Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Dog sitter. Her?
In her mind’s eye, she could see Sig shaking his head. No way, Chlo. Absolutely not.
Was she responsible enough to care for an animal?
God no.
But maybe caring for a living, breathing creature would be a crash course on learning how to be a responsible adult. Maybe if she could keep a dog happy, walked, and fed, she’d feel more capable of being a mentee of this dynamic, motivated woman. Maybe she’d be able to envision herself as first chair for one of the country’s most illustrious orchestras.
Because right now, she couldn’t.
“Sure. I’ll take the pup.” Chloe forced a smile. “How hard can dog parenting be?”
Famous last words.
Chapter Eleven
Sig used his teeth to rip a piece of tape, smoothing the clear adhesive over the opening of a cardboard box containing a signed game jersey. His dining room table was covered in autographed pucks, Bearcats pennants, and one broken stick, made famous by Sir Savage snapping it in half over his leg after a loss to the Rangers. When sold, that stick would catch a decent price. So decent, Sig might have to encourage the captain to break a few more before he officially retired.
Thank God he had this shit to keep him busy, because he hadn’t spoken to Chloe all day and he had a constant sense of something being undone. Like he’d woken up late and missed practice, only worse. Much worse. Did she . . . like the space he was trying to give her?
Disturbed by the possibility, Sig snatched up his phone and called the private investigator for a second time. On his first attempt, he’d left a voicemail, but hours had passed, and he was eager for an update. Way too eager to wait hours for a call back.
Luckily, the guy answered on the second ring. “Mr. Gauthier.”
“Like I said, Sig is fine.”
“That’s right. Sig.” Fingers tapped a keyboard in the background. “I was just getting ready to call you. We might not have the kind of progress you wanted, but we have some answers. Give me a moment to put my notes together.”
Sig tried to swallow the sudden dryness. “Sure.”
He blew out a silent breath at the ceiling. Not for the first time, he experienced a wave of guilt over siccing an investigator on his own father. And by association, his mother, because Niko’s research could inevitably turn up information about her, too. Reminding himself that Harvey had been absent the first eighteen years of his life and that his mother was withholding important details about his past didn’t do much to assuage the unwanted discomfort.
Just because Sofia was a controlling mother and Harvey was a status chaser didn’t make them bad people, did it? If Sig uncovered the means to stop this wedding, would he be able to pull the trigger so easily? Harvey and Sofia seemed genuinely happy with each other. Chloe remarked on it constantly. “My mom is on cloud nine.” If he found something that proved his suspicions that Harvey was a serial swindler, however, he’d be honor bound to bring it to Sofia. Not only to protect Sofia—and Chloe—from financial harm . . . but to stop this marriage from happening.
Sig’s goal from the outset had been to put the brakes on the relationship that was keeping him from Chloe. Was that selfish?
Not if he truly believed his father posed a threat—and he did. Didn’t he?
Sig could still see his mother hobbling through the front door after working the night shift at a gas station. She’d cursed the name Harvey on a daily basis. Blamed him for leaving them penniless and struggling. Sig wasn’t imagining those darker days. He’d lived them.
“All right. Here we go.” Sig braced while Niko took a centering breath, his chair creaking in the background. “I was able to locate Ulla Franklin, your father’s second wife. Took some time to convince her daughter that I’m not the boogeyman, but she finally put Ulla on the horn. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your viewpoint, she only had nice things to say about your father, Harvey. Oh, she said he’s an unrepentant flirt with a taste for the finer things, but . . . she said he didn’t mind signing a prenup. He brought his own money into the marriage and he left with it.”
“He brought my mother’s money into the marriage,” Sig corrected.
“I hear you. Anyhow, according to Ulla, he never made a play for hers. They parted on decent terms, though they lost contact years ago.”
Sig was caught between shock and disappointment. And maybe something else. Just the tiniest hint of relief. Relief at the potential proof that his parent wasn’t a bad guy after all. Relief he didn’t necessarily want to feel. “Is there a way to speak with my mother’s family—”
“Only if you want to go through six lawyers. My initial introduction email was greeted with a threat of a lawsuit. They want nothing to do with an investigation into your father.”