Page 75 of Burning Caine
I watched after her, the doors forgetting about me and closing of their own volition. Reminding me that she was out of my reach. That I had decided to win her heart first, no matter how much I wanted the rest.
But what would that accomplish? She had said she was only in Brenton for the short term, but I hadn’t thought she was this dedicated to keeping it short term.
A hotel?
No lease to break, nothing to sell?
She could leave at a moment’s notice, whisking my heart away to whatever corner of the country she left for.
Fate was a cruel mistress.
Chapter 30
Samantha
Mondaymorning,Iwalkedinto the break room at Foster Mutual to grab coffee before heading to my desk. It was a small room off the hallway with a kitchenette, a couple of round tables in the middle with seating, and copies of local and national newspapers. Cliff was there, making a fresh pot, so I leaned over the papers to scan the headlines while I waited.
When I pulled theBrenton Timesout from under one of the national papers, I gasped.
Cliff poured a cup for each of us and stifled a laugh. “When I told you to sit on him until he was done with the Scott painting, that wasn’t what I meant!”
The headline read ‘Children’s Hospital Gala a Success.’ There was a half-page article about the event, and the picture, taking up a third of the article, was of the dance floor. Antonio and I dead center. The caption under the photo read, ‘Dr. Antonio Ferraro, Brenton’s most eligible bachelor, attends Children’s Hospital Charity Gala. Ferraro’s company contributed over one million dollars to the charity, helping make it the gala’s most successful year.’
There was nothing about me in the article, but there was plenty about Dr. Dominico’s million-dollar bid on the painting Antonio and I had chosen and a tiny paragraph about the stolen painting. But why that picture? When I read the byline—Victoria Meyers—the easy guess was she was none other than Miss July.
After tearing off the front page and stuffing it in my pocket so no one else would see it, I grabbed the coffee and headed to the Pit.
A sly look from Lucy as I arrived told me I was too late. “Good weekend?”
I shot her a sidelong glance and greeted Matt, who was waiting for us with printouts of the Scotts’ prior insurance policies. As a senior underwriter for the company, I had asked him to review them with us, in case he could find something abnormal.
“The replacement value on their home increased at the standard rate every renewal,” said Matt, comparing the policy declarations for each year. “New coverages were added as we introduced them, like cyber risk, but nothing out of the ordinary. No changes in liability coverage. A couple of minor changes to remove lesser-value paintings and jewelry, but nothing material.
“I remember reviewing the increase when they sent it in 2015. It was a big deal around here. We had to get a special acceptance from our reinsurance company and put some stipulations on the policy. Dad signed off on it directly.”
I frowned, which Matt picked up on immediately.
“Is there something going on I should know about?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “I’ve been talking to Harry and Quinn. They have me seeing shadows everywhere.”
“Yeah, they can do that.” He was tentative but continued to review the paperwork. I’d never been able to lie to him, so either I was getting better, or he was giving me the benefit of the doubt. Or enough rope to hang myself with. “There’s nothing out of the ordinary here. We retain seven years’ worth of documents in the main system, but they’ve been with us for ten. If you want anything from their first three years, you’ll have to talk to IT about archived documents.” He stood and stacked all the papers together. “Can I talk to you for a quick sec before I go?”
We stepped outside of the Pit far enough our voices wouldn’t carry but kept our conversation at a whisper.
“Sam, I wanted to tell you I’m happy for you.”
“For what?”
He tilted his always-furrowed brow toward me. “We all saw the article in the paper. I’m glad you’re dating. You looked happy with him.”
So much for tearing the picture out. “I’m not dating him.”
“You sure? The photo looked pretty serious.”
It had felt serious in the moment. There had been highs and lows Saturday evening. I folded my arms to prevent my hand from travelling to my cheek to touch the spot he’d kissed.
“Was that all?”