In reality, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Nicole Webb was worried that Mathew Rogers—a man who came off as cold and calculating—might suddenly do something unpredictable. Just in case, she’d grabbed the metal tray as a makeshift shield.

Mathew surfaced at the edge of the pool and eyed the basin in Nicole’s hands.

“You brought an entire cleaning kit?”

“You asked for towels. I like to be prepared.”

She stepped back to make room for him, but her heel caught the soap she'd set down. Her feet flew out from under her.

“Nicole—!”

She hit the water hard. Panic seized her before she could catch the edge. She couldn't swim, and her leg cramped as she tried to kick upward.

Mathew was already moving. He caught her under the arms and hauled her to the steps, supporting her until she could breathe.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice stripped of its usual arrogance. “Are you hurt?”

Nicole coughed, clinging to the rail. “I told you I don't belong in a pool.”

“I didn't know you couldn't swim.”

“You never asked.”

He had no answer for that.

Then Nicole felt something shift on her head.

“Oh no. My wig!”

Her dark hair spilled free across her shoulders. Mathew stared, startled by how completely the woman before him differed from the one he'd hired.

Mathew fished the orange, frizzy wig out of the water, his eyes sharp on her. “Why the wig?” “I—I...” Nicole’s heart raced as panic set in. Thank God her waterproof makeup had held; her real face was still hidden. “It’s just a personal choice!”

“Leave it to suspicious people to have the most ridiculous excuses.” “What’s your problem? Can’t a person have hobbies?” Nicole shot back, glaring at him.

Mathew frowned, studying her. Without the wig, she was still far from attractive. Her complexion hadn’t changed—still dark, every layer of concealing makeup still in place. Had he been wrong? He’d initially suspected Nicole was disguising herself for some ulterior motive. But apparently— “Boring.” Mathew tossed the wig aside and swam back toward the edge. As he passed her, Nicole tried to climb out—and slipped on the soap.

Nicole scrambled onto the pool steps, still shaken. Mathew held out a towel. She took it without thanking him.

“Are you always this suspicious of people?” she asked.

“Only when they arrive with a disguise and refuse to explain it.”

“Maybe I have a reason.”

“Then tell me.”

She met his gaze. “Earn my trust first.”

For once, Mathew had no cutting reply. He watched her wrap the towel around her shoulders and turn away, unsettled by the fact that he wanted to know more.

Meanwhile, at the doorway, a well-dressed woman stood frozen in shock. Her purse hit the floor with a thud. “Mr. Rogers? What’s going on?” Arlette Hill’s eyes filled with indignant tears.

She’d known Mathew for three years. Their families were considered a perfect match—his, old money and prestige; hers, famous for antique restoration. She’d been led to believe she might one day become Mrs. Rogers, and Mathew’s kindness had only fed that hope. This scene shattered every assumption she’d had.

Caught in the awkward position, Nicole quickly shoved Mathew off and stood off to the side. “What brings you here?” Mathew asked, giving Arlette a detached glance. “Mr. Rogers, you haven’t explained who she is. How could you be involved with a maid?” “It’s not what you—” Nicole started. But Mathew raised a hand, silencing her. He looked at Arlette with disinterest. “What if I am? Do I owe you an explanation for my actions?”