Page 35 of Bitter Secrets

She slipped into the passenger seat and fussed with her coat.

He hunkered down in the open doorway. “Jasmine.”

She eyed him for a long moment before she said, “You know there’s not much information about this building.”

“But you discovered something.”

“Don’t we have to go to dinner?”

His hand landed on her bare knee. “Tell me what you found.”

“It’s one of the most expensive residential developments in the world,” she quoted. “There’s only one public investor listed. The others were all private, and you told me you were one of them.” She surveyed him for a long moment before she said, “There are rumors about the residents.”

His steady gaze compelled her to continue.

“Arms dealers, wealthy criminals, and others who want to move about without drawing attention to themselves.”

He waited for a beat before he asked, “Is that all?”

Her brows shot up. “Isn’t that enough?” When he shrugged, she hedged, “Is it true?”

He straightened. “Don’t worry about it.”

When he moved back to close the door, she gripped his coat. “What are you into, Roth?”

He trailed his finger down her cheek. “Many things, but none that you need to know about.” When she didn’t release him, he added, “He’s waiting for us.”

When her hand dropped, he stepped back and closed the door. It wasn’t until he drove the Rolls-Royce into a glass and steel elevator that she realized how odd it was to see him behind the wheel.

“Where’s Mo and Johan?” she asked distractedly as they traveled up to street level.

“Probably in a pub,” he said as he pulled into traffic.

“We don’t need them in London?”

“Not tonight.”

His cryptic answers were really starting to piss her off, but what did she expect? He wasn’t going to tell her any more than she needed to know. Did he not trust her to keep her mouth shut? Her hands fisted in her lap. Well, she wasn’t supposed to care, right? She was just passing through anyway. She turned her attention from him to Central London. Her heart lightened as they passed familiar shops she had visited in her youth. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this city filled with history and quirky charm.

Roth navigated easily through the bumper-to-bumper traffic. His years in the city showed as he took backstreets and never once referred to his phone for directions. The Rolls-Royce’s soundproof interior was so complete, only the faintest hint of the downpour reached her ears. Roth didn’t turn on the radio to fill the silence. Like her father, he hated unnecessary noise, and that included music or talking. They lived in their heads. So did she. She had never noticed that similarity before. She built fictional worlds while they created in the real one, shaping everything around them to their will. When she moved in with her father, they spent most of their time in the library, working at their respective desks. They didn’t have deep, meaningful conversations. Most of their communication was unspoken, instinctive. Spending hours in the same room with someone, listening to the rhythm of their work, told her more than asking her father one hundred questions. They sensed each other’s moods and adjusted accordingly.

Sitting in silence with a stranger was uncomfortably intimate, but even when she was getting to know Roth, it had never bothered her. She adjusted to his pattern so easily, just as she had this time. Raised by a mathematical genius who didn’t encourage affection made her the perfect target for Roth. Because her father was terrible in relationships, she hadn’t found Roth’s detachment unnerving. That was all she’d known. How different things would have been if she had a friend to confide in, who could have told her what they had wasn’t normal. But, would she have listened?

She straightened as the car slowed. Valets leapt forward with umbrellas and led her into an upscale French restaurant. She shrugged off her coat as Roth gave his name to the maître d'. When he turned, his gaze coasted over her. He handed his coat over without looking away from her. As the maître d' gathered menus, he gripped her hip and drew her against him.

“Daiyu?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

“I’m developing an obsession for the clothes she makes for you,” he said as he cupped her ass before taking her hand in his.

They followed the maître d' through a restaurant filled with gentle candlelight and fashionably dressed people. Men and women’s eyes flicked to Roth before they fell on her and stayed there. Maybe she should have put more effort into her makeup. It was just her luck that their table was in the middle of the room, under a brilliant chandelier. She had eaten here once with her father, when she was a young girl. Reservations needed to be made months in advance.

As they approached the table, a man shot to his feet. Despite the excellent cut of his suit, he still looked unkempt.

“This is Guy Reed,” Roth said.

As she shook Guy’s hand, she sifted through her knowledge of the British Reed family. She met Samson Reed years ago at some event. He was a nice man, a rarity in their world. He made his fortune from a beer company his grandfather started and took it to the States, where business boomed.

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