The Billionaire’s Forgotten Fiancée (16 page)

“
You can take it
,”
he said
,
shuffling his feet
. “
I broke yours
.”

“
You know how much that thing costs? Mine was old
.
Not worth nearly that much
.”

“
I’m sure it was new and worth quite a bit when you bought it
.”

She crossed her arms
. “
Look
,
I’m not taking this overpriced camera just to make you feel better
.”

He blinked
,
the tension leaving his jaw
. “
You
…
don’t want it?
”

“
This isn’t about me or the camera
.”
Before he could respond
,
she raised a hand
. “
Forget it
.
I didn’t tell my parents
,
so you won’t be called into the principal’s office or get into trouble
,
okay?
”

He shook his head
,
looking a bit mulish
. “
It’s
not
okay
.
I’m not doing this to bribe you
.”
He swallowed
,
then tilted his chin until he was gazing straight into her eyes
. “
I’m sorry
.”

His voice was so low she’d thought she’d imagined it
.
The muscles in his jaw flexed as she gaped at him
. “
Did you say something?
”

“
I’m sorry
,”
he said more loudly
,
the set of his shoulders growing tight
.
He didn’t try to add
“
if you felt offended
”
or
“
if you felt hurt
.”
Just a simple apology
,
and he kept his eyes on hers even as a dark flush suffused his cheeks
.

He was honestly
,
genuinely sorry
.

She chewed her lower lip
,
debating what to do as she studied him
.
Her dad often said that what separated the men from the boys was that a man knew when he was wrong
.
And what separated cowards from the brave was the latter were able to acknowledge that they were wrong out loud
.

Shane had always been like that—doing his best to rise above his circumstances. That was the reason she’d opened her heart to him all those years ago, and that was why she still loved him despite everything.

“I honestly don’t know.” She sighed, feeling empty and aching. “There are things that need to be resolved if we’re going to stay together.”

“What are they?”

“They’re—” Her phone buzzed. She glanced over, debating whether to ignore it or take it.

What if it was the investigator? She’d asked him to contact her immediately with whatever information he found.

“They’re…?” Shane prompted.

She sighed. “Give me a second.” She reached for the phone, needing to check.

It was the investigator. He’d sent one short text:

Source confirmed
.
Shane Pryce
.

Ginger stared at the text, unsure what it meant. Shane Pryce. There had to be other Shane Pryces out there.

Why would Shane send a set of photoshopped photos to himself from Ohio? It didn’t make any sense.

On the other hand, Debbie had been so confident in the private investigator’s ability. And the PI had no reason to make anything up.

She gripped the edge of the table as her knees started to shake. Spots appeared in her vision, swirling around. A familiar voice called out to her, but it was strangely muted—there seemed to be cotton balls in her ears. Then everything faded away.

When she opened her eyes, she was looking at Shane’s face, which was only a few inches away from hers. His complexion had paled, gone almost bloodless as he stared down at her. Where was she?

She was on a couch—her couch. All her notebooks and things were scattered on the floor. Her lips were dry, and she licked them. “Get me my phone.”

“I can call you a doctor,” Shane said.

“No. My phone.” She winced at how weak and whiny she sounded. But she didn’t have a lot of energy, and she didn’t want to argue.

He brought her the phone from the dining table. She checked the text. It was still there.
Source confirmed
.
Shane Pryce
.

Her fingers shook as she typed a response:
Shane Pryce is the one who made the photos? Is that what you’re saying?

Soon he replied:
Mailed
.
Don’t know who took the photos
.

Do you know which Shane Pryce? There are a lot of people with that name
.

Don’t have the full name
,
but the two middle initials are L
.
A
.

Her stomach churned violently, and she put a hand over her mouth. Unable to wait any longer, she rushed to the bathroom and threw up everything she’d had earlier that day.

“Ginger, are you okay?” Shane rubbed her back, his big hand warm and soothing.

She closed her eyes as they teared up. He seemed to have no idea he was at the center of her misery. Or was that an act too? His medical records said he didn’t remember, but that was based on what he’d told them, not something doctors could check independently. It wasn’t like they could read his mind.

She couldn’t look at him. It made her want to throw up again. She opened her mouth to tell him to leave, but her throat was so raw all she could do was croak, “Get out.”

“Ginger—”

“Get out!” She hung her head, scrunching her eyes shut. “Get out!”

Shane hesitated—she could feel him hovering near her. He had to leave before she did something she didn’t mean to. “Get…out.”

Finally he said, “Call me.” Then with a final pat on her back, he left her apartment.

* * *

What the fuck had happened back there? Shane stopped in front of his car and spun around to face her apartment building. Her unit still had the lights on.

She hadn’t been upset at first, but something had really done a job on her. His instincts were screaming at him to stay with her, but she’d looked like she’d shatter if he breathed wrong. He had to back off, give her some time to recoup before they both did something they’d regret later.

It had to be the text she’d gotten. He should’ve insisted that she ignore it until they got their issues figured out first. He’d been planning to have her move in with him and get rid of her apartment. He’d been fully prepared to tie the knot ASAP.

He needed to know what was in the text to fix the mess. He called Mark. “What does the family do when we want something somewhat shady taken care of?” he asked.

“Uh.” Mark cleared his throat. “What kind of shady stuff are you talking about?”

“I want to look at somebody’s texts.”

“Oh, that kind of stuff.” A short pause. “You, ah, wouldn’t be trying to hack into
Ginger’s
texts or anything, would you?”

“What if I am?”

“It’s better if you don’t. I don’t know what happened between the two of you that you left the States and ignored her, but you can’t have any meaningful relationship if you have to monitor her every move. Not even Dad did that with Mom. If you can’t trust her a hundred percent, then you should stop seeing her.”

“It’s not like that, Mark.”

A sigh. “You’re a smart guy, so I’ll quit nagging.”

“The person I should be calling?” Shane prompted.

“It should be on your phone. Listed under The Man, your nickname for Benjamin Clark.”

Shane thanked Mark and found The Man.

A cold, professional female voice answered. “Yes, Mr. Pryce?”

“I want Ginger Maxwell’s texts for the last three weeks sent over. Her number is…”

Debbie was a true friend. She didn’t wrinkle her nose at the mess that was Ginger’s apartment, she arrived in pajamas…and she came in carrying two cartons of chocolate ice cream and three boxes of Godiva truffles.

“I’m not letting you spend the night alone. We’re having a sleepover, just like back in high school,” Debbie said, explaining away her yellow Winnie the Poo pajamas. “You sounded absolutely wretched over the phone. What’s wrong?” She sat on the couch, giving Ginger a spoon and a carton.

Ginger took a bite of the sinfully rich ice cream. “The investigator your Dad referred me to came through.”

“Okay… That’s good, right?”

Ginger blinked as more tears came. “I don’t know. I wish I’d never tried to find out.”

“Why? What did he say?”

“Shane mailed the pictures.”

“What? Like your fiancé Shane?”

Ginger nodded as her face was too scrunched to speak.

“That rat bastard. Can I set him on fire?”

“No. I don’t want to see you go to jail.”

“If we get even one female juror at my trial, I’ll be acquitted.” Debbie ripped open a box of truffles and handed it to Ginger. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Ginger stuffed a piece into her mouth.

“I knew the Pryce family was messed up, but wow. Shane takes the gold medal for the fucked up asshole division. Who mails himself fake pics of his girlfriend? And for what reason?”

“That’s what I don’t understand. It wasn’t like we were married and he was trying to avoid paying alimony or something. All he had to do was break up with me. It would’ve hurt like hell, but I would’ve moved on.”

“Seriously.” Debbie started to spoon her ice cream up with more fury. “Just because he’s a messed up psycho doesn’t mean everyone else is.” Her face took on a pensive look. “Wow, you know…what he did almost makes Dane look normal.”

Ginger snorted, then sobered. She still couldn’t believe everything had been lies—his courage to be able to say he was sorry when he knew he was wrong even back in high school, and the way he’d been always so true to her. She still loved him.

“Hey,” Debbie said, reading her look. “You dodged a bullet.”

“But it hurts.” Ginger swallowed a big lump. “Instead of feeling relieved, I want to crawl into a hole and never come out.”

“Aw, sweetie.” Debbie hugged her. “It hurts now, but it won’t hurt forever. Just give it some time. There are billions of men out there. Surely there’s one for you.”

“Yeah…you’re right.” But Ginger couldn’t help but think that the only man for her was Shane.

* * *

Source confirmed
.
Shane Pryce
.

Shane Pryce is the one who made the photos? Is that what you’re saying?

Mailed
.
Don’t know who took the photos
.

Do you know which Shane Pryce? There are a lot of people with that name
.

Don’t know his full name
,
but the two middle initials are L
.
A
.

Shane stared at the texts. Whoever had sent them to Ginger was unidentifiable. Probably a burner phone, the report had read.

It had been four days since Ginger kicked him out of her apartment, and the number of questions swirling around in his head was staggering. He didn’t understand what had been meant by “made” the photos. That was an odd way of putting it, and just added to the mystery of why she was so worried about them, and why she’d reacted the way she had three nights ago.

The hollow in his heart grew worse. An attempt at meditation—he’d remembered it was Iain’s favorite way to relax and re-center himself—hadn’t helped. Instead, it had only accentuated how empty he was inside.

If he could just reach that sanctuary… He closed his eyes. He knew it was out there somewhere, but his memory still had too many holes. He threw a book at the wall. “
Damn it!
”

He found his keys in the bottom drawer in his office. The housekeeper had kept his place immaculate, always dusting and vacuuming, wiping things down and putting them away. He’d looked through the photos in the albums, wondering if they contained clues. None of them were bad enough to cause that kind of reaction from Ginger.

There was one place he hadn’t looked yet. Given the rather pricey lock on the door, maybe that was where he’d stored expensive cameras and other equipment. Still, he should check.

The lock clicked, and the door opened silently. Thick curtains were drawn tightly across the windows, and the room was pitch black. He flipped the switch on.

Lights illuminated photos. Lots and lots of them that had been carefully processed and hung. Most were frameless, mounted on stiff canvas, letting the pictures stand on their own.

He traveled slowly along the walls, studying the pictures. Had he taken them all? Was she upset about one of the ones in the room?

Most of them featured Ginger. Her in the sunlight. Her in the shadows. Her gorgeous, bare back. The close up of the smooth lines of her shoulders and collarbones. The black and white shot of her smiling face with only her lips in a vivid bright rose tone. There was one with Ginger lying on a bed of diamonds, her arms crossed over her bare torso.

Every one of them showed her in various moods and states of dress—or undress. He stared at them, like he was seeing Ginger for the first time ever. This was what she’d been to him—his light, the meaning of his life.

His breath rushed out, his knees weakening like pillars of wet sand. What the hell was he doing, trying to figure everything out before approaching her again? That wasn’t fixing the problem; it was
avoiding
the problem because he knew he’d had something to do with her breakdown the other night. Otherwise she wouldn’t have asked him to get out.

He grabbed his car keys. It was one o’clock in the morning, but he didn’t give a damn. He was going to see Ginger now.

Shane pounded on Ginger’s door. He’d considered calling, but he didn’t want to give her time to get her defenses up.
No more walls
, he thought. He was going to talk to her and they were going to get everything sorted out that night.

Finally the door opened, and a petite Asian woman glared up at him. “What do you think you’re doing?” Her arms were crossed and her jaw jutted out, but the tough routine was ruined by her yellow Winnie the Pooh pajamas. “Do you know what time it is?”