Show Time (Juniper Ridge Romantic Comedies #1) - Tawna Fenske Page 0,80

to have some guy trailing me around the compound like a creepy stray dog?”

He doesn’t answer, but I see his jaw clench and unclench. That’s answer enough for me.

“I see.” So, he did plan to keep me in the dark. “Don’t you think that’s the sort of thing to share with me? If I’m under surveillance—if my sister’s under surveillance or possibly in danger—”

“She’s not in danger.”

“You don’t know that!” Fear and fury makes my voice quiver, and I order myself to breathe. To dial it back and focus on facts. “What have you learned?” I ask. “The knife, were there any prints?”

He hesitates. “No prints. Not on the knife, and not on the photograph.”

Big shocker there. Like we’ve said all along, this guy is a master at not getting caught. “What else? What aren’t you telling me?”

Again with the hesitation. He stares at me for ten, fifteen seconds without saying a word. Then he slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone. As I watch, he taps the screen a few times, then hands it over.

“Why are you—oh.” I feel the blood drain from my face as I stare at the screen. My fingers tingle as I stare at the insignia of the American Institute of Certified Public Accountants.

It’s a copy of a complaint. A complaint filed the day after I took the CPA exam. I know the words by heart, but I force myself to read them again anyway.

Suspicion of misconduct.

Candidate accused of concealing notes.

Full investigation to include…

I hand the phone back. I don’t need to read any more. “Where did you get that?”

Dean shoves the phone back in his pocket, never breaking eye contact. “It showed up in my email. Anonymous sender.”

“When?”

He hesitates. “Last night. After you’d gone to bed.”

I stare at him, waiting for him to ask me about it. Waiting for him to tell me he didn’t see the email until just now. Or that he had a good reason for not asking me about it last night. Or this morning when we woke up together or he kissed me goodbye or—

“I’ve already talked with Lana,” he says, and my jaw falls open.

“What?”

“Her specialty is crisis management and image control. She knows how to get on top of this sort of thing before it can do damage. I have a meeting with her at—”

“Wait, what?” I stare at him. “You get an anonymous email suggesting I cheated on the CPA exam, and your first conversation isn’t with me?”

He closes his eyes for a few seconds. “With a TV show that’s shopping for sponsors, we need to control potential scandals. To get out ahead of it so—”

“I don’t believe this.” I blink hard, surprised to realize my eyes are watering. “You could have asked me about it. Hell, you could have called the AICPA.”

I’d have been pissed about that, too, but Lana? She’s the closest friend I’ve made at Juniper Ridge, and Dean just told her I’m a cheat.

The lump in my throat is now a cannonball. I can’t speak. I can’t even wrap my head around the turn this has taken.

“Cheating’s nothing to mess around with.” Dean’s jaw clenches, and I know he’s not talking about how things play on TV. This is personal, I can see that. “We need to take it seriously.”

“I take it pretty damn seriously myself.” The rancid stew of hurt and fury is bubbling in my gut. “More seriously than you, considering this is my life we’re talking about here.”

“Look, Vanessa.” He takes a step toward me, then stops. “The fact that that this email doesn’t faze me—that I can put the whole thing aside—doesn’t that tell you how I feel about you?”

I gape at him. “You expect me to be flattered by this?”

He closes his eyes again, dragging a hand through his hair. “This is not how this is supposed to go.”

“Because it’s not your narrative to control!” I’m shouting again, and I hate that. My only comfort is that his eyes are still closed, so he can’t see the tear slip down my cheek.

Another one falls, and I dash it away. He hasn’t asked a single question. Hasn’t given me a chance to explain or defend myself or offer one tiny shred of input on my own situation.

I take a step back and Dean opens his eyes. “Where are you going?”

“Leaving.”

“I can see that.” He frowns. “Vanessa, I can fix this.”

“I’m not asking you to fix anything, Dean!” I take another step back. And another,