standing near the entrance, his jaw dropped open. “Darla? What on earth are you doing here? I told you to go straight home to the house.”
Darla stood frozen near the door, her eyes darting between her disheveled husband and the composed board members. Evan walked to the head of the table, pulling out the tall leather chair reserved for the chairman.
He did not sit down at once; instead, he rested his hands on the high back of the chair. “Mrs. Whitmore flew with me from Atlanta, Daniel. We had an opportunity to discuss the current state of affairs.”
Daniel’s face drained of what little color it had left, turning the same sickly gray as the morning sky. “Evan, please. Whatever she said to you on that plane, she didn’t know the context of our deal.”
“She knew enough to threaten me with your influence,” Evan replied smoothly, his
