““Remember what I told you on the phone, that I found out the truth about the grant that was paying all my expenses?” she asked. Leta nodded. “Well, it wasn’t a grant that was paying for my education and living expenses.” She took a harsh breath. “It was Tate.” Leta scowled. “Are you sure?” “I’m very sure.” She glanced at the older woman. “I found out in the middle of Senator Matt Holden’s political fund-raiser, and I lost my temper. I poured crab bisque all over your son and there were television cameras covering the event.” She turned her wounded eyes toward the dancers. “I was devastated when I found out I’m nothing more than a charity case to him.” “That isn’t true,” Leta said gently, but a little remotely. “You know Tate’s very fond of you.” “Yes. Very fond, the way a guardian is fond of a ward. He owned me.””
