Page 74 of The SEAL's Duchess
In meetings all afternoon finalizing with BlackRock. Everything looking good. Catch up at dinner.
George xx
Her stomach sank.Everything looking good.Because he didn’t know. Didn’t know about the methane hydrates, the falsified surveys—the bomb waiting to go off under their investment.
The desk clerk’s voice broke in. “Everything alright?”
“Fine, thank you.” Ivy forced a smile and headed for the elevator, gripping the note until it crumpled.
Nobody listened. Story of her life.
In her room, she plugged in her phone to charge and paced. Through the window, Aurora Cove looked quiet and safe—an illusion. Somewhere out there, George was shaking hands with men who were lying to his face.
Her phone rang. She lunged for it.
“George, thank God?—”
“Sorry, Ives, can’t talk long. We’re just heading into another session.” His tone was brisk, distracted. “What’s wrong?”
“Where are you?”
“Conference room somewhere in the complex.” He sounded vague. “Sinclair arranged everything.”
“I need to talk to you about BlackRock. Henderson verified?—”
“Henderson? Who’s Henderson?” A sigh. “It doesn’t matter. Look, Ivy, please tell me you’re not chasing ghosts again. The data’s been verified.”
“It’s not verified,” she said sharply. “This morning I went with Ryder to see Henderson—a geologist. The data he’s shown us doesn’t tell the whole truth. The methane hydrate readings?—”
“Ivy.” His voice softened, the one he used when trying not to lose his temper. “I’ve seen the data this afternoon. Everything is perfect. Look, we can go over everything tonight. Right now, I’ve got both banks on the line and the BlackRock execs waiting. This is the final round. We’re almost there.”
“George. This can’t wait?—”
“It has to. Tomorrow morning we're doing a site visit and press photo opportunity on the Vega at nine—Sinclair wants shots of us with the rig operational in the background before we sign the papers back on shore straight after. PR team's already coordinating it.” His excitement was palpable. “Everyone will be there, including that engineer you liked, Jack Barnes. The whole operations team.” A note of pride crept in. “It’s what we've worked for, Ives. We're finally doing it.”
“George, please?—”
“I have to go.” The background hum of voices swelled, he was already moving. “Tell me at dinner tonight.”
The line went dead.
Ivy stared at the phone, her chest tight with panic. Tomorrow morning. George was signing tomorrow, and once the papers were executed, backing out would become a legal nightmare.
She’d built a life out of holding things together—George, the estate, every decision that kept their world from crumbling. But maybe this wasn’t about saving him this time. Maybe it was about proving she had a right to want something for herself.
She needed Jack’s testimony. With Jack at her side, they could present a united front—Henderson’s analysis backed by first-hand knowledge from someone who’d worked the rig. George would have to listen then. He’d have to see reason.
Most folks take the supply boat, Jack had said that first day, laughing over the roar of the rotor blades. You must be important if they sent a helicopter for you.
The supply boat.
The words dropped through her mind. A key turning in a lock.
She snatched up her phone and typed BlackRock rig transport. Northern Marine Services popped up immediately—schedule, coordinates, everything.
Next departure. Two o’clock.
She checked her watch. She had just over thirty minutes.
