Postcards From…Verses Brides Babies And Billionaires - Rebecca Winters Mills & Boon e-Book Collections

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news article references a huge fight he had with a Marguerite Bernard. It said that his gallery was hosting a show for another local artist but the night ended abruptly when the couple had a huge screaming match and he kicked everyone out. According to her website she started working at a different gallery a few months later.”

      “It could just be a lover’s quarrel,” Rhys said.

      “I wouldn’t have thought much of it until I saw this.” She reached around the computer and brought up another picture.

      It was a picture of a woman. Swelling had almost closed her eye over completely and an eggplant-colored bruise mottled her fair complexion. The skin appeared to be split across her cheekbone.

      “Shit,” Owen muttered, shaking his head in disgust.

      Rhys grunted in agreement and clenched his fists.

      “This is Marguerite Bernard,” Quinn continued. “This picture was posted on her Instagram page two days after the incident at the gallery. The caption says, ‘He will get away with this. His father will protect him and I won’t have the chance for justice. Remember, control is not love.’ There are a bunch of hashtags under it, as well. She doesn’t reference Sean by name, but the timing certainly fits.”

      Fighting back the sick feeling in his stomach, Rhys tried to focus on the job at hand. Now, with even more reason to be worried for Wren’s safety, he needed to ensure that they handled this situation accordingly. Knowing Quinn’s background and recent experience, she might want to jump in and blame Ainslie. But they had to tread carefully, refrain from doing anything that might spook him until they had more information.

      Which meant Rhys needed to play devil’s advocate.

      “I understand this is very disturbing,” he said. “But I still don’t see what this has to do with the potential break-ins. Do you think Marguerite might have done it?”

      “Not necessarily, but I’ve looked into a few of the other women who’ve worked for Ainslie, and a number didn’t stay at the gallery very long.” She closed the lid on her laptop. “I’m going to reach out to them and ask if they experienced anything shady about Ainslie’s practices.”

      “You seem to be treating him like a suspect rather than a client,” Rhys warned.

      Her head bobbed. “I have a funny feeling about this guy. Something doesn’t seem right, but point taken. I’ll be discreet.”

      “I thought Quinn and I might head over to the gallery later today so I can suss this guy out,” Owen added. “Can’t hurt to get another set of eyes on him, right?”

      “Of course.” Rhys nodded. “I want to be kept fully updated on this assignment. Okay, Quinn?”

      “Are you worried that I won’t be able to handle it?” Her eyes narrowed at him.

      He drew a deep breath. Quinn’s insecurities had certainly improved since she’d started dating Aiden, but her journey to confidence wasn’t one that would happen overnight. Just as her defensive shield still popped up from time to time.

      “Did I say that?”

      “No,” she admitted.

      “I’ve met with the client. Therefore, my name is stamped on this, and I don’t take that lightly.” He turned to Owen. “Quinn will run with this assignment and you can provide guidance and mentoring as appropriate.”

      Owen nodded. “Got it.”

      Rhys stood. “Good. I expect an update tomorrow morning.”

      In the meantime, he would have to stay occupied so he didn’t drive himself crazy over Wren. No easy task, since her beautiful face appeared the second his brain wasn’t fully engaged on a task.

       It’s just a fling. She’s already made it clear that she’s not going to stay, and the sooner you believe that, the saner you’ll be.

      Unfortunately for Rhys, knowing she was leaving didn’t necessarily mean he could avoid wanting her to stay.

       7

      THE LAST FEW days had been a whirlwind for Wren. She’d felt guilty ever since leaving Rhys’s apartment at the crack of dawn on Tuesday morning. Now it was Friday and she hadn’t seen him all week. Maybe she should have stayed. Morning-after etiquette wasn’t exactly her forte, and she’d wanted to save him the trouble of having to kick her out. Or, rather, saving herself the humiliation of being kicked out.

      Watching his beautiful sleeping form had stirred some uneasy emotions inside her. She was supposed to be in New York to figure out what’d happened to her friend. Not to be picking up devastatingly attractive men and using them to broaden her sexual horizons.

      But Rhys wasn’t just that. The way he’d made her feel…hell, it was soul-soothing. Healing. It was about the sex and yet it wasn’t.

      Which made her guilt over lying to him so much stronger. Not to mention that she’d yet to make any progress at the gallery.

      “You’ll bury yourself with all those thoughts,” she muttered to herself as she lugged her canvas up the last flight of stairs to her apartment. The messy interpretation of Rhys’s face stared at her as she trudged.

      At least the dust storm of feelings had the benefit of spurring her into action. She’d decided to take cupcakes to Aimee in the hopes a little “girl time” would butter the woman up and Wren could ask about her relationship with Sean. Turned out buttercream frosting was as good as truth serum.

      Aimee must have been looking for a sounding board, because she’d let the information fly as soon as they were alone in the gallery’s kitchenette. She’d fought with Sean recently; he’d gotten a little rough. The bruise on Aimee’s upper arm was hidden by a floaty top, but there was no denying the distinct finger-shaped marks.

      Had Kylie fallen prey to Sean’s charms, as well? Wren would never have thought her friend would be the type to get involved with her boss. But there were similarities that Wren couldn’t ignore and she already suspected Sean was to blame for Kylie’s black eye and fractured bones.

      Wren wondered if the email Aimee had tried to delete contained proof of Sean’s abuse. Or of their relationship? But when she’d had tried to get back into Sean’s email to see what else she could dig up, it looked as though he’d changed the password. After a few failed attempts to get in, she’d reluctantly stopped, afraid that if the password had to be reset he would get suspicious again.

      It was yet another day where she’d gone home empty-handed.

      From the depths of her bag her phone started to ring. “Dammit,” Wren cursed under her breath.

      She paused at the top of the staircase, leaning the canvas against the wall while she dug her phone out. “Hello?”

      “Big sis!”

      “Why do you always seem to call when I’m carrying stuff up stairs?” Wren tucked the phone between her ear and her shoulder. “That’s some talent you’ve got.”

      “I aim to annoy,” Debbie said cheerfully. “How’s things? Banged your neighbor yet?”

      A strangled noise halfway between laughing and choking came out of Wren’s mouth. “What?”

      “I take that as a confirmation. Go, you.” Her sister laughed. “I hope my pep talk helped things along.”

      Wren rolled her eyes as she shuffled awkwardly down the corridor with the canvas and her bag. “My sex life has nothing to do with you and that’s how it should be.”

      “Whatever works. Was it amazing? Was he amazing?”

      “It was and he was, if you must know. Not

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