Page 76 of Love Her

“Good. I need to get your private number to Enzo. The one he answers, no matter what.”

“Do you need medical assistance?” he asked quickly.

“No.”

“Am I allowed to ask why?”

I held my breath—but I knew he’d gone through the wringer I’d put my father through, at my father’s side. In a very real way, Rio was probably the closest thing I had toactualfamily.

That didn’t make me want to throw up, at least.

“I just left an awful luncheon with the Hearth Committee, where I found out some of my private medical information has been leaked. But I know my father never would’ve said anything, so?—”

“Had to come from somewhere. Got it. Want me to go there with you?”

I heaved a sigh. “No. Someone needs to stay with dad. And I trust you—even if sometimes I don’t trust him.” That earned me a knowing snort. “Call 911 at the end, even if he doesn’t want you to.”

“I will. I don’t want him to die any more than you do. I’ll text you Enzo’s number.”

“Thank you, Rio. I’ll keep in touch,” I said, and got back into my waiting car.

41

RHAIM

Iwas hard at work—yes, really, for once—when Mrs. Armstrong knocked on my office door.

I knew it was her, because she would’ve announced anyone else with a call—and any reason she might have for interrupting me was dire. She knew my moods.

“What is it?” I asked, instead of telling her, “Come in.”

She opened the door and frowned. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news Mr. Selvaggio,” she began, and by the time she finished, I was standing.

I’d already lost one woman I loved—there was no way in hell I was going to lose another.

“It’s just that,” she said, and then held her phone out, where I could see a headline on one of our city’s many gossip sites, I recognized their color-scheme.

“Senator’s fiancée suicidal?” it asked, in twenty-point font.

“Fuck me,” I muttered, coming around the desk to take the phone from her. The article only mentioned anonymous sources, but they were clearly in the know.

“If it was just one, I would’ve ignored it—but there’s at least three others.”

“And there’ll be hundreds more by nightfall,” I muttered, handing her her phone back. She took it with a wince, and went away, closing the door behind her.

My private phone for Lia was in my pocket—but if I called or texted her, she might still be at lunch with those terrible women—who no doubt by now also knew. I’d met Maribeth on more than one occasion, she was the kind of woman who smiled like a debutant and gossiped like a defense contractor.

Lia had been blindsided today on purpose, I realized, growing more pissed by the second.

Who else had access to Lia’s information? It was entirely possible St. Clair’s team had a Sable of their own, working overtime.

But if so…why wait until now to leak it? Wouldn’t knowing Lia had a psych history have made them back out of the deal? Wouldn’t they have rather cut their losses in advance, rather than make St. Clair look like a lovesick fool?

That was what I didn’t understand: who was currently gaining from hurting Lia?

And then Lia’s phone in my pocket buzzed.

I’m fine. Keep working on the IPO.

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