Page 94 of Capturing You
Except Ford wasn’t Forbes. Ford wasn’t one of the five hundred richest men in America. Ford didn’t own a majority stake in a Fortune 100 company. Ford was an illusion, a creation of his grandmother.
Ford Baker was a historian writing a book about unsolved mysteries who paid the bills working as a freelance handyman and dabbled in real estate.
He must’ve inherited his father’s knack for investing because Ford had become a millionaire by the time he was thirty. Not that Ford…Forbes…needed the money. It was just a cover story. Real estate was the thing he did to kill time.
Forbes’s whole life had felt like killing time, just waiting until he could find out who’d killed his family. Find closure and move on.
Ford wasn’t writing anything to publish, of course, but he had been researching unsolved mysteries—one mystery in particular. To satisfy Ford’s curiosity—and Forbes’s obsession—Ford spent time with other historians, with college professors, and with private detectives, learning their methods, discovering how they uncovered secrets.
While keeping his own secrets hidden.
He’d played the role of Ford Baker, ordinary guy, for so long that he’d felt comfortable in it.
Being in this house, surrounded by memories, his false persona felt distant. Here, he was Forbes Ballentine.
That was why he desperately wanted to tell Brooklynn the truth. It was why his alias, which had rolled off his tongue since he was eight years old, now felt like sand in his mouth.
His whole life had been a cover story. Lie, pretend, hide. Nobody could know who he really was.
He couldn’t get close to anyone. Ever. No serious relationships, no close friendships.
He’d never cared before. Sure, in college he’d met a woman he’d thought he could love. But even then, he hadn’t felt compelled to tell her the truth.
It was Brooklynn and her cheery attitude and honest disposition and…
Everything. It was everything about her that made him want to be himself. Or a better version of the man he’d become.
Her footsteps sounded in the hallway—she’d gone to the restroom—and he turned as she stepped into the office.
“I’m so proud of myself.” Her voice was, as always, filled with joy. “I didn’t get lost once!”
“Congratulations.”
“I know, right. This place is amazing. I just want to explore and find out all its secrets.”
He had no idea what to say to that.
She slid into a chair across the desk. “Did you figure it out while I was gone?”
“Uh, no.” He’d barely looked at the ledger, just stared out the window and wished everything were different.
“Let’s see it, then.” She pulled it close and studied it.
He wasn’t a pro at upside-down reading, and the desk was wide. So he stared at her, at the way her braid draped over her shoulder, the way curls framed her face. At the tiny wrinkles on her forehead that appeared when she was trying to figure something out.
He needed to stop.
He had two choices. Sit across from her and try to resist her beauty, or sit beside her and try to resist her enticing scent.
Neither option was ideal, but beside her, at least he could look at the ledger.
He rounded the desk and settled in the second guest chair. “Can you share?”
“I had four sisters. Sharing was never my strong suit.” She slid the ledger closer to him. “But I can try.”
“Don’t strain yourself.”
She chuckled, shaking her head.
