“She doesn’t have to know—”

My laughter came harsher and louder. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Like father, like son. Not fucking happening.”

I marched toward the door to the bedroom as he struggled to get his jeans on. Not a fucking chance, Lincoln Riscoff. I won’t be your whore.

This time, as I walked through the living room, I was smart enough to snag the keys from the table where Lincoln had left them.

“Whitney, wait! That’s not—”

“No. I’m done waiting for you to man up, Lincoln. I’m done with all of this.” I slammed the door on my way out. “You can’t buy me!”

I hoped he liked walking home this time.

Forty-Nine

Lincoln

Present day

My mother had laid the seeds of doubt in Whitney’s mind, and I’d played right into them the night I finally got to see her. I was young and stupid then, and all I knew was that I’d never felt like that about anyone before Whitney Gable.

I didn’t realize I’d never feel that way about anyone else, but I won’t be making the same mistake again.

As soon as my mother is in the back of an SUV and on her way to the estate, I return to the front desk to make myself a key card for Whitney’s room. She and I are going to talk tonight whether she wants to or not.

Jackie Gable, who should be long since off shift, stands in front of the computer when I step behind the counter.

Fuck. It didn’t even occur to me to wonder why she was still in her uniform in the lobby when she tried to deal with my mother, because my brain was otherwise occupied.

“You’re working late.”

“Someone called in sick, and it was easy enough for me to cover the shift.”

“We appreciate it,” I say as I glance at the machine used to make key cards.

Jackie’s gaze follows mine. I’ve never thought she was an idiot, and it doesn’t take her long to guess why I’m here.

She shakes her head at me. “Please tell me you’re not here for the reason I think you are.”

“I need a key made.”

“I know that I have absolutely no grounds to refuse to do this for you, but I’m refusing all the same. If my niece doesn’t want to see you, you can’t make her.”

I straighten and meet Jackie’s gaze, a paler blue version of Whitney’s. “Then you can move out of the way and I’ll do it myself. I’m not asking your permission, Ms. Gable.”

Jackie’s jaw tenses and I can tell she wants to tell me to go to hell, but she steps aside instead. Her professional demeanor slips as I take her place. “You better be really damn sure—”

I turn to pierce her with my stare. “Do you want your niece leaving town in the morning because of what my mother said to her tonight?”

Jackie stiffens. “What did she say?”