Whiteout

Chapter Twelve

Breanna pulled a pillow to her chest and held it there. As exhausted as she’d been when she got under the covers, sleep evaded her. She tossed and turned, every moment of the last few days replaying in her head. Only twenty-four hours ago, she slept in the shelter of Sinjin’s arms.

Then poof, he was gone.

Not a crumb left behind as evidence he’d ever been there.

Face it, girl. He left you. If he was even real at all.

Okay, Breanna did not believe Sinjin was simply a figment of her vivid imagination, but the fact she woke up all alone remained. And what did that tell her?

It was just sex.

A wild, delicious tryst with a stranger in the storm. And when the snow stopped falling, it was over. She knew it would be. But Breanna never thought the fucker would just leave her to fend for herself—with a concussion, no less—stranded in a cabin in the woods.

It was obvious, wasn’t it? Rather than suffer through an awkward parting of ways, Sinjin slinked out of their haven at the first sign of sunlight. Without a second thought or a backward glance, I bet. Breanna supposed she should be grateful he put her bag back in her car before they towed it off the mountain. He must’ve, right? How else could Jordy have gotten it?

She punched the pillow.

Because the more she thought about it, Breanna wasn’t grateful.

She was pissed.

At herself, mostly.

For thinking with her vagina.

The black void outside the window beginning to lighten, Breanna gave up. She switched the bedside lamp on. Her Mac rested there on the night table beside her. Six a.m. Seeing she had a gazillion messages from Kayleigh, she typed one back. A nanosecond later, the FaceTime app flashed on the screen.

“About damn time. I thought you were dead…abducted by aliens…or…” Her friend stared at her like that’s exactly what she was. “Jesus Christ, you look like shit. What the hell happened?”

“Gee, thanks.” She made a face, fingering the hideous bump on her forehead.

After filling Kayleigh in on everything that had transpired since her last text on Saturday, albeit a sanitized version, Breanna asked for a favor, “Since I’m stuck here until my car is fixed, can you send me some more clothes? I only packed for a weekend.”

“Sure, I’m leaving for my mom’s this afternoon. I can stop at FedEx on the way.” With a smirk, Kayleigh pursed her lips to the side. “What do you need, exactly?”

“God, everything. Pants, sweaters, undies…” She shrugged. “Throw in that bra that makes my boobs pop—the teal one with the thong that matches.”

“Trying to impress the lawyer guy?”

“God, no, but you should see this place.” Breanna flipped her Mac around, offering Kayleigh a panoramic view. “And that’s just my bedroom.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“I got you, babe,” Kayleigh assured her.

“I’ll Cash App you to cover it.”

“No problem.” She worried her lip. “Have you, uh, told your mom?”

Do I really have to?

“Not yet.”

“Ohhh, good luck with that.”

Yeah, she was going to need it.

Following a long, indulgent shower, with her makeup on and a fresh blowout, Breanna sat criss-cross applesauce in her underwear, rifling through her duffel. She’d have to make do with the clothes she brought until Friday, at least. Opting to save the sweater dress for the Thanksgiving bash she hadn’t planned on being here for, she only had a pair of ripped-up skinny jeans or leggings to choose from.

Gah, I wore leggings yesterday.

Tossing the jeans, along with a low scoop-neck Henley, on the bed beside her, she sighed. “Thank fuck for Kayleigh.”

“Miss Dalton.” Looking rather amused, Derek leaned against the doorway to the bedroom. He snickered. “You’re much too pretty to be using such foul language.”

“And the princess has a potty mouth.”

“Formal now, are we? Does it offend you?”

A smirk on his face, he stepped into the room. “No, but your grandmother would’ve been mortified.”

“How’d you get in here?”

“I’ve been knocking,” Derek explained, coming to stand beside the bed. “I became concerned when you didn’t answer, so I let myself in.”

Odd, I heard nothing. Wait a minute…

“The door was locked.”

“I have the master code for all the keypads.” He pursed his lips with a shrug.

Rolling her eyes, she deadpanned, “That’s reassuring.”

“I’d ask if you’re ready to go down to breakfast, but I can see that you’re not.”

His eyes fixated on her breasts encased in lace of the palest blue, Breanna stood. Not embarrassed in the slightest, she watched him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, as she pulled tight, faded denim up her thighs. Leaning over the bed, she reached for her shirt.

Strong fingers tightened around her wrist. Dark eyes bored into her own. “What do you think you’re doing, Breanna?”

Tugging her hand from his grasp, Breanna pulled the Henley down over her head and fluffed out her hair. “Now, I’m ready.”

She turned to leave the room.

His fingers catching hers from behind, Derek pulled her back to him. “Not so fast.”

“What?”

He wet his lips, the corner of his mouth slowly ticking up, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “You’re barefoot.”

God forbid.

“Oh.” She glanced down at her pink-painted toes. “I’ll, uh, just put some shoes on.”

Breakfast was served in the family dining room, where they had dinner the night before. Eggs Benedict. Roasted asparagus. Savory potatoes.

Francie set a carafe of fresh-squeezed orange juice on the table. “I’ll be back with coffee in a minute.”

“You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble. I’m more than good with a bowl of cereal—honest—but thank you.” Sleep outranking sustenance, Breanna skipped breakfast most days, unless a granola bar counted.

“It’s no trouble.” Francie waved off her concern. “Besides, you’re both on your own for lunch—dinner, too. I have to get started on Thanksgiving, but there’s plenty of sandwich fixings in the fridge. Just help yourself.”

“Do you need any help?” Breanna offered. “I’d be happy to.”

“Do you know your way around a kitchen?”

Not really, but how hard could it be? She’d watched her mom cook the turkey a bunch of times. “I know how to make a mean bowl of ramen.”

“You’re a doll to offer, but I’ve got it.” Patting her shoulder, Francie chuckled. “And Mr. Keeler will help me out this afternoon.”

“Oh, and does he know his way around the kitchen?”

“He sure does,” she replied with a wink.

Diving into her eggs, Breanna licked hollandaise sauce from her lip. Maybe sleeping in was overrated because she definitely could get used to this. She glanced up at Derek. “Who’s Mr. Keeler?”

“Francie’s husband, Ted.” He went on to explain, “He’s the caretaker here.”

“Oh.” And she wondered what they did, who Francie cooked for, in this mountain mansion all alone. “You don’t live here, right?”

“I have a place near my office in Sacramento. Why?” His brows pulling together, he raised a glass of juice to his lips.

Breanna shrugged. “They must be lonely here, without my grandmother.”

“My partner keeps them company,” Derek said with a snicker.

“Mr. Maynard?”

“Yes, he’s been managing Valerie’s property for several years, though he’s in Sacramento at the moment. He’s supposed to return tomorrow. You’ll meet him then.”

Can’t wait.

She popped some asparagus in her mouth and smiled. “Will there be a lot of people here tomorrow?”

“That depends on the weather, but I imagine so.” Studying her, he wiped his mouth and set the napkin on the table. “Business associates…hell, the entire village has an open invitation.”

“Do you live up here on the mountain?”

“Not far.”

Her eyes went big. If Sinjin lived nearby somewhere, then it’s possible he would come.

“It’s a Dalton House tradition—always has been.” Reaching across the table, Derek patted her hand. “We all agreed your grandmother would want us to carry on.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He grinned and pulled a phone charger from the pocket of his Ralph Lauren slim-fit pants. “Got you one.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Well, the phone was her lifeline, wasn’t it? “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Francie quietly set a tray with coffee on the table, and just as quietly slipped away. Pouring them both a cup, Derek glanced at the Movado on his wrist. “I’ve got some business to attend to—conference calls with clients. I’m afraid I’m going to be tied up for a while.”

“That’s all right. I think I can keep myself occupied.” Breanna welcomed the reprieve, to be honest. She could use some downtime to reset and explore on her own a little, maybe.

“Tell you what.” Smiling, he took her hands in his and squeezed. “Come by the study at two. We can get those documents I need you to sign out of the way and go for a walk around the grounds.”

I’ve done enough prancing through the snow, thank you very much.

“Yeah, sure.”

This whole thing was weird. Everything about it. Breanna got off that exit on 395 and drove straight into the fucking Twilight Zone. After kicking off her shoes, she connected her phone to the charger and sank into the cushy, down-filled sofa. Fingertips skimming across the soft linen fabric, she closed her heavy eyelids. Even the fact that she was lounging on a fifteen-thousand dollar couch was weird—especially that. “This can’t be a dupe. It feels too much like heaven.”

She should get up, call her mother, and get it over with, but between the lack of sleep and a food coma calling her name, Breanna sighed, dozing off instead.

Warm breath, the scent of rich, black coffee, tickled her nose and fanned her skin, while fingertips trailed through her hair. Down her chest. Across her breast. Recognizing the familiar feeling his touch provoked, she heaved a sigh.

“I’m right here, princess.”

Fabric rustled. Cool air. Kisses on her skin. Wet lips suctioned her nipple.

“Sinjin.”

I’m dreaming.

Dreaming.

Dreaming.

Dreaming.

“Shhh. Rest now.”

Okay.

Blinking her eyes open, Breanna glanced down at her chest. Nothing looked out of place. A furry blanket covered her.

Did I put that there?

Reasoning, she pulled it off the back of the couch in her sleep, Breanna put her feet on the floor and gazed out through the floor-to-ceiling glass. In the distance, an animal—a wolf, if she were to guess—ran across the snow-covered terrain.

She wrapped the fur throw tightly around her, and opening the glass door, stepped out onto the deck to peer over the railing. Taking in the unspoiled splendor all around her, Breanna thought she understood what drew George Dalton to stake his claim here all those years ago.

Picking up her bare foot, she rubbed it on the leg of her jeans. “It’s fucking cold, though.”

Turning to go back inside, Breanna surveyed the cozy patio nook outside her room, with its outdoor sofas, fur blankets, fireplace, and hot tub. She could see herself curled up, reading a book out here—or editing one—watching the snow gently fall.

“It’s a shame,” she murmured to herself.

This big house, filled with expensive, beautiful things, was sadly empty. Its rooms unoccupied. No one really lived here.

At five minutes of two, Breanna left her room. She paused at the landing, quickly glancing at the stairs that led up to the third floor, then made her way down to see Derek.

The door to the study was cracked open about an inch. She was about to knock when she heard his voice. Lowering her hand, she stood away from the opening and waited for him to finish.

“Yes, I should have everything wrapped up here shortly.” Snicker. “It won’t be an issue…it’s too bad, she is quite lovely.” The clink of ice cubes swirling in a glass. “See you tomorrow then.”

Silence.

She waited a moment, then knocked.

“Breanna.” He opened the door. “Come in.”

His laptop was open on the desk, a glass of whiskey sat beside it. Picking up a thick file folder, Derek steered her over to a leather sofa. “Would you like a drink?”

“Uh, no, thank you,” she said, taking a seat.

Their thighs touching, he sat down close beside her. “This won’t take long. I point. You sign.”

“What am I signing?”

“Probate documents. They’re formalities, as I said.” He handed her a pen. “As Executor of your grandmother’s estate, you’re acting on her behalf and carrying out her wishes.”

“But I don’t know what they are.”

“That’s why you have me.” Derek squeezed her knee. “I know.”

“Isn’t there a will or something?”

There should be, right? That’s how it went in the movies, anyway.

“Of course,” he asserted, taking a sip of whiskey. “And since you’re Valerie’s only blood relative, she named you Executor and sole beneficiary—less the estate debt and asset distribution, of course.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Taxes. Sorry, the government gets its share.” Turning toward her in his seat, Derek rested his hands on her shoulders. “Look, when all is said and done, you’re going to have a million bucks to put in your bank account. That’s a delightful addition to the trust fund your father set up for you, isn’t it?”

Trust fund?

Breanna pulled away from him. “What?”

“I assumed you knew.” He pressed his lips together, then audibly expelled a breath. “When Shane died…well, all of his assets became yours.”

“I know nothing of this.” Stunned, she slowly shook her head. “And what assets? He was only twenty-two.”

“It was a substantial amount. Valerie and your mother jointly controlled it on your behalf.”

Her jaw dropped. Literally. This was just too much to process.

“I’m sorry.” Stroking her hair, Derek tipped his chin. “Let’s get this done and go for that walk, shall we?”

Durable Power of Attorney. IRS forms. Letter of Testamentary. Distribution of assets. Transfer documents.

Yikes.

Breanna put the pen down. “I’d like to read these first. Have someone look them over.”

“Who?”

“My stepdad. A lawyer.”

“I am a lawyer,” he reminded her.

“Right.” Biting her lip, she nodded. “Yes, I know, but you’re my grandmother’s lawyer.”

“And now I’m yours,” he said, his hand on her cheek. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Be careful. When you get to Dalton House. Just be careful.”

Yes. No. I don’t know.

“It’s not that. I’d just like to read them.” Breanna placed her hand on top of his. “And I want to see my grandmother’s will. I need to know I’m doing everything right. Like she wanted.”

“Of course you do, sweetheart.” His thumb moved over her skin. “There’s no need to rush. These are only the signature pages. The full documents are back in my office, along with Valerie’s will. I’ll email everything to you on Friday. You can read them, and Mr. Maynard will be here, should you have any questions.”

“Okay.” She nodded.

“Now, how about we take that walk?”

In her room that evening, her mind spinning, Breanna stared into the crackling fire. She had no good reason not to trust Derek. Her grandmother must have, and he’d been nothing but kind to her, so why did she have this nagging feeling something wasn’t right?

“Be careful.”

In the black void outside her window, a wolf howled its warning.

“I will be,” she whispered to the flames. “I will.”