The articles are worse. They speak of “unnamed sources close to Annabelle Key” who told them everything. I was apparently a great stripper and an even more fabulous escort. Many speculated on which of the rich and powerful I’ve slept with and what attracted Elliot to me. Most imply it’s sex…or maybe I’m pregnant, like Ryder’s wife Paige.
I drop the phone on the bed as my heart pounds, sweat slick on my palms.
How in the world did this get out?
Annabelle Underhill’s sneer pops in my head, but I dismiss it. She doesn’t know anything about me. There’s no way she could’ve leaked all this information.
Caroline.
My former roommate is the only one who could’ve sold me out, spinning the information so I would end up looking as horrible as possible. She was determined to capitalize on my marriage to Elliot.
Bile rises in my throat, and I click my teeth together. I grossly underestimated how far Caroline would go…and how much interest the media would have in me.
I pull myself together and get up. I need to tell Elliot in case he hasn’t seen this mess yet. He deserves to hear it from me.
As for Nonny, I have no idea what I’m going to say to her. This is the kind of thing I wanted to keep her away from. But now that’s going to be impossible.
But first things first.
I go downstairs. Elliot is seated in an armchair by a couch and watches me approach. He is in the same white V-neck shirt and dark shorts from earlier, his feet bare.
“We need to talk,” I start, my voice quavering. Then I stop, unsure how to proceed.
He doesn’t say anything. But he keeps staring, his gaze unreadable. Cold spreads over me, and I shiver.
“Have you seen the arti
cles?” I ask, my stomach knotting painfully. His somber expression and the heavy, steady look remind me of the time when my dad told me he lost everything—that his company was a sham.
“Yes.” His voice is so soft. “Is that all you want to talk about?”
What does he mean?
Panic unfurls in my chest. Is this about Dennis? He threatened to act against me if I didn’t stop his company from investigating him again, even though I have no control over Omega Wealth Management. If he did contact Elliot… God only knows what he might’ve told my husband. At the same time, Elliot is a smart man. He wouldn’t believe everything my ex told him. Or would he?
“What do you mean?” I lick my suddenly dry lips. I feel like the floor’s shifting underneath my feet.
“Is there anything else you’re hiding?”
“Elliot…I can’t tell you what you want to know if you don’t explain.”
He takes a long breath. “Who is Larry Grayson and why has he been paying you every month for the last thirteen months?”
Shock freezes me, then my knees shake. How does my husband know about him? Did Mr. Grayson try something with Elliot? “He’s…” A lump lodges in my throat, and I swallow, trying to get it to go away. Apprehension beats in my chest, and I clasp my hands together for courage. “He said he worked for an insurance company. He came to see me in Vegas to make sure I got money from my father’s life insurance policy.”
“Insurance companies don’t generally pursue beneficiaries.”
I flinch at his hard voice. “I know that now. It isn’t every day I’m a bene—”
“Why did he get you the job at the strip club when it was obvious you were bad at it?”
Elliot knows everything. I close my eyes for a brief moment. “I needed a job…and he said you needed a wife.”
His gaze sharpens. “He knew that?”
I drop my gaze and look away. “Yes.” I’m too humiliated to look at him. Now that he’s questioning me, I see starkly how naïve and silly I’ve been.
“And you didn’t think it was important to mention that?”