Page 145 of Dream Chaser

Then he exhaled, curling his hand over my hip. “When I set up my agency, I could’ve fucked him over.”

I pressed my lips to his shoulder. “But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t. I could’ve stolen his clients, offered them what he never did, but I didn’t want him to think I succeeded because of his clients and his connections, so I started from scratch. Traveled all around Spain looking for young, talented athletes to represent.”

“Athletes like Asher?”

“Yeah. He was one of my first clients.”

“What he did is still hurting you, Ale.” I placed another kiss on his skin. “And it’s okay to admit it is.”

Alejandro grabbed my hand and brought it to his lips. “I know.” He kissed my fingers. “I saw him in Valencia outside the restaurant after you left. He spewed some shit about how similar he and I were, and I…I fucking froze. Said nothing when I should’ve put him in his place. And now he must think he can get away with anything.”

“Would confronting him give you closure? Would it make you feel better?”

“I don’t know.” He pressed his lips to my temple. “I’ve always believed in forward motion and focusing on the future instead of being stuck in the past, but it’s my business. My legacy.”

“I won’t tell you what to do.” I threaded my fingers through his. “But you have my support no matter what.”

His long, tender kiss was the only answer I needed.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Alejandro

February

Rowan’s call came much sooner than I expected, barely two weeks after our meeting.

“Alejandro.” He shook my hand as I entered his office. “Please sit. I’ve got an update.”

I lowered myself into a chair in front of his desk. He hummed, opening a folder, then pulled out a few pages.

“I wasn’t so off-base with my hunch, then?” I asked.

Rowan shook his head. “I went to Millford right after our meeting. Had a couple beers with a few older folks at the local bar. A nostalgic crowd. The name Kevin Marshall came up without me even asking.”

Preston Marshall’s father. Rowan was taking his sweet time getting to the point, but I wasn’t about to rush him.

“And then someone mentioned his son.”

“Let me guess, they were sorry he didn’t become a mayor like his father.”

“More like surprised. They said it was odd he lost after everything he’d invested in the campaign. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the costs, but here’s an estimate.”

He slid a page toward me. I read it several times, struggling to make sense of the figures. What Nova’s ex had spent on the campaign was enough to set up a business. Actually, it was more than I’d spent on mine.

Rowan leaned back in his leather chair. “Prime-time ad slots, professionally produced commercials, enough billboards to resemble a senate campaign… Impressive for a wannabe mayor of a town with three traffic lights.”

“I wonder where he got the funds.”

“I wondered, too. So I dug deeper. Take a look at the Silver Ridge Development Group.”

He handed me a brochure. Embossed lettering. Heavy paper. Inside, there was a sprawling architectural rendering of a colonial-style hotel, complete with a golf course and rows of upscale cottages.

“Those are luxury vacation rentals,” Rowan said. “They were pitching them as a tourism investment. A week after Preston Marshall had dinner with those guys, billboards with his face started popping up around Millford. The timing is too suspicious to be a coincidence.”

“So, you’re saying the developers funded his campaign?”