“I’m thinking. How long do you figure before the blonde blasts the asshole she married, tossing you in his face?”

“I don’t know her that well. Probably not long,” Hope admitted.

“And being a gutless asshole, how long would it take him to turn it around so you made the moves, came onto him, that kind of thing.”

“Immediately.”

“Yeah, I figured. You still have contacts down there, people in the business, or people who like to travel, to stay in nice places, unique places.”

“Yes, I do. In your scenario, to protect themselves from someone who doesn’t even give a damn, and to protect their pride, they might try to damage my reputation. They might spread lies and gossip about pitiful, scheming Hope who slept her way in and out of a job, and now into another.”

“Not good for business.”

“So, you were thinking about business.”

“It’s a factor.” Maybe minuscule in the big picture, but a factor. “A bigger one is they—neither of them—deserve any shot of getting off easy. Kicking his ass? Owen’s always worried about arrests for assault and criminal trials.”

“It’s a factor,” she said dryly.

“But to my way of thinking, it’s mostly worth it, until you think about how bruises and broken bones heal. And some people knee-jerk toward feeling bad for the ass that’s been kicked, no matter how it’s earned. So I liked the idea of longer-term benefits. The asshole’s dickless. Plus, you take one good look at him, and the one he married, you can see what drives them is money and show and status. You’ve got to have money and opportunities for the show and the status. Old man Wickham’s still running things, so he’s the power source. He could cut off the money—or channels leading to it, and shut down opportunities.”

She’d come to all the same conclusions, but could admit—a little shamefully now—she hadn’t given Ryder credit for doing the same. “You thought of all this?”

“It’s a long freaking drive down there in a lot of freaking traffic. Plenty of time to work it out. Anyway. It’s a good-looking hotel.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I could see you there.”

“Could you?”

“Suits you, all the shine of it.”

“It did. Once.”

He studied her in silence a moment. “I guess you could say I looked a little out of place, going straight from the job. They were polite, I’ll give them that, and probably would’ve politely booted me out if I hadn’t suggested pending charges of assault if Wickham didn’t see me.”

“Assault?”

“She slapped you.”

“Yes, but—”