Dominic pushed the papers at her. “Never mind that, here’s what you need to know. Your in-laws—or I should phrase it, your late husband’s family—have been scamming you. I had a friend do some research. You were left shares in your husband’s stocks. His family didn’t seem to think you should have the dividends due to you and they’ve been hanging onto the trust fund your late husband left for you.”
She stared at him, her mouth hanging open.
Hamilton grabbed the papers from Dominic. He scanned them and gave a laugh. “Nice and legal—almost. Their lawyers put them in as trustees to oversee the funds and determine distribution. And then they send you reports showing no dividends. That’s where you have them by the short hairs. Nice bit of digging, Dom.”
“Dom?” Paris pushed a hand into her hair. “What’s going on?”
Hamilton smiled at her. “What’s going on is that you don’t need my investment, but you do need some good lawyers. You’ll have to take this to court to get your money, but my guess if you get a powerhouse firm behind you, your late husband’s family will cave. They won’t want the IRS asking questions about fake reports on earnings. At a guess, I’d say you’ll come out with a couple of million, less legal fees and taxes, perhaps half that. Not a bad return. I don’t recommend you sink it into this…” He waved the papers at the lobby. “This money pit.”
Paris snatched the papers from him. “That’s it. I’ve had it with…with your condescension and your smug attitude and acting like you already own his place. Get out…and you can pack out your own Louis Vuitton!”
Hamilton’s smile widened. “God, you must be great in bed. Don’t worry, I’ll send my people to get my things. I’ve got a helicopter picking me up.” He turned to the doorway and the sound from outside. “That must be it now. Good luck with her, Dominic. I think you’ll need it.” With a wink, he left.
Paris turned and faced Dominic. “What did he call you?”
Dominic put his hands in his pockets. “I think this needs a drink. The Macallan, in fact.” He turned and led the way into the lounge and the bar. He wasn’t certain Paris would follow, but she did. She strode behind the bar, pulled out the good whisky and poured two glasses. She threw hers back. Dominic left his sitting on the bar. He wasn’t going to drink until he knew if he had something to celebrate.
Face pink, Paris put her hands on the bar and faced him. “Okay—talk!”
Dominic sat on one of the bar stools. “I didn’t come here with the intent to deceive. Just to escape. I…I ended up finding
more than I thought I would.”
She crossed her arms. “So far I’m not hearing anything good.”
Taking a breath, Dominic plunged into the story—someone trying to shoot at him, threatening him, how he’d come here to rethink his life, to somehow reconnect with himself. He wet his lips. Ridiculous how his insides shook. He glanced at Paris. “I…I didn’t want to become my father. He was…well, he sounds like he might have been a lot like your husband. Business first, last, and only. He threw me out when I was sixteen. And I…it pissed me off. And it hurt.” Looking down, he dug a thumbnail into the wood. He’d never told anyone this. “I felt a failure. Even worse, I knew I was letting my mom down. She was dead, but I’d been raised Catholic, and I’m still sure she looks down on me. I wanted her to be proud of me, but there I was in the streets, and I knew my dad was waiting for me to come crawling, begging back to him. So I vowed I’d show him. And I did.” Glancing up, he tried to gauge Paris’ mood, but she kept her face blank. Only her eyes glittered.
“Go on,” she said the words clipped.
“Well, I put my mind to it. Probably too much. I made more money than dear old dad, had more companies, and just kept on with it. Somehow it was never enough to get what I really wanted.” He looked at her. “Him coming to me and saying he was sorry. He never was. And then one day someone wants to kill me, calls me names for what I was doing, and I started to wonder if I was my dad…if that’s all I was. I needed to go somewhere and not be Dominic McCarthy, the rich and powerful. I needed to just be a guy trying to get along.”
“Why here?”
Dominic shrugged. “Why not. My friend, Zach, picked it for me. Said it’d be relaxing. Quiet. Just what I needed.” He straightened. “And now?”
Paris shook her head. She started to put a hand to her temple, but the papers she was holding crumpled. She stared at them as if she’d forgotten them. “Am I really…really rich?”
Dominic nodded. “I wanted to make sure Hamilton didn’t cheat you out of this place. I knew he would. We’ve done business before. I had my friend Zach dig up a business opportunity and send it Hamilton’s way—I wanted him gone. But I also had Zach look into your late husband’s affairs. It didn’t make sense to me that he left you this place and no money to look after it.”
She stared at him. “What? Why do you say that?”
Dominic shook his head. “A man doesn’t leave the woman he loves in the lurch like that. I knew what I’d do. So I figured something wasn’t right with the money flow.”
“I…I need to think.” Turning, Paris walked away. And Dominic let her. He stared at the glass of whisky in front of him. And he wondered how had he fallen so fast and so hard—and for a woman who probably hated him now.
Chapter Sixteen
Paris went to her room, but she couldn’t stand being inside. She changed into hiking boots and headed for the mountains. If there’d been snow on the ground she could have cleared her head with a run, but this would have to do.
She left a note for Michael about the path she planned to take—it was an old favorite, and only an idiot hit the trail without telling anyone. She grabbed a light jacket and a bottle of water. She didn’t plan to be out that long. But she had to get outside.
The trail took all of her attention. It was rough enough in spots to leave her panting and sweating. When she got to the outlook, she turned and stared out at the land.
The lodge looked like a speck nestled in the trees now. Small and unimportant.
And she was rich.
She sat down. Well, she was if she wanted to hire lawyers and wage a battle. She shivered and pulled on her jacket. Did she want that? The money would be great. She could invest in Michael’s snow machine, she could redo the lodge, and she wouldn’t have to worry about money for a time. She could even get back to skiing if she wanted—maybe compete again. She frowned. Did she want that?