tagging on the adjacent property—a piece he’d talked the owner into selling so he could make it a package deal.
“Still nothing?” Burke couldn’t help but ask.
“Nada,” Duke replied. “Let me make sure I didn’t miss anything.” A moment of quiet filled the space, and then Duke was back on the line. “Nope. Man, I hate waiting.”
“Five minutes,” Zander announced.
“So tell me what you’re going to do when you see Justine,” Duke said.
Burke opened his mouth, prepared to answer that question, when his mind went blank. “I guess it depends on whether or not this guy takes the offer.”
“Not really,” Zander said. “The only way to start out a make-up conversation with a woman is with two words—I’m sorry.”
Burke nodded. “Of course, yes. That’s…I am sorry.”
“So you’ve got to tell her,” Duke said through the line.
“I will. I’ll tell her I’m sorry for not telling her about the property. And that I’m sorry for not yanking the listing like I thought about doing once I started to fall for her.”
“That’s good.” Zander nodded.
“Yeah, that’s good,” echoed Duke. “Oh man, James is calling me right now. Should I get it?”
Burke and Zander answered in unison. “Of course you should get it.”
“Kidding. I know. I’m getting it. Hold onto your seats, boys. Now is the moment of truth.”
Chapter 29
Justine stared at the crowd gathered outside the county library. Worse. So much worse than she thought it’d be. But they weren’t at the entry; instead, the paparazzi with all their cameras and mics were crowding the walkway to the place just next door.
It took only a moment for Justine to see why. Signs were lined up out front, every few feet along the outside of the building: Due to the anticipated increase of attendees, today’s meeting will be held at the outdoor amphitheater next door.
One glance beyond the crew out front said the seated area was packed. Surprising, since the county’s amphitheater was much larger than the one in Piney Falls. A spark of fear flittered through her at the sight. She was, along with Burke, at the center of all of this.
But Burke wasn’t there. It wasn’t his job to be there. So, all she had to do was lift her chin, put on a happy—
“Hey, Brittany, over here!” shouted a man with a mic.
What? Justine’s eyes widened as she scanned the crowd from her quiet car. One end, the next, and then—boom—right there, front and center, was the she-devil herself in a bright yellow stretchy skirt and matching heels.
The group swarmed around her with mics extended and cameras rolling. “Can you tell us what you plan to do at today’s meeting?” one man asked.
Brittany threw a hand over her chest and grinned. “Oh, yes. I plan…”
That did it. That did it. Justine was not going to watch that woman soak up one more minute of fame if there was anything she could do about it. She pushed open the door, hurried out of her truck, and slammed it closed. She’d worn her pencil skirt, nude colored heels, and a button up blouse.
She moved confidently, purposefully toward the walkway, wondering when the first person would notice.
“It’s her,” came one voice before the thought left her mind.
“Justine’s here. Move, move!”
At once, the swarm pulled away from Brittany and rushed in a wave toward Justine. In seconds they created a massive horseshoe around her.
“Were you in love with Burke Benton?” one asked.
“Yes,” she admitted without a pause. She was not ashamed of that.
“Did you help him sell the property to D & L Factories by agreeing to keep it quiet and therefore allowing them to prematurely break ground?” A mic came very close to her lips.
“Not at all,” she said, working to maintain short, hurried steps. The crowd moved with her.
“Why did you lie and say he was your fiancé?” another asked.
Justine pinched her lips closed, not wanting to discuss the frustrations she’d had with Gramps. This wasn’t his fault.
“Why did you say you were engaged when you weren’t?”
“You seem capable of finding a man yourself,” one added. “Why not do that instead?”
Stupid question. Next.
“Do you think Burke is in love with you?”
Her face flashed with heat. She nearly stopped walking altogether at the blow. “I’m not sure.”
“But you weren’t engaged,” a guy with thick glasses said before shoving the mic toward her.
“No.”
“Did you meet his family? The Bentons?”
“Did you know he was a billionaire when you started dating?”
“No,” she said.
“No, you didn’t meet his family or…”
The unmistakable squeal of screeching tires tore from the