Chapter 31
Interference
Kate slammed her pen down on the desk. What was wrong with her?
Just last week, the words had flowed easily, but now they refused to come, stuck like a traffic jam in her mind.
She huffed. It was Nick’s fault, of course.
Since leaving him on the beach yesterday morning, her thoughts spun in circles, going nowhere.
Maybe it was time to go home. The idea twisted something in her; she loved it here, with all its warmth and light.
A soft knock interrupted her. “Good afternoon, Kate. I do not want to interrupt your work, but I have not seen you take a break, so I thought I would come find you.” Marguerite’s voice drifted in from the pergola outside the open French doors.
Kate forced a smile, pushing aside her emotions. It wasn’t Marguerite’s fault Nick had been such an ass. “It's fine, Marguerite. I'm not getting much done anyhow.”
She stood and walked to the door, the cool breeze brushing against her skin, a sharp contrast to the frustration bubbling inside her.
“Would you like to sit?” she offered, her voice a little shaky as she moved toward the swing seat—the very place Nick first kissed her.
Memories flooded in, and her throat tightened.
She could still taste the warmth of his lips, feel the heat of his body.
The swing creaked as she sat down, dispelling the memories.
“Yes, bébé, that would be lovely. I wanted to discuss something with you.” Marguerite settled onto the swing next to her, facing her, and took Kate’s hand. Oh boy. What did Marguerite want?
“I heard all about what happened with Nick and this Jessa. Everything.”
Kate’s heart sank, and she dropped her eyes, staring at her hands, the warmth of Marguerite’s grip contrasting with the chill creeping into her bones.
“First, let me say I am so sorry you are hurting. It should not have happened.”
Kate’s breath caught as she glanced up, battling the urge to cry again. Was Marguerite saying Nick was wrong? It seemed like a betrayal; Marguerite was so close to them.
“However, I think you need to know what happened, and I am not sure I can trust those idiot boys of mine to tell you.”
Kate’s eyes widened, searching Marguerite’s face, relieved to find her sweet smile, but an anxious knot still twisted in her stomach.
“It is not my place to interfere, but you are involved. Just listen; you do not need to tell me anything.”
Marguerite settled back into the pillows with a determined ease, signaling she was prepared to unravel a story that might change everything. Still, she held on tight to Kate’s hand, anchoring her to this moment, as if letting go would send Kate spiraling away.
“First, Nick did not invite that woman here.”
Kate’s eyes flew to Marguerite’s, and her heart sped up, a spark of hope igniting.
“Her name is Jessica, not Jessa. That is what confused him—he knows her as Jessica. Their parents were close friends. They used to joke all the time about Nick and Jessica marrying and combining their families. That was back when Nick was in college, she was even younger, still in high school, and he had no interest in anyone his parents approved of.”
Marguerite patted Kate’s hand, her eyes gentle. “They were flighty, useless creatures. He never took anything they said seriously.
“About six weeks ago, Jessica asked Nick to attend a charity gala with her. Her date backed out at the last minute, and she did not want to arrive alone. Nick agreed as a favor to a family friend and because it was a charity he supported—he had planned on attending. They never dated; she never interested him. I am sure he forgot all about her as soon as the gala ended. They certainly are not engaged.”
The spark of hope grew within Kate, adding to the knot already twisting in her gut.
“That brings us to now. Jessica did indeed get an email inviting her, supposedly from Nick, but he did not send it.”
Marguerite reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, unfolding it. “I do not understand all this header stuff, but David gave this to me and showed me this line here.”
She pointed to where Nick's email address was highlighted. “Notice the plural s?” Kate nodded, emotions swirling. “That is not his email. They do not have the ‘s’—it is just . Someone spoofed Nick’s email and sent this to Jessica. Spoofed. Do I have that right?”
A slight flush warmed her cheeks as she absorbed Marguerite’s words, her heart hammering against her ribs with the weight of the revelation even as a quick flash of amusement shot through her at the sound of Marguerite’s lilting voice stumbling over the strange word “spoofed.”
“Yes, I believe so,” she finally replied, though her voice quavered. “How did they get this email copy?”
Marguerite’s sly smile hinted at a bit of unexpected wickedness. “My David is a mischievous boy, and a wiz at anything computer related. He hacked into Jessica’s email yesterday morning and found this.”
She paused, her intent gaze searching Kate’s very soul. “You might like to know everyone was worried about you. Walter told Lena what happened at the bar, and Lena told David. David hunted down Nick, who was in the kitchen with Zach and me. This was shortly after you talked to Nick on the beach.”
Kate’s heart plummeted as she processed the words. She looked away, shoulders hunched, wishing the earth would swallow her whole. “So, everyone knows?” The urge to run away, to hide, clawed at her chest.
“That you dumped Nick? Yes, bébé. No one blames you. From your perspective, there was nothing else you could do.” Marguerite patted Kate’s hand again, her touch warm and reassuring. “Please do not worry about us. We understand.”
A lump rose in Kate’s throat. Echoes of her last conversation with Nick—her angry words, laced with hurt and confusion—swam through her mind like sharks circling prey.
Her refusal to give Nick a chance to explain.
Marguerite studied her, concern etched on her features like lines in weathered stone.
“To finish that topic, David is tracking the source of the email. Zach and David think it might be the same people trying to damage the company, the ones who messed with your reservation. What better way than to hurt Nick personally?”
A chill ran down Kate’s spine as she listened, the anxiety flooding back in waves.
“Actually,” Marguerite continued, frowning, “we do not think they intended to hurt Nick since they would have no way of knowing about you, other than you are staying in the guest suite. We think they were trying to distract him—to cause more problems. There was a photo from the charity gala in the society pages, so someone may have seen it and thought to capitalize on it. Jessica is a bit of a diva, and she has been raising a ruckus at the hotel, as you saw yourself.”
Kate nodded, her mind a whirl of emotions. The anger, the fear, the confusion—they all tangled together like fishing line, making it hard to think clearly.
“You have probably wondered why Nick did not truly defend himself,” Marguerite said.
Kate stared at her hands, trying to keep her thoughts straight.
Marguerite sighed heavily, the sound pulling Kate out of her spiral like a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman.
“It is not my place to say,” Marguerite continued, her voice tinged with concern. “But honestly, I do not trust him to tell you himself.”
The tension built in Kate’s chest at those words, pressing against her lungs. It sounded like Marguerite might pull back a curtain on something Kate desperately wanted to understand.
“I mentioned Nick’s parents were flighty, yes?
” Marguerite pressed on, her expression tight with frustration.
“They effectively abandoned him. Left him alone at the manor my husband and I managed. They only showed up once or twice a year for a few days, seldom bothered to call, and never sent birthday or Christmas gifts. Nothing. Can you imagine?”
A pang of sadness curled in Kate’s stomach as she envisioned Nick sitting alone during the holidays, his wounded heart hidden beneath a confident smile, his hands empty on Christmas morning.
“And if that was not enough,” Marguerite continued, rolling her eyes in disdain, “everyone he met held a hand out for money. Even the high school he attended kept trying to squeeze him dry for funds.”
Kate winced at the picture Marguerite painted of greedy hands reaching for Nick, clawing at him like vultures.
“He still gets bombarded with requests all the time. It is suffocating to him.”
Marguerite paused, staring into Kate’s eyes with an intensity that made Kate’s breath catch. “Because of his upbringing, Nick developed this phobia,” she said, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. “He believes people only see his public face, the mask he wears, and not the man beneath it.”
She tightened her fingers on Kate's. “When you accused him of playing you, I believe it brought all those old feelings back. He probably thought you were like everyone else—unable, or unwilling, to look beneath the surface.”
“Oh, no!” Kate’s heart dropped like a stone as her free hand flew to her mouth, remorse washing over her in an icy wave.
She now understood Nick’s reserve was more than a choice; it was a shield, built brick by painful brick to protect the fragile parts of himself others hadn’t cared to see.
She never meant to hurt Nick—she hadn’t thought she could pierce that armor.
Marguerite gently patted her hand again, warmth radiating from her touch like summer sunshine. Was that a French thing?
“Do not fret, bébé,” she said, her voice soothing as honey. “Consciously, he knows better. You caught him off guard, and his old insecurities flared up. He will work through it to find the truth. The situation with Jessica, knowing you heard her nonsense, were hurt by her actions, shook him.”
Marguerite stood, a small smile lifting the corners of her lips as she gazed down at Kate.
“Now, I think I have meddled enough. You know the truth now: Nick was not playing games with you. My three boys are working to discover who is behind this nonsense. Honestly, bébé, I have never seen Nick like this. He is torn up about you getting hurt, blaming himself for it. It is his company under threat, and right now, he believes you would be better off without him. You may have to convince him otherwise if that is what you want.”
With a last pat on the hand, Marguerite walked away, leaving Kate in a haze of confusion, her mind a muddled mess. What did all this mean for her?
Kate frowned at the thought of Nick blaming himself. The way Marguerite spoke made everything seem so complicated, yet a flicker of hope danced in the darkness. The idea he was distressed for her stirred something deep inside—something fierce and protective, but also tender.
She wanted to reach out to him, to show him he mattered more to her than he could imagine, that she did see him as a person, not a walking wallet. But after her angry words, would he believe her?
She leaned her head back against the sumptuous pillows, the plush fabric embracing her, and closed her eyes for a moment.
Taking a few yoga breaths, she inhaled deeply, trying to clear the swirling thoughts in her mind.
The faint scent of jasmine from nearby filled her nostrils, sweet and calming, soothing her racing heart and frazzled nerves.
Kate needed to talk to Callie, but of course, she was meeting with Kate’s agent in Chicago.
What was that about? Uncertainty gnawed at her like a persistent mouse, but she brushed it aside.
There were more pressing issues at hand, like Nick.
The mere thought of him sent a jolt of electricity through her, making her fingers tingle.
And somewhere deep in her heart, she already knew what she wanted to do about him, if she had the courage.