My billionaire boyfriend’s mother walked into my Vermont farmhouse, placed a blank check on my kitchen table, and said, “Name your price. Then disappear before Adrian learns that child is his.”

intercept the letter I sent Adrian?”

For the first time, Celeste looked uncomfortable.

Only briefly.

Then she recovered.

“My son receives an extraordinary amount of correspondence. Surely you don’t expect him to remember every woman who writes to him claiming some personal connection.”

I stared at her.

There was something wrong with that answer.

I’d never told Celeste that I’d written to Adrian at his corporate office.

Yet she’d responded as though she knew exactly what I was talking about.

I stood.

Celeste apparently interpreted that as a sign I