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“Would you prefer I give you a monthly allowance, a sprawling estate in Montana, and your own security detail?”

“My grandfather didn’t manipulate. He was a generous man.”

“He sheltered you. Indulged you. He cut off your wings with his billions, not giving you the chance to soar above the clouds like you used to.”

“Like I used to? Have you been keeping tabs on me?”

“Since Jack took you in.”

“All these years you’ve been watching me and I never knew. Were you or your men there the night I was kidnapped? Did you ‘orchestrate’ my kidnapping?”

“Never. I would never inflict that kind of pain on you. It was my words that drove Maya into that bastard’s arms. He knew my weakness, and my weakness is control over everything, including my children’s lives. Maya hated being controlled.”

“We all do, Cillian. If you loved her, stop controlling what happens in my life.”

The SUV parks in front of a high school. The men get out first. Hale is seated in the front passenger seat. He opens my door and extends his hand to me. Ever since what happened at the nightclub, he’s been moody. Calm and professional one minute. Brooding and possessive the next, just like now. His grip on my hand is tight as he helps me out of the SUV.

His hand on the small of my back is possessive as he guides me to the school’s entrance. The other guards flank our sides or trail behind us, having our backs. The second SUV pulled into the lot soon after we parked. A third, filled with more men, waits in the parking lot. They’ll be on the lookout for any trouble, and will notify Shane, the head guard, right away.

If Cillian keeps this up, traveling in a pack, the residents of this poor neighborhood will snap our pictures and sell the pictures to the tabloids for a quarter of a million or so. An idea pops into my head.

While Cillian shakes hands with who I think is the principal, I pretend I’m rummaging in my bag for lip gloss, and rapid fire Collins a text message.

Me: I’m at Seventh and Broadway. Get lots of shots of me with Cillian and his men. Sell them to the highest bidder

Collins: Woo-hoo! Miss Moneybags is in the house

Me: That’s MRS. Moneybags. I’m a married woman, remember?

Collins: How could I forget? You’ve been gushing about that sexy guy of yours since returning from your honeymoon. Are you still on for Saturday’s party?

Me: Of course. Remind me again how much the Stantons are paying?

Collins: Ten thousand dollars

Me: Up it to twenty.

Collins: You’re getting greedy. I like. A lot. Okay, I’ll send them the new amount. Cross your fingers they’re willing to pay up. If they do, 20K will cover the cost of the party

Good. Long term, I can’t imagine going from party to party and calling it making a living. I want to use my brain and not benefit monetarily from my kidnapping. Same with the pictures that Collins will be selling to the highest bidder. The pictures and the party are temporary fixes for a long-term problem.

What do I want to do with the rest of my life?