Her family had never possessed as much money as Eric’s did. Especially after her father had cut out. When he’d bailed, she and her mother had pretty much lost everything. She’d only been able to stay in her private school because of a scholarship, one that she strongly suspected had come straight from the Wilde family. No, she’d never been on their financial level, but that hadn’t seemed to matter. Ben and Eric—their parents weren’t stuffy or pretentious. They’d opened their home to her from day one. Pre-K, day one.

Only Eric had seemed to be unwelcoming over the years.

Now she was in his house.

At her words, he stopped on the stairs. Angled toward her. “On the contrary, I think you’re too good for my brother. Far too good.”

Now she was surprised.

“I think you’re too good for any of the jerks who’ve tried to be with you.”

Her stomach was in knots. “When you say nice things, it makes me worry.” She’d told him that before. No, maybe she’d said that he creeped her out. Both were true.

A half-smile curved his lips as he turned away once more. He didn’t speak again, not until they’d climbed the stairs, strolled down a hallway, and paused in front of a white door. “This is your room. It connects to a private bath. There should be an extra robe inside the bathroom, and if you need anything else, just let me know.”

She nibbled on her lower lip. “Where will you be?”

His gaze cut to the side. As in…the door right beside hers.

Uh, oh. “That’s your room?”

A nod. “If you want me, all you have to do is call out.”

Want me. “I’ll be fine.” She reached for the doorknob.

“I will find him, Piper.”

If anyone could, it would be Eric. Despite their personal differences, she knew he was good at his job. He tracked celebrity stalkers, he found missing children, he created security systems to protect the most valuable items in the world—the guy made the headlines every other day.

He could find the jerk who was making her life hell.

“Why is this happening?” She shook her head. “There was so much rage in my house.” Part of her guard lowered, for just a moment, as she looked at him. “I could feel it, you know? He destroyed my things. Smashed all of the photos of me and Ben. Of me and all my friends. He slashed my paintings. Ripped up my clothes.” She shook her head. “But I don’t think he took anything. He just destroyed stuff. That’s why the cops—I don’t know, maybe that’s why they couldn’t do much. It wasn’t a burglary. It wasn’t an attack on me. It wasn’t—”