“Sorry, I really can’t help you,” Willow said curtly, not wasting another word before shutting the door in Vivian’s face.
Left standing in the hallway, Vivian Hale’s expression darkened like thunderclouds. She was, after all, Connor’s mother.
“Ma’am, maybe we should try something else?” ventured one of the bodyguards hovering behind her.
Vivian let out a frustrated sigh. “Like what? What else can we do?”
Even her own brother—chief of an entire police precinct—had come up empty-handed. What could she, a pampered society matron, possibly manage that he couldn’t?
No, she couldn’t give up. She needed Willow’s help to convince Beasley to reverse his decision. If she failed, the Mitchell Group would be finished, and both her and her son’s standing in the Mitchell family would crumble.
She squared her shoulders and snapped at the bodyguards, “Put the gifts by the door.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The two men obediently stacked the neatly wrapped parcels outside Willow’s apartment.
“Let’s go,” Vivian said sharply, striding toward the elevator, her heels echoing in the corridor as the bodyguards hurried after her.
Inside, Willow closed the door and headed back to the living room. She busied herself sorting the groceries she’d just brought home, putting everything in order, then made herself a delicious lunch. Once she’d eaten, she messaged Juliette to check on her progress.
Juliette’s reply came a few minutes later: [Getting discharged now. I’ll call you tonight.]
That sounded promising. Willow put down her phone and went to her study.
She spent the afternoon writing, only stopping when dusk fell to make dinner. By seven, she’d finished eating, but Juliette still hadn’t called.


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