Chapter 2

Gianna's POV:

Arthur Garner was holding a paper bag from the local bakery in one hand and a red velvet box in the other.

When I unlocked the door, he took off his sodden hat. He looked exhausted, his weathered face carrying every one of his fifty-five years.

“Gianna,” Arthur said, his tone flat and hesitant. “Can I come in for five minutes?”

“No,” I said, my hand still braced against the door. “Whatever Jadon told you, Arthur, it's not happening.”

Arthur sighed and pushed the door open just wide enough to squeeze his shoulder through into the drafty entryway. He set the red velvet box on the reception desk.

“Jadon Phillips called my office at six this morning,” Arthur said, staring down at his badly worn boots. “He's bought the mortgage on my freight company. The debt on my three refrigerated trucks is in his hands now too. If I don't sign the marriage certificate by Friday, he'll declare me in default first thing Monday morning and take the trucks.”

I stared hard at him, aware of the cold air seeping in around the door.

“So you agreed to buy me, to save your trucks?” I demanded.

Arthur's face colored with shame, but his jaw stayed set.

“Gianna, I've got twenty-four local men on my payroll who feed their families on those wages,” Arthur said in his own defense. “My daughter starts college this fall. I buried my wife two years ago and I am still paying the hospital for it. At my age, I can't afford to go bankrupt. I can't start over. Jadon's offer is three hundred thousand in commercial credit the moment the license is signed. He says it gives you a home, and it gives me a wife.”

“I'm not a piece of coastal real estate, Arthur,” I said, my voice rising. “I'm twenty-eight. You're older than my father was when he died.”

“I won't mistreat you,” Arthur said, stepping closer. “You can have the guest wing. Live your own life. But the wedding has to happen. Phillips doesn't leave a man room to bargain, and you know his temper.”

“The man I knew was called Jay,” I said, my chest tightening. “I don't know this monster who bought your debts.”

Arthur reached for my arm; I flung his hand off.

“Gianna, be sensible,” Arthur pleaded. “You're holding on to a failing motor inn that barely breaks even in summer. Winter's coming. What are you going to heat it with? Take the trust. Live quietly. It's the best offer you'll ever get.”

“Get out,” I said, snatching up the red velvet box and hurling it out onto the gravel porch. “Take your bread and get off my property, or I'll call Sheriff Miller.”

“Miller can't help you,” Arthur said, retreating into the drizzle. “Two hours ago Phillips made a huge donation to the county search-and-rescue fund. The whole town is talking about his generosity. Nobody's going to stand against him for you.”

I slammed the door and locked it again.

I didn't cry.

There was no time to cry. I picked up the blue leather contract, folded it in half, and walked quickly out to my pickup. I drove straight to the harbor. The Phillips Global field office was set up in the coastal yacht club.

The guard at the gate tried to stop me, but I drove my rusted Ford straight through the barrier and parked crooked across two spaces marked for executives. I took the stone steps up to the clubhouse at a run.

Jadon was standing on the second-floor terrace with four men in bespoke suits around him, and two local selectmen were laughing at something he'd said.

He held a crystal tumbler of amber Scotch in his right hand. I walked straight down the corridor and out onto the terrace. The laughter stopped dead.

The selectmen took in my mud-caked work boots and faded flannel shirt, then glanced at Jadon in discomfort. Jadon didn't move. He took a slow sip of his drink and set the glass down on the glass-topped rail.

“Gianna,” he said, his voice low and composed. “You shouldn't have driven that wreck out here. It's dripping oil all over the club's driveway.”

I pulled the thick contract from under my arm and slammed it into his chest. The heavy pages hit his dark silk tie and scattered, fluttering across the polished teak floor.

“I will never sign your papers,” I said loudly, loud enough for everyone on the terrace to hear. “And I will never marry Arthur Garner.”

Jadon didn't even glance at the pages on the floor. He looked at me with a faint, weary irritation, the way an adult looks at a child throwing a tantrum.

“Arthur went to see you,” Jadon stated. “He explained the terms.”

“He explained them all right — he said you're blackmailing him with a commercial loan!” I shot back. “You're buying me a husband because you're afraid your society friends will ask why the woman who washed your shirts for four years is still living ten miles from your summer estate!”

One of the selectmen cleared his throat and retreated toward the glass doors. Jadon didn't turn his head; he simply raised a hand and dismissed them.

“Give us five minutes,” he ordered.

They scurried inside like startled mice and slid the glass door shut behind them. Jadon walked toward me until he stood less than two feet away.

“You think this is about my reputation, Gianna?” he murmured. “It's about keeping you alive. No education, no family worth the name, no one to turn to, holding on to a motel whose mortgage is worth more than the building. I'm giving you ten million dollars. For someone like you, that's a fortune that will shelter your family for generations.”

“Someone like me?” I spat. “The someone who pulled you out of the sea? The someone who pulled sea urchin spines out of your infected back one by one while you screamed in your sleep? The someone who spoon-fed you potato soup for six weeks because the fever had you too weak to hold a spoon?”

“And I'm paying you for the soup,” Jadon said coldly. “Call it two and a half million a year in nursing fees. No nurse on this planet has ever been paid so well.”

I raised my hand and slapped him. The crack of it rang across the empty terrace like a whip.

Jadon's head snapped to the right.

He didn't shout.

He just turned his face back, slowly. A faint red mark rose on his cheekbone, but his eyes were black, cold flint.

“Friday morning at the latest,” Jadon said, his voice calm enough to be frightening. “If you're not standing in the Garner chapel, I'll have your uncle's fishing licenses seized and every living relative you have in this county stripped of their assets. You will marry Arthur, Gianna. Because I believe it's the best thing for you, and because no one has ever said no to me.”

I stepped back, putting distance between us.

“You're a coward, Jadon Phillips,” I said quietly. “When you were just a man with a bullet in his side, you were more of a man.”

I turned, walked quickly down the stairs, started the truck, and drove off without once looking in the mirror.