Page 48 of The Next Mrs. Parrish

“Yes, ma’am” was all he said.

Amber walked briskly to the entrance and through the French doors to an airy reception area that resembled a rotunda. The domed ceiling must have been thirty feet high, she thought, and it was magnificently decorated with ornamental plasterwork that cascaded down the walls of the tall ceiling.

Once in her suite, she threw her handbag on the sofa and sat, tapping Jackson’s contact on her phone. It rang twice before he pickedup.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“What, no hello? How are you?” she taunted, lifting her legs and pushing a high heel off each tired foot with the other.

“Oh, sorry. How are you, Amber? How is the weather, and how is your hotel room? How about we cut the shit and get to the point? How did the fucking meeting go?”

She smiled. It was such fun to get him riled up, especially whenshe was sixteen hundred miles away and out of reach. “Well, first of all, Wade Ashford is a pseudomacho misogynist piece of shit.”

There was laughter on the other end of the line. “I’m sure you put him in his place. What about the shares?”

Amber recounted their conversation to Jackson. “If your paroled prison friend Hugo, who can’t leave the state, does his job, we’ll be able to convince Daisy Ann to sell. We need to dangle the idea that some of the royals will be wearing her designs. All she cares about is cachet. That’s why she turned down all that money from Valene Mart. She’s a rich bitch who doesn’t need any more money. But prestige, that’s her hot button. If we play this right, we’ll come out of it with a tidy profit to share.”

“You’re confident Ashford will be able to get her to take the meeting?”

“He’ll figure it out and make it happen to save his own ass. He’s a weasel. And weasels are predators. Do you know that weasels do a little war dance when they’ve cornered their prey? I can just see that son of a bitch Ashford waving his damn shotgun and doing a war dance in his high-heeled cowboy boots.”

There was silence on Jackson’s end.

“Wade’s going to come through, Jackson. I have no doubt.”

“Okay. Everything’s ready. I’ve taken care of every detail, and our company looks completely legitimate to anyone checking it out. The website’s up, all the documents have been filed. It certainly passed Wade Ashford’s scrutiny. Wade will be hearing from Hugo next week, but Hugo will be conveniently out of the country, so my attorney, Leonard Simms, will take the meeting in person and Hugo will be on Zoom. All this will go like clockwork, and as long as Daphne is here and you hold up your end, I’m with you. Once we’ve sold to Valene Mart and the transactions are completed, we’ll split the money and dissolve the LLC,” Jackson said.

“I’ve given Ashford two weeks. In the meantime, I’ll have a little look around town and get myself set up here. And remember, don’ttry any funny business with the money; otherwise, I’ll change my mind and fight you for custody of Jax. The courts still favor the mother, you know.”

“Don’t worry. As you’ll see when you get the paperwork, the money can’t be transferred without both our signatures and unique log-ons. That should give you some peace of mind.”

“And how are things going with the lovely Daphne? Is she falling in love with you all over again?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Kind of you to ask about Daphne. I thought maybe you’d ask about your son. How foolish of me.”

“Go to hell, Jackson,” she said, and disconnected.

There was no one better than Jackson at stoking her fury. Amber turned off the phone so that she wouldn’t be disturbed by him or anyone else. What was it about men that they needed to control everything? Jackson and his manipulations. Jake Crawford hiding his money from her. Wade Ashford killing big game so that he could hang their heads on his walls and show what a he-man he was. Show-offs, all of them, constantly having to prove what big balls they had, how smart and powerful they were. Well, she would show them. Amber was going to outsmart them all.

She rose from the sofa and padded barefoot to the bathroom off the bedroom. The sizable room contained a large walk-in shower and freestanding soaking tub. Amber turned on the water and picked up a crystal jar, pouring exotic-smelling bath salts from it into the tub. While it filled, she undressed, donning the complimentary white waffle robe, and looked around the suite in satisfaction. The rooms were large and gracefully furnished, the colors soft and muted, emitting a feeling of calm and sophistication. When she’d booked the three-thousand-dollar-a-night suite, an amount that was mere peanuts to her now, Amber had felt a flutter of delight in her stomach. As she studied the art on the walls and ran her hand across the fine bed linens, a powerful sense of autonomy swept over her. Yes, she’d been in more sumptuous surroundings before,had lived and stayed in more magnificent spaces, but none of those places had been hers alone. And even though she was only renting this suite, it washermoney that had secured it.All hers.There was no one she had to please or answer to or pretend to love. She flopped onto the bed and stretched, laughing out loud.

– 30 –

DAISY ANN

Daisy Ann had flown back to Texas last night, and it was after midnight when she finally crawled into bed next to a sleeping Mason. She’d been relieved that he hadn’t waited up—she’d been too tired to continue their argument about her renewed investigation into Amber. When she woke up, his side of the bed was empty, and she could hear the shower going. Yawning, she got out of bed and slipped on a robe. Coffee. She desperately needed coffee. On her way downstairs, she peeked into each of the boys’ bedrooms and, as she suspected, they were both still fast asleep. Both dogs jumped from Tucker’s bed and slipped past her through the open door.

“I guess you’re ready for breakfast,” she said, as they padded down the hallway. After feeding them, she made a pot of coffee and sat down at the breakfast bar with her phone. Still no voicemail or text message from Frank Winters, the man who’d taught Amber how to shoot back in Gunnison. Despite not having learned anything that proved Amber’s guilt, she had learned plenty about her character or lack thereof. She was now more determined than ever to bring Amber to justice. Amber had murdered Jake in cold blood, and Daisy Ann wasn’t going to rest until she had what she needed to make her pay. What was she missing? The answer had to be back in Colorado.

“Hey.” Mason walked over to the counter and poured them each a cup of coffee, then came and sat next to Daisy Ann.

“Morning,” she said, not missing the fact that he hadn’t leaned in to kiss her. “You’re still mad?” she asked.

He sighed. “I’m not mad, I’m worried. I don’t want to see you get lost chasing this down again. It almost broke us before.”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. “I know. And I won’t let that happen again. I promise. It’s just…seeing her that night in her designer duds, looking all smug and arrogant, it was like no time had gone by at all. She’s a grifter. I know it, and everyone I talked to confirmed it. Amber’s not even her real name. It’s Lana Crump. And there’s a warrant out for her arrest back in Blue Springs, Missouri.”

“A warrant? What for?”

---