Nick’s POV
"Let help you unpack your suitcase, since Wendy’s still busy with the dishes," I offered, watching Georgia sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Katie, coloring.
She lifted her head, brow arched, lips curving in that way that always made my blood stir. "Are you sure? There’s no need. I can manage."
"I want to," I said firmly. "It’s still early, and this house is massive for the two of you to clean. The less you have to worry about, the better."
She laughed—soft, musical, teasing. And I had no damn idea what was so funny.
"Why are you laughing?" I asked.
Her eyes glead with mischief. "Are you planning to stay here tonight?"
The thought hadn’t crossed my mind until she said it. Now it lit up like fire.
"Well..." I leaned back with a smirk. "If you insist, I’ve got my things in the car. I wouldn’t mind staying. I accept your offer."
That was so shaless of . But I don’t mind being shaless if it’s for her.
Her jaw dropped, color rushing to her cheeks. "What?!" she blurted, half shocked, half amused, and entirely too tempting. She could deny it all she wanted, but her eyes gave her away—she wanted here.
"I didn’t—" she started, but Wendy’s voice cut through the mont as she strode in like a general on the battlefield.
"You should stay," Wendy declared. "We need a man around here—for safety, and for heavy lifting. Are you handy?"
I straightened, pride sparking through . "I’m a sailor. Of course I’m handy."
"Good. There’s a leak under the sink. Fix it." She didn’t ask—she commanded, like she owned .
And maybe for a second, she did. But I didn’t mind. Hell, I liked it. It was the perfect chance to prove to Georgia I wasn’t just so spoiled rich kid who only knew how to fuck won. I could take care of things. Take care of her.
I stood, giving Georgia a wicked grin. "I’ll be right back. Gotta follow the madam’s orders, or she’ll kick out before I’ve had the chance to spend ti with you."
Georgia gasped, Katie giggled, and their laughter followed down the hall like a promise.
I crouched under the sink, ran my hand along the pipe, and let out a low breath. "This isn’t just loose—it needs to be replaced. Do you have a spare?"
Wendy shook her head. "None. But while you’re at it, check the faucet in Georgia’s room. That one’s been dripping too."
Her room.
The words alone sent a ripple of heat down my spine. I nodded, wiping my hands, and followed Wendy down the hallway.
When she pushed the door open, my chest tightened. I’d imagined her room countless tis—soft pinks, maybe lavender, sothing girly and sweet that matched the way she pretended to brush off. But reality hit harder than I expected.
It wasn’t what I had pictured at all.
White walls kissed with earthy browns, touches of green that pulled life into every corner, and darker shades draped across her sheets, grounding it all in sothing bold, sensual, intimate. Her room didn’t whisper. It breathed. It pulsed. It scread her.
I stepped in, drawn to it like I was trespassing into her soul.
Behind , Wendy chuckled softly, and I realized too late that she’d been watching devour the room with my eyes.
"Surprised?" she asked knowingly.
I scratched the back of my neck, caught but unashad, and nodded.
"She’s not into girly things," Wendy explained, her gaze wandering around the room with affection. "Plants and flowers are her weakness, though. Speaking of which, you’ll help bring all the pots back inside.
Georgia set up a whole system in the garden—tirs, watering, the works. Honestly, I think she’d make a better farr than running that company."
Her words made smirk, but they also pulled deeper into this pull I had for Georgia. Because every piece of her—this room, that garden, the way she built things quietly and carefully—was nothing like I expected. And everything I wanted.
By the ti I finished checking everything Wendy had pointed out, I finally understood why she wanted here. The house wasn’t just ssy—it was a battlefield.
Four bulbs burned out, pipes leaking, faucets dripping in three bathrooms, a broken doorknob in the basent, a busted hinge in the cabinet, and even a damn flat tire waiting to be changed.
It was overwhelming, sure, but I wasn’t about to complain. If Wendy thought the work would keep too tired to think about Georgia tonight, she was dead wrong. Nothing could keep away from her.
"Where’s the nearest hardware?" I asked, standing and wiping my hands. "I’ll pick up everything we need."
"I’ll co with you," Wendy replied quickly, grabbing her bag. "I need so cleaning supplies anyway."
We told Georgia we’d be gone for a bit, then slipped out and drove off. The ride was quiet at first, but I could feel there was more on Wendy’s mind than leaking faucets.
Halfway down the road, she finally spoke, her tone clipped but sharp with purpose.
"I heard from your sister and Ella what happened," she began. "This stays between us. I trust you’ll know how to use it. I didn’t tell Georgia because I didn’t want to burden her with sothing uncertain. But you..." she turned her eyes on , fierce, unwavering, "...you have the power and the money to act."
Her next words sent a jolt through .
"I believe Raymond and Nancy had a hand in David’s death. If not directly, then they were part of it."
No hesitation. No doubt in her voice. Just cold, cutting certainty.
And ? I wasn’t shocked—not entirely. So dark part of had always suspected it. But hearing it aloud forced the question I’d been burying.
If they killed David... did they also set up?
Or... Was I just a drunken fool at the wrong place and wrong ti—or the perfect scapegoat they had been waiting for?
*******
Thank you for the Golden Tickets!
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SamTe2
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