Rosalie walked off.

"It seems she fell and hit her head."

"What the hell's going on down here?" William asked, stomping down the stairs.

Rosalie walked faster toward Edna's sitting room. She didn't want to witness the sort of spectacle William was about to make of himself. She could still hear voices and could tell who was speaking, but she didn't try hard enough to make out what they were saying. Instead, she repeated the phone number Chance had given her over and over so stress wouldn't make her forget it. She turned on her cell phone, and it instantly alerted her that she had voice messages and texts. She had no doubt that most of them were from Dennis. When it came to work or anything else, Rosalie had never dropped the ball in the way she had since Thursday. She was done with the public defender's office, finished, and kaput.

Rosalie tried to control the shaking in her body as she sat on the sofa. One step at a time, she reminded herself. She dialed the number that was in her head and bounced her knee impatiently, waiting for Halo to pick up.

After the fourth ring, Halo answered. "Hello?"

"Halo?"

"Yes." She sounded different, more cautious.

"This is Rosalie."

"Oh." She sighed. "What's going on?"

Rosalie spoke in a rush as she told her about the photos the officers had shown them and how badly Penelope was shaken up.

"Fuck," Halo cursed.

"How far out are you?"

"Not that far, but I have a flight to catch." She groaned as if deliberating on what to do next caused an agonizing pain deep inside. "Okay. I'll be there soon." Halo ended the call.

Rosalie felt as if heavy weights had been lifted off her shoulders as she sat back against the sofa. The next step was figuring out those photos. It all seemed too timely. She and Chance had signed contracts, Edna had gone missing, then her ID, credit cards, and wedding rings were found in a dead woman's house.

Rosalie finally found the strength to stand and walk back to the foyer. Both Chance and Barry looked at her. She nodded at Chance to let him know Halo was on her way back to the manor. He cracked a barely there smile.

"Well, that's all we have for now. Mrs. Sterling's personal property is considered evidence."

"Bullshit. I want my mother's things," William said.

"Sir, that's not going to happen, not while we're in the middle of an investigation."

"Of course," Chance said, scowling at William.

By the way William glared at Chance, it was clear he was not going to back down. "At least return her wedding ring. It belongs to the family," he said.

"It's evidence," Chance said in a stern but controlled voice.

William huffed as his face turned redder. "What about her credit cards? Do you need to keep those?"

"We can provide you with a statement for reissue," Barry said.

William pressed his lips together. Apparently, that was a big enough win for him to stop trying to throw his weight around.

The officers left. Penelope needed to go lie down. William called Baylor to give him the download of what had just happened. Rosalie could hear Baylor shouting on the other end of the call.

Chance pointed his head toward the hallway. Rosalie did what she figured he was asking and followed him. They walked side by side in the opposite direction of the sitting room.

"How well did you know Officer Fitzpatrick in high school?" Chance asked.

She eyed him incredulously. "Not that well. Why?"

"No reason. But pretty soon, my uncles are going to descend on this house like flies on shit." He shook his head. "But I just don't get the feeling that Grandmother is dead. Do you?"

She followed him into the library. "I don't know what to think," she replied.

Chance closed the door then stood very close to her. She could feel his warm breath against her lips as she gazed into his glassy eyes.

"This is the worst time to ask this, but I want to kiss you so I can think. Will you let me?"

Her lips parted. She was too awestruck to reply verbally or nod. The phone in her purse rang, and she blinked herself out of the daze.

"One second." Rosalie's voice was barely audible. She frowned at the phone before answering. "Halo?"

Chance took a step back and away from her. She wished he hadn't done that.

"Keep me posted," Halo said. "I really need this program. Did Chance ask you to call me earlier?"

Rosalie gazed into his curious eyes. "Yes, he did."

"Is he with you now?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Let me speak to him."

"Halo wants to speak to you," she said, holding out her phone for him to take.

He studied her for a moment then took the phone. "You're on the way, right?" he asked, turning his back to Rosalie.

She wondered if she had taken too long to say, _yes, Chance. I have been waiting too many hours to be kissed by you._

He straightened his posture and pressed his finger against the ear that wasn't occupied by Rosalie's cell phone.

"Okay, yeah, I get it." He sounded disappointed but settled. He paused. "I'm happy you're doing something about it. Okay, I'll keep you posted." He paused again. "I love you too."

Rosalie gulped. Perhaps Chance would one day say those same words to her.

Chance's cell phone rang just as he handed Rosalie hers. It felt as if they were getting further and further away from that kiss she had agreed to give him.

"She's not coming?" Rosalie asked.

He shook his head and answered his phone. "No. Hello? Okay. I'll be there in a sec." Chance ended the call and gazed into Rosalie's eyes. "Yes?"

She gulped. "Do you mean the kiss?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

He gripped her hips and held her against him. He was hard as a rock down there, leading Rosalie to believe he wanted more than a kiss. Chance's lips were against hers, and his warm, wet, minty tongue slid into her mouth and pressed passionately against hers.

Rosalie believed she was floating. Every part of her body was on fire. Wetness drenched her panties. She wanted out of her clothes. She wanted him to grab her by the ass and shove her harder against his erection. She wanted him to pull down her sweater to expose more of her breasts and suck greedily on her nipple. But more than anything, she wanted the kiss to last forever.

Finally, his tongue and lips abandoned hers. "I have to go. Keep your distance," he said in a husky voice. And without waiting for her response, Chance opened the door and rushed out of the library.

He left her weak in the knees and trembling uncontrollably. Oh, the lust. She needed to sit. Rosalie's gaze circled the room. The chaise lounge was less than four steps away, but she felt as if it were a mile across the room. So she closed her eyes and took one deep breath after another until the wooziness passed.

"Holy shit," she said with a sigh.

Were she and Chance Sterling now ready and willing to go all the way?

# Chapter Thirteen

### Chance Sterling

It was a shit show. Chance stood quietly behind his father and William as they spoke to Baylor on speakerphone. Experience had taught him to make himself as scarce as possible and watch everything while the siblings were in crisis-management mode.

"She hadn't what?" Baylor asked.

Chance stewed in anger. Baylor and Carlton were on the phone. They were on their way to the San Francisco office, while Chance's father and William were in the main den at the manor. Doug, Chance's father, had insisted that Chance stay close while they conferenced with Daniel Steiner, their newly appointed general counsel.

"Legally, Mrs. Sterling is still chair of the company and the official CEO. The separation isn't final."

"I'm the CEO," Baylor barked.

"Legally, you're the appointed CEO."

"But she's missing, so I'm in charge."

It was always the same with Baylor. He couldn't be easy unless everyone acknowledged that he was the boss. In the past, Chance's father had let some horror stories slip about growing up with Baylor as an older brother. Baylor was a bully and their father's favorite, which made him extra hard to live with.

"Listen, no one's in charge yet," Doug said with a quick glance across the room at his son.

Five minutes ago, William, Carlton, and Baylor had wanted Chance to leave the room, but Doug had insisted that his son stay. The brothers snapped at each other in resistance, but Doug won the dogfight by strongly asserting he was not going to keep his son out of this, especially when Pete was on the way to join them. That had been when Chance realized that his father wanted him around because he needed an ally.

"I have my people looking into it," Daniel said.

"Into what?" Doug barked.

The doors flew open, and everyone turned toward Pete, who had just entered. Manny, who was tasked with making sure no one came in without permission, closed the door behind him. Pete stomped across the room and stood next to his father. It was as if Pete's presence made Carlton grow a superman's cape on his back. He widened his stance and folded his arms, looking as if he was ready to do battle against his brothers for the grand prize.

Chance had a suspicion that his father wanted him to do the same thing that Pete did. A part of him wanted to stand by Doug's side and show Pete and Carlton that he and his father were a stronger duo. But Chance's head spun as the war inside of him ensued—be a good son or a principled man. He had chosen the latter until Doug waved him over.

Chance felt a mass of regret form in the pit of his stomach as he walked over to do what he was told. Pete, who had watched him the entire time, snorted and reinforced his stance once Chance made it to his father's side.

"Listen, I just got a message from my office," Daniel said. "We can legally argue that your mother has abandoned her post."

Chance felt as if he had been hit with a ton of bricks. "Desertion?"

All the players in the room looked at him as if he had crossed an illegal line.

"That's it," Dan said. "But I need to know who to name in her place."

"Me," Baylor said.

Carlton threw his hands up. "I don't know about that."

"Carlton, is that you?" Baylor barked.

"Yeah, it's me, and you don't get to appoint yourself as Mother's successor."

"I agree," Doug said.

"So do I," Pete added.

Doug, William, and Carlton scolded Pete in the same way they had just cautioned Chance for speaking out of turn. It was clear that the four sons were the only generals in this battle. Chance and Pete were merely foot soldiers.

"Well, if we're going to take a vote, we can't do it over the phone," Dan said. "We have to do it in person. I'm also going to need you to sign some documents. How about we meet in the San Francisco office in an hour?"

Chance paid close attention to how his father and William looked at each other. They were allies. Carlton turned to Pete, which meant he didn't have enough votes to be named to Grandmother's seat. Chance had already known that Baylor was on his own. He was hoping he was wrong, but something told him his father would be the next Edna Sterling of Sterling Enterprises.

Chance was torn about what to do next. He didn't want to take the ride to San Francisco. His grandmother was out there somewhere, and the longer she was missing, the lower the odds were of finding her alive.

His father had already slapped him on the back. "You drive."

They were walking toward the carport. William was riding with them, which confirmed Chance's suspicions about Doug and William forming an alliance. The fact that two brothers had banded together to fight the other two was an anomaly. Each one of them was always out for himself because their father had raised them to be natural enemies. Chance was convinced that his father's natural tendency to be equally prideful and jealous was the reason he was an only child. The Sterling men were more apt to conceive males than females. His father had divorced his mother once they were both well over forty. His second wife was also over forty and wasn't interested in starting her own family. She was perfect for Doug, who didn't want any more children, especially another son to compete with or expect success and loyalty from.

Each step toward the carport felt heavier than the last. There was no way to get out of it. It would've been nice to let Rosalie know he was leaving. For some reason, he felt as if she was the only one who could truly save him from the moment. Nothing felt right. His heart was actually hurting. Perhaps it was because Grandmother was missing and the boys she had birthed and raised were using it as an opportunity to take everything from her. By the looks of it, they were on the precipice of succeeding.

Pete, who was driving his father, Carlton, had already sped off.

"Hurry up. Get in," Doug said as he jumped into the front seat of Chance's SUV.

It was too late to turn back. Chance stewed as he pressed the gas pedal, accelerating at a dangerous speed out of the carport. How in the hell did he always get caught in his father's trap?

"We'd be facing losing everything with Baylor in control," his father said as they turned onto the main road.

"Gambling, pussy, you name it, he's got an issue with it," William said.

"Dad would roll over in his fucking grave."

Chance shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yeah, but what about Grandmother?"

Doug gave him a look that could melt concrete. "We'll deal with your grandmother in time."

"She's your mother, Dad."

"I know who the fuck she is."

Chance felt emboldened by his father's tone. "Yeah, well, she's missing, and I don't see any of you giving a fuck about it. I wonder why." He almost regretted adding that last comment. But he couldn't deny that deep down, he knew that if his grandmother was dead, the investigation didn't have to go any further than her offspring.

"I don't know what you're insinuating, but cut it out," Doug said in a strong voice.

Chance clenched his back teeth. He didn't want to keep quiet. He wanted to hold his father's feet to the fire. "You two are pretty chummy."

"You and that bitch Halo are pretty chummy," William said.

"That bitch? You're calling your niece a bitch?" Chance looked out the window. He wanted to stop the car and order William to get out.

"You're taking it too far, Bill," Doug said. "She didn't know."

Chance glanced at his father with a look of shock. He was surprised to hear Doug standing up for Halo.

"She didn't know what?" Chance asked.

Doug sighed. "Bill was working with us on the economy brand, and Mother brought Halo in to undercut him."

Suddenly, William behaving like a bitter two-year-old at lunch yesterday made sense. Chance wondered if Halo actually knew that her suggestions regarding the economy brand had directly defied William's. Knowing Halo, she probably did, which was why she had been so passive about his severe reaction to her.

Chance shook his head. Truthfully, he didn't know who was telling him the full truth when it came to his family. Everyone was suspect to a certain degree, even Halo.

"Getting back to your last comment, Chance, Bill and I decided to work together as brothers before your grandmother went missing," Doug said. "And let me tell you this"—his father shook his finger at Chance—"I am concerned about your grandmother's whereabouts. Now, I'm going to find her. We're going to find her. We just want to make sure everything she worked for isn't put in jeopardy."

Chance glared at the road ahead. He could feel his father's eyes on him, searching to see if Chance was buying the bullshit he'd just spewed. It was no time to make the moment into a father-son showdown. He certainly wanted to call his father a liar, put him out of the car, then go back and pick up Rosalie so she could help him fight his uncles and father in a legal showdown of epic proportions. But he had to keep a lid on his emotions. This was the real world, and he had to play it smart.

"I understand," he lied.

Forty-three minutes later, they were walking into the offices of Sterling Enterprises on the twenty-fifth floor of the Archer Building in downtown San Francisco. Nothing had changed since the last the time Chance had visited the building. The floors were laid with the same dark wood Grandmother had insisted on putting down even against Baylor's wishes. Baylor had wanted checkered gray carpet and red and black furniture, which he said would have given the offices a contemporary feel.

The receptionist desk had the same white marble top and dark-brown leather armchairs behind the station, and bulky furniture made of the same dark leather were scattered throughout the reception area. Framed images of Sterling Vineyards from around the country and premium products were showcased nicely on the wall. He gave the environment a final look and took in the atmosphere one last time. The ambiance felt like his grandmother. Chance was sure that as soon as Doug and William took control, it would all change.

They walked quickly down the hallways. Some of the offices were empty except for a desk, chair, and vacant shelves. The deeper they journeyed down the corridors, the more gutted the environment felt, proving the validity of the video Kathy had given him.

When they arrived at the conference room, Baylor, Carlton, and Pete were already there. However, there were four other guys who looked familiar to Chance, but he wasn't quite sure why.

Doug laughed bitterly as he studied the extra people. "That's desperate."

"A democracy should include as much of the applicable population as necessary," Baylor said, wearing a smug grin.

Doug scoffed. "They're applicable?"

Baylor shrugged, as if he knew something Doug didn't, and sat back in his seat as though he owned the world.

Chance felt trapped in a nightmare he had woken up from a long time ago. It was not too late for him to walk out and leave the insanity to them. He could look at them as a necessary barrier on the path to discovering what had happened to his grandmother and why. The penetrating feeling that one of them had something to do with Grandmother's disappearance and Christine Valdez's death hadn't abandoned him. He knew there was a murderer in the room. He felt like going eeny meeny miny moe and catching a murderous asshole by the toe. But first, he had to find the wherewithal to stop doing his father's bidding.

Daniel stood at the head of the table, wearing casual pants and a preppy shirt. He looked as if his golfing day had been interrupted.

"Seats, everybody," he said.

His assistant, a thin, pretty woman in tight stretch pants and a black hoodie, yawned as she set a stack of documents in front of Baylor, then Doug, next Carlton, and finally William.

"We need to get this done as soon as possible," Daniel said. "Kate is passing out copies of the order for your viewing. I have the original order here, which has to be signed by each pertinent individual." Daniel held up a stack of documents. "As soon as it's signed, I have the people in place to get it filed and initiated, and you'll have a new chairman and principal CEO."

"Chance Sterling?" Kate called.

"Here I am," he said, a little too eager. For some reason, he felt that getting his name called validated him.

"Peter Conrad Sterling?" she asked next.

Peter's hand flew up. "That's me."

There were no more documents in her hand.

Daniel looked at Baylor's offspring. "I'm sorry, but the rest of you are not eligible for the vote."

Baylor threw up his hands in protest. "You didn't tell me that earlier!"

Doug scoffed. "If you had, Baylor wouldn't have rounded up his gang of slaves."

"Hey, fuck you, guy," one of the boys said.

Daniel threw his hands up. "Hey, we have to keep it moving." He turned to Baylor. "Sorry, but they're not named as beneficiaries of Sterling Enterprises or the Sterling fortune."

Baylor's face turned burnt red. Chance imagined he was yelling "fuck" on the inside.

"I'll give you a moment to look over the documents," Daniel said.

"No. Let's vote and get this over with," Doug said. Now he was the one with the smug smile.

Chance was feeling the pressure even more. At first, he'd felt good about being validated as a bona fide Sterling, but now the pressure was killing him. He thought about voting for himself, but he would've been laughed out of the room.

Baylor threw a hand up. "No. I want to read it."

Doug and William looked at each other, shaking their heads.

"Then we'll wait," Daniel said.

With every passing minute, Baylor's face turned redder, and Chance felt it harder to steady his breaths. He knew he shouldn't take part in the farce. His father didn't deserve his grandmother's seat. If anybody deserved it, it was Bernard Kent, the executive vice president of operations, who was appointed by his grandmother. However, Chance was pretty sure Bernard had been let go along with Kathy and many others. But Bernard knew the wine business inside out and had spent a lot of time resolving his uncles' and father's fuck-ups.

Baylor reached the last page and slammed the document on the table. "Bill, don't fucking do this. I'm the one who kept your fucking bread buttered for all those years. If it were up to Doug, you wouldn't get a red cent."

"Not true," Doug said. "That year you were cut off? That was Baylor's doing."

"Look, we have to vote now," Daniel said. "All in favor of Baylor Andrew Sterling being named as active chairman and principal CEO say aye."

"Aye," Baylor and a few of his sons said.

"That's one vote for Baylor."

Baylor glared at William as though he wanted to rip his brother's head off.

"All in favor of Carlton Cyprus Sterling being named as active chairman and principal CEO say aye."

"Aye," Carlton and Pete said as they raised their hands.

"I'll record two votes for the record," Daniel said.

"You have nothing to do with this, Chance," Carlton said. "You left this company. Do the right thing. Stay out of it."

Chance felt his entire face collapse into a bitter frown as Daniel read off the legal verbiage then said, "Douglas Benjamin Sterling."

Chance's hand shot up. "Aye," he said in unison with his father and William.

"Please record three for the vote," Daniel said. "All in favor of William Stuart Sterling being named as active chairman and principal CEO say aye."

"Aye," Carlton said. "According to rule 119.1, I officially cast my vote, and it is final."

"Aye," Pete said. "According to rule 119.1, I officially cast my vote, and it is final."

Baylor sneered at Doug and arrogantly said, "Aye. According to rule 119.1, I officially cast my vote, and it is final."

Doug snorted as if he both respected and reviled the move they were making. "Is this how we're playing it now?"

Baylor smirked and winked at Doug. "Yes."

William's eyes widened. It was clear he was caught off guard by Carlton and Baylor's backup plan, which made a lot of sense to Chance. William was so starved for love and acceptance by his brothers that he would be the perfect figurehead that they could control.

"It's three against three," Doug said.

"Aye," William said, staring at the table. "According to rule 119.1, I officially cast my vote, and it is final."

Carlton's and Baylor's shit-eating grins were as big as a cesspool. They had won, and they knew it.

# Chapter Fourteen

### Rosalie Stetson

Rosalie sat on a chaise lounge, torn about what to do next. From the window of the library, she could see the delivery guys dismantling the tarps and picking up the flooring. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Edna's birthday celebration had been cancelled. The longer Rosalie sat there, the more her stomach growled. She was starving, yet she couldn't move until something began to make sense. The fact that Edna's things were found in a dead woman's house had made the thrill of kissing Chance Sterling short-lived. It also made Rosalie's anxiety return with a vengeance.

There was light knocking on her door. "Hello?" a small voice called.

Rosalie knew that soon she would have to face either Penelope or Susan, who she had seen on the grass not too long ago directing delivery men.

She stood and calmly walked over to open the door. As soon as she saw Teresa standing there, she relaxed.

"Oh, hi," Rosalie said.

"Would you like breakfast in here?"

Rosalie looked around the grand room. She felt as if she were imprisoning herself just so she wouldn't run into Penelope or Susan. "Um... no. I'll just go into town and get myself some breakfast, but thanks for asking."

There was something about the way Teresa stood there a few seconds too long, looking into her eyes, that made Rosalie think there was a conversation the woman wanted to have. Rosalie always loved when potential witnesses wanted to talk even though they knew they weren't supposed to. By the looks of it, Teresa definitely fell into that position.

"You heard about the officers' visit this morning?" Rosalie asked.

"Yes, I do. I cannot believe it," Teresa said.

"Do you know if anyone saw Edna leave on Thursday night?" Rosalie asked.

Teresa shook her head timidly. The way her lips were pressed together indicated that she wanted to cry.

"Has she ever left before without telling anyone?"

"Mm..." Teresa frowned thoughtfully. "Yes, she has."

Rosalie felt a victorious sensation pulse through her body. "Really? Do you know where she went?"

"She never says."

"Do you have thoughts about where she may have gone?"

Teresa looked down at the floor.

"Whatever you say stays between us," Rosalie assured her.

The maid lifted her face and shrugged. "I don't know."

Suddenly, Rosalie's cell phone rang. "Excuse me, sorry."

She rushed over to her purse, which was sitting on the chaise, and dug out her phone.

"Hello," she said as she answered the call, but then she kicked herself for not checking to see who it was first.

She still didn't want to talk to Dennis until she returned to work on Tuesday. She was definitely going to resign. There was no doubt in her mind that Chance was going to find a spot for her at Lord and Lord Enterprises. However, that kiss they had shared earlier was a glaring indication that their attraction for each other presented a conflict of interest. But she wanted the new job more than a new relationship. So she was ready to talk about it with Chance like two adults would and move forward accordingly.

"Rosalie. This is Frederick Holland."

She straightened her posture. "Oh." She felt relieved yet surprised to hear from him.

"I need you to leave the house without being seen. A car will be waiting for you along the service entrance."

She blinked rapidly as she shook her head. "But why?"

"You'll find out soon."

She wanted to ask where the car was taking her, but Teresa was hanging on her every word. By the sound of it, Frederick wanted her to maintain some secrecy.

"Okay."

He ended the call.

"I have to go," she said to Teresa.

"Should I have Manny bring your car around?"

Rosalie released the tension in her shoulders as she studied the other woman. Teresa was certainly not clueless. As soon as Rosalie left the room, Teresa would know she was being secretive. Rosalie had to trust her enough to disclose certain aspects of the call she'd had with Frederick.

"No. Listen, I have to meet someone. Can I trust you?"

Teresa pressed her hands over her heart and without pause said, "Yes. Absolutely."

"I need to get out of here without being seen. I know Susan and Penelope are here."

"And so are Virginia and Ruby."

Rosalie nodded. "I'm going out the back."

"No. You come with me."

Rosalie picked up her purse and followed Teresa to the narrow bookcase. Teresa pushed it hard, and it slid open, revealing a secret room. They entered then, together, pushed the bookcase back into place. As they walked through a dark hallway, Teresa explained that the old house had many secret rooms, which made it easier for the staff to move about.

Rosalie grunted curiously. Apparently, the secret rooms and hallways made it easier for Edna to move about as well. If she had more time, Rosalie would explore the unknown and see if she could gather any clues that might help explain Edna's disappearance.

Soon, Teresa opened a door, and they were facing a stack of concrete steps.

"You go up, and you'll be in the wine cellar," Teresa said. "The service road is not far away."

Rosalie thanked Teresa and followed her instructions. The wine cellar was cool and dimly lit. She had been in it many times before, so she knew her way out. By the time she stepped outside, it was raining again. A black car with tinted windows was parked along the service road. She put her head down and ran until she reached the back door, opened it, and got in.

The driver turned and faced her. "Good morning," he said.

She studied his face. He was a middle-aged man, who was wearing a red polo shirt. He looked like an average, everyday Joe.

"Fred told me you're taking me somewhere. Where are we going?"

"Sterling Enterprises in San Francisco."

She jerked her head. "Wow. Okay." She sat back in the seat.

The car made a U-turn, and they were on their way to San Francisco.

She would've called Chance, but she didn't have his number. However, she was pretty sure that whatever the reason was she was traveling to San Francisco, it had something to do with Edna's sons and those papers she had signed on Friday. Every cell in her body was on edge. Her instincts told her everything was about to change, only she didn't know how much.

The driver didn't speak during the entire forty-five-minute drive, and she didn't ask any questions. She was too nervous. City traffic was always congested on Saturdays. When they finally reached Sterling Enterprises, the car pulled into a subterranean parking garage.

Rosalie was shaking uncontrollably by the time the car stopped in front of the elevators.

"You can get out here," the driver said. "Security will meet you in the lobby on the twenty-fifth floor."

Her mouth fell open. "Security?"

He turned to face her. "Yes, ma'am." He looked serious.

There was no time to let fear rule her. Rosalie nodded, got out of the car, and entered the elevators.

Sterling Enterprises held the top five floors of the mirrored- window building. She had never really been able to stomach being so far off the ground. And the higher the elevator soared, the loopier her head felt. When the doors opened, Fred Holland and two burly men in black suits were waiting for her.

She frowned. "What's going on, Fred?"

"Follow me." He turned and started walking.

Rosalie's legs were turning to jelly. A lot of the offices were cleared out. There was an emptiness in the air that she had never felt inside the offices of Sterling Enterprises.

They reached the door of the conference room. She could hear the Sterling brothers barking at each other behind it.

"Don't sit," Frederick whispered. "Stand by the door."

She nodded wildly.

"And brace yourself."

"For what?"

He shrugged and quickly opened the door.

All eyes fell on them. Chance cocked his head, looking surprised to see her. His face was strained, as though he hadn't slept all night.

"What are you doing here?" Baylor asked.

He seemed to be in good spirits. Doug, however, appeared as if he'd swallowed a box of tacks.

Frederick strolled confidently to the head of the table and stood beside a young man with dark hair and preppy looks.

Frederick handed the guy papers. "Daniel Steiner, this is for you."

Daniel took the sheets and started reading them. Rosalie and Chance kept eye contact.

"Your actions have triggered article 13455," Fred explained.

"Wait, there's a separation of the Sterling and Campbell assets?" Daniel Steiner asked while still reading.

"Yes."

Daniel looked completely caught off guard. "How?"

"The action was triggered when the attempt to remove Mrs. Sterling from her seat without her consent was made."

"What? My mother resigned, and now she's missing. That sounds like abandonment to me," Baylor said.

"She hadn't officially resigned," Frederick said.

"But she is missing," Carlton said with a tortured look on his face. He was checkmated, and he knew it.

"You definitely will be able to control assets that transfer to you by the will of Conrad Bartholomew Sterling."

"We know this," William said. "So what the hell are you doing here?"

Rosalie felt as if she wanted to faint. Suddenly, Edna's story about the deal her father had made with Andrew Sterling all those years ago made sense.

"Andrew James Sterling's assets total sixteen million dollars?" Daniel asked, reading from the document.

"Stuart Campbell's assets total 18.9 billion," Frederick said. "Two and a half hours ago, a vote was taken in this room, and a motion was filed with the state of California. Following that vote to enact the decree of abandonment, wherein Chance Radcliffe Sterling cast his selection for Douglas Benjamin Sterling, Chance Radcliffe Sterling will now be assigned the position of appointed CEO. Rosalie Allison Stetson has been named chief chairman indefinitely or until she recommends her seat to Chance Radcliffe Sterling." Frederick looked directly at Chance. "Your grandmother felt that you were too influenced by your father."

Rosalie felt as if she was in some sort of movie, and she wasn't sure if it was a good one or a really bad one. Was it a comedy, a drama, or both?

Chance snorted facetiously as he shot to his feet. "You knew about this, didn't you?" he asked Rosalie.

She repeatedly shook her head. "No."

He didn't believe her. She could tell by the look in his eyes.

"I'm out of here." He rushed past her and out of the room.

Rosalie pressed her hand against her heart as it broke. She wanted to run after him and explain herself, but the bone-chilling glares she was receiving from the brothers scared her to death.

Suddenly, one big, burly bodyguard stood on her right side, and the other stood on her left.

The brothers were now threatening to sue and stop the insanity. Their voices melded into one angry, hostile noise. Rosalie couldn't believe she was now chairman of Sterling Enterprises. But the way Frederick Holland was watching her said that she was and she had better get used to it. Only she didn't want to get used to it. She didn't even want a kernel of what she had just been given. And that was why she kept shaking her head.

_No. No. No._

She would rather be dead, and something told her that was certainly an imminent possibility.

And the journey continues. Read the next book in The Sterlings Series Now!

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**Forget Me Never (Pt. 2) Book 7**

# About the Author

Z.L. Arkadie has been an author since July 2011, debuting with her Parched series. She has been a best-selling author in the iBooks store, holding the top spot for two weeks with her LOVE in the USA, series, which is still her most popular series to date. Currently she has written 34 novels, which span 5 series, and is now working on her 6th romance series. She enjoys merging erotic romance with a solid mystery. Her favorite characters to write are sexy, strong and brooding men who find love with beautiful, independent and smart women.

When she's not writing, she loves to cook and read good books, which have the power to take her somewhere she's never been.

_For more information:_

zlarkadiebooks.com

contact@zlarkadiebooks.com

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