Page 12 of One Weekend in London

My decision is made.

I snap my head up, catching Mark’s eye.

“Find out everything. From her full name to any medical conditions she might have, where she’s staying, be it permanent or for just a holiday, her marital status, and any children she may have.”

If she’s a single mother, she won’t be for long.

“I expect either an extensive briefing or your resignation letter on my desk by dawn.”

It’s brusque, but I’ve never been one to mince words. My employees know my expectations. Proving my point, Mark nods, wholly understanding the gravity of the task at hand.

With nothing but time to bide, I turn my attention back to Sadie’s mobile, my thoughts churning with plans and possibilities. I’ve always found a certain thrill in the chase, in gathering complex pieces of someone else’s life puzzle.

But this is different.

As much as I rely on Mark and the rest of my team to unearth skeletons in others’ closets, we’re not just digging for corporate dirt this time. No, we’re laying the groundwork for something I know is more, something that could possibly define my entire future.

The bottom line is that I have to—and I will—find my new little obsession. Because what Rhys Kensington wants, Rhys Kensington gets.

And what I want is Sadie Winslow.

CHAPTER 5

Sadie

Things just keep on rolling downhill.

My hotel room door slams shut behind me, sealing me safely inside as I dig through my small purse like a woman possessed, searching for what I noticed is missing when retrieving my plastic keycard seconds ago.

“No, no, no,” I mumble, hanging on to denial as tightly as I can. “I couldn’t have lost my phone.”

Close to nose-diving into a well of panic, I cross the fancy five-star suite I’ve called home for the past few days with haste. The pronounced scent of luxury lingers in the air, paid for by an unknowing Maxwell, and dump the contents of my clutch onto the bed.

Well, it appears I was wrong a second ago.

My phone can be gone.

And unfortunately, it totally is.

“Oh, this is so not good.” My words echo through the otherwise empty room, taunting me. “Now what? Think, Sadie, think.”

Closing my eyes, I mentally retrace my steps. I had it after leaving the theater, I know, because I used it to pay for my taxi ride to The Opulence, the highfalutin’ bar my driver—who I suspect was cruelly setting me up to be turned away— said I just had to visit.

That only leaves one explanation.

I must have lost it while inside, right after getting more stirred up than a hornet in a honey jar and dropping my bag, sending its various contents tumbling across the dark floor. I thought I’d picked everything up and put it back in its rightful place; obviously, I was wrong.

Talk about a cherry on top of a crap sundae.

In the grand scheme of things, it’s such a silly thing to get so upset over, considering it’s replaceable. But after the night I’ve had, losing it is just one more punch to the solar plexus, leaving me winded and nauseated.

Not to mention on the verge of screaming in frustration.

Dropping down onto the soft mattress in defeat, I resist the urge to bang my head against the polished wood top of the nightstand to my left. Doing so won’t solve a single thing. It’ll only leave me with an even bigger migraine and one heck of an ugly bruise.

As Weston would say, damn it to hell and back.

Everything is falling apart and spinning out of control. At this point, I believe I’m cursed. It’s the only answer for why life keeps kicking my rear, especially when I’m already down.

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