over twenty-five thousand dollars. Perhaps he’d wanted a minor share.
Perhaps her father had invited a friend along on his venture.
Emerson pressed against her temples with her fingertips. Her brain was going to explode.
Connor had been right about one thing in that document. His father had been involved. And if that was what was fueling the consideration to acquire the distillery, she had a modicum of sympathy for Donovan.
But to continue a grudge over thirty years was messed up.
Either way, she had it in writing from Donovan that the distillery was to keep the money.
And she had no intention of handing over any part of the distillery in return.
Connor peered one last time through Emerson’s living room window before climbing back into his car.
Two stupid hours he’d spent, trying to do the right thing before he left work, only to find a bigger mess waiting for him outside. Whatever Emerson had seen, whatever she thought she knew, needed discussing. He needed to apologize and come clean. And he needed for her to see things as they were.
That he was madly in love with her.
Whatever had happened in the past was the past.
He’d driven home after his altercation with his father, deciding to check there first. He’d given Emerson his spare key to let herself in before they went out to dinner on Saturday, on the off chance he was out, and she hadn’t returned it. Given his condo was on his way out of town, it made sense to check there first.
He’d debated where to look next. He’d tried her phone a couple more times and messaged.
When she hadn’t gotten back to him, he’d driven over to the distillery. Olivia had told him that Emerson had left for home due to a headache. From the cheery greeting, Emerson hadn’t told Olivia anything about her message to him. And he didn’t want to borrow trouble by asking.
Instead, he’d driven over to her house. And here he was now, like a fucking peeping Tom, peering in through her windows even though her car wasn’t in the driveway and there wasn’t a single light on inside the place.
Although, if she had a headache, perhaps she’d taken a car service home, or perhaps Jake had dropped her off. The lights would be off if she had a headache, right?
He tried her cellphone one more time, not surprised when it went into voicemail again. What if she were really sick? What if she were asleep? Either way, he should be with her, taking care of her, with or without the bomb that had exploded between them.
Wait.
It came to him where she was. He started the car and began the short drive to her father’s house.
Liv said Emerson had “gone home.” She referred to both her own house and her father’s place that way.
Home.
A place he’d never really understood until he’d met Emerson.
As he pulled onto her father’s street, he saw Emerson’s car on the driveway and the lights burning in the house.
Relief flooded through him—at least she was safe and hadn’t driven off the road or any of the other horrible things he’d imagined.
Connor parked the car and jogged up to the steps, knocking twice before he opened the door and stepped inside.
“Em?” he shouted. “It’s Connor. Where are you?”
There was a moment before Emerson stepped out of her father’s office. Her eyes looked puffy. She’d been crying.
“Are you okay?” He took a step towards her, to pull her into his arms, but she put her hands up to stop him.
“We need to talk,” she said bluntly before turning to walk into the kitchen.
He heard the faucet, and when he followed her, he saw her sipping a glass of water. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your call straight away,” he said. “I can explain later, but I want to know what you saw.”
Emerson placed her glass on the counter and reached into her purse. She pulled out a document, and he immediately realized what she had in her hand.
Fuck.
Not only was it the proposal document, it was his copy of the document. With his writing on the cover.
Cameron had done this. He was going to fucking hang him out to dry when he was done. He’d see to it that no one would hire him. It was still killing Connor that he didn’t know how Cameron knew.
Then he looked up and, seeing the hurt in Emerson’s eyes, made a promise to himself. When this was over, Cameron would be ruined.
“Em,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I