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“Oh, no. I didn’t want them to drag you into this.”
“It’s fine,” she says distractedly, reading the article. “It was bound to happen at some point.”
She’s right. It really was. I was just hoping it would be a while from now. Once Vivian was back and Emma was unattached from Bishop Industries.
I skim the screen, realizing Tiffany did some serious digging. Emma’s age, where she went to school, even her Etsy shop. Does the woman have no shame? What a complete invasion of privacy. How’d she find this stuff out so quickly? Those photos were taken last night.
But it’s not till Greg Montague’s name jumps out at me that I seriously take notice. Emma seems to reach that part at the same time, her body stiffening on my lap.
“Connor, I—”
“Hold on.” I finish reading the paragraph, more confused than ever. “It says a public records search revealed the home you live in is owned by Greg Montague.”
She’s silent, hands moving to grip my arm, still around her waist.
“Is he your landlord or something?” Wait. That doesn’t make sense. “No, you said you didn’t know who he was.” Back when she had first mentioned finding files about the buyout.
“That’s what I started to tell you earlier,” she whispers, clutching my arm tightly. “He’s my dad.”
A faint ringing sounds in my ear, but it’s not a phone this time. It’s the room going out of focus for a moment. “What?”
“I wanted to tell you—”
I lurch out of the chair, tumbling her off my lap. “You lied to me?”
She turns around, her face splotchy, twin spots of bright red on her cheeks and the rest leached of color. “I can explain. And I should have said something before now, yes—”
“You acted like you didn’t know him.” And I’d completely believed her, no reason to doubt anything she’d claimed.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“You said I should buy his company.” Twice, if I remember right. The second time just after we…
My stomach reels. She wouldn’t have… Is it possible she only started things up with me to ask about her Dad’s company? Was it all a lie?
“I didn’t have a choice,” she pleads. “He made me.”
He made her? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I stumble back, unsure of what’s happening right now. “How could you not say something? How much did you lie about?”
She steps closer, reaching for me. “Connor, I’m still the same person. This doesn’t have to change anything.”
Doesn’t have to change anything? I don’t even know who she is anymore. “Were you working for your dad the whole time or something?”
She crosses her arms over her chest, hunching into herself. “I already decided I wouldn’t ask you about Montague Media again. It was a stupid mistake and I’m sorry. I never wanted to deceive you but my back was up against a wall.”
I stare at her, unsure if I’m really seeing her, if this whole thing isn’t a bad dream. “I think you should leave.”
A single tear trails down her cheek, and she hastily brushes it away. “Can we please talk this through? I promise I was going to tell you everything. I was trying to before Angelina called. And I don’t want to leave things like this between us.”
I run a hand through my hair, gripping the strands till it aches. “I can’t look at you right now.”
She lets out a hiccuping sob, my barb hitting its target. And even though I knew it would hurt, I still don’t expect the pain that flares in my own chest.
“Am I fired?” she whispers, staring down at her shoes.
She’s only here for a week and a half longer. Maybe Vivian will come back early if I beg. “I think that’s for the best.”