Page 141 of Titus

“He didn’t just cheat,” I whispered. “He made me feel cheap and disposable.”

The ocean moved softly around the yacht. For the first time all morning, Titus stopped looking amused and teasing across the breakfast table. Now he looked like a man trying very hard not to picture someone hurting me.

“What was this man’s name?”

I hesitated briefly before answering. “Eric Mueller.”

Something flickered behind Titus’s eyes. “The hotel developer,” he said calmly.

I looked up at him. “You know of him?”

“Only professionally.” Titus set his cup down. “He moved through a few European circles years ago.” I watched his expression carefully. There was no tension or insecurity in it. If anything, Titus looked mildly unimpressed by the memory.

“He was arrested some years ago, wasn’t he?” Titus asked.

Leave it to Titus Hawk to remember the scandal rather than the man.

“Yes,” I answered quietly. “Embezzlement.”

He exhaled, then smiled warmly at me. “A damn fool for treating a woman like you the way he did,” he said. “But, selfishly, I am eternally grateful to him. Now, I have this chance to prove I’ll be the last man you’ll love.”

“Declarations already, eh?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Titus said. “Especially to women.”

I sucked in a breath. Strangely, I wasn’t instantly fearful of him, pushing him and his charming words away.

“Does this frighten you?” he questioned.

“It should,” I answered truthfully.

He rose. “Come with me,” he said quietly. “I’d rather spend the morning helping you forget another man’s mistakes.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

The conference room overlooking Newport Harbor had fallen silent. Unfortunately for everyone present, it was not the productive kind of silence.

Instead, it was the kind that settled in after someone realized they were about to have the worst day of their career.

I stared at the financial report spread across the polished table before lifting my eyes to the six executives seated across from me.

“Tell me something,” I said, folding my hands. “If I walked into one of your hotels and found a six percent decline in guest retention, would any of you consider it acceptable?”

The regional director cleared his throat. “No, sir.”

“No.” I nodded. “Because six percent isn’t a fluctuation,” I slid the report across the table. “It’s incompetence.”

The paper stopped directly in front of the man. I watched as he swallowed, and everyone around him stayed silent.

“Sir, if I may,” another spoke.

I looked at him. “Go on…”

“Well, it’s just that times have changed.”

I glanced at Wyatt, then at the man. “Have they now?”

“Yes, people are traveling differently. Less.”