They’re from the opposite ends of town but they’re worlds apart.
Zita Flanagan wants more. She wants to help more Central American refugees and make more of an impact. But her family comes first and fulfilling her own dreams seems impossible.
David Randall leads a privileged life and knows nothing about refugee issues. When he meets dynamic, sexy Zita, it seems like the perfect opportunity to learn. Zita’s passion for helping those less fortunate and her selfless devotion to the girls her mother fosters brings David’s life sharply into perspective.
Zita soon realizes that David is so much more than a rich boy. She begins to trust him with her foster sisters’ stories, and her own hopes and dreams. But when David’s father announces he’s running for governor and the focus of his campaign is the ‘refugee problem’, Zita has grave concerns for her sisters’ safety. Then David’s betrayal exposes secrets, and it becomes a race against time to save lives.
Can David convince Zita to trust him again, or will his mistake put the life of the woman he loves in jeopardy?
The buzz of people talking about the symposium was music to Zita Flanagan’s ears. She smiled. The subject of immigration was definitely a hot topic and one that needed discussing. She took a glass of red wine from the passing waiter and moved toward her mother, who was chatting with a group of migrant advocates.
“The presenters were a bunch of bleeding hearts, believing all the lies they’re told.” The complaint was loud, with a strong Texan drawl just off to Zita’s right.
Her skin tightened and her eyes narrowed. Keep moving. It wouldn’t do any good to get into an argument with someone like him. Especially not after she was on a high from hearing her sister’s impassioned speech about the plight of Central American refugees.
As she walked by the man, he stepped back, bumping into her and she almost spilled her wine.
“Excuse me, Missy.” A hand reached out to steady her and she turned to the broad-shouldered man who had more gray than brown in his hair.
Missy? Who the hell called anyone Missy these days? “Don’t worry about it.” She moved forward when he spoke again.
“You look like a sensible American gal. What do you think about the information presented at this here symposium?”
Zita grinned. People often mistook her for an American because she took after her Irish father with her strawberry blond hair, though her skin was the color of a summer’s tan. “Actually, I’m a migrant from El Salvador,” she said, enjoying the way the man’s eyes widened in surprise. “I believe the information presented was informative and accurate, and I can’t see how anyone could possibly disagree with it, unless they were a racist bigot.”
The man huffed out a breath of outrage and his face went red.
“Bob, everyone’s entitled to their opinion,” a deep voice said, his tone friendly.
She glanced at the man standing next to Bob. Hello, gorgeous. Blue eyes, the color of a tropical lagoon, blond hair styled with gel, and the sexiest smile she’d ever seen.
“I knew there’d come a day when I couldn’t tell a foreigner from an American. They’re learning to blend in.” Bob turned to his companion for backup.
That ticked Zita off. That his comment touched one of her insecurities was like prodding a nest of vipers.
“Dad.” The word was a censure coming from the sexy blond. They were related? What a shame.
“Do you agree with him too?” Zita asked, her heartbeat accelerating. “Do you think we should build a wall, stop these refugees from entering the United States, turn our backs on the people fleeing for their lives and searching for somewhere safe to live?” She was annoyed at herself for getting so worked up. There was no point talking to these people. They were too closed off in their bigotry. She moved away.
“Wait.” The blond grabbed her arm to stop her and red wine flew out of her glass over his white shirt.
Zita’s anger immediately dissipated. “I’m sorry.” She winced. There was no point dabbing at it, it was already spreading. His shirt was ruined.
“Totally my fault,” he replied, with a smile that didn’t slow her heart rate.
“Goddamn it, David. I can’t take you anywhere,” Bob said.
David chuckled, not at all perturbed. “Let me clean myself up, and then I’d like to talk with you.”
She frowned. It was doubtful that she’d want to hear what he had to say, or that he would be able to find her again in this crowd, so she said, “Sure.” Then she went to find her mother.
This is book three in the Flanagan Sisters series by Claire Boston. For more information on books one and two, check out Claire's website
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