Page 5 of The Devil's Daughter

“Out with it,” I say, preferring brutal honesty over employees who will walk on eggshells around me.

“She’s young. Not to mention an employee. That’s all.”

“She’s also going through a rough time right now. And eight years isn’t a huge age difference in the grand scheme of things—you said yourself there’s more than a decade between you and your husband. But this isn’t a date. She’s been cooped up in the penthouse and is getting restless. One brief afternoon visit with her brother and sister isn’t going to be enough. My intention is to give her an opportunity for an outing without risking her safety.

“Which reminds me, make sure we double the budget for security at the venue. I’ll let the twins know tonight so they increase the staff for it, but go ahead and inform Karl Thomas this afternoon too.” While the twins are now my heads of security, Karl is their second in command. Since the event is only a few days away, the more people who are aware of the needs, the quicker it’ll happen.

She frowns. “Is this about Elle, or is it about the email you received last week?”

My jaw flexes at the reminder of the cryptic message some anonymous asshole sent me. “I’m not giving into threats, Lindsey. If someone wants to come for me, let them.”

“Drake,” she admonishes, “it’s the third time someone’s threatened the company if you don’t step down. I know you won’t go to the authorities due to your father’s history, but you can’t just leave it alone. I wish you cared more about your own wellbeing, but you’re not the only one to think about now. If thispersonfollows through…”

“I’m a rich man, Lindsey. There are people out there who make a hobby out of extorting people like me. This is probably nothing. The increased security isn’t about me, it’s about Elle, so please just do as I ask. I’ll cover any budget overshoot out of pocket, if necessary.”

“As you wish, sir.” She presses her lips tight, silent judgment emanating from her in waves.

“Thank you.” I sigh. “And I’ll talk to Baz Quin about the email. Maybe he can at least find out who has it out for me.”

Lindsey relaxes a little and nods. “How is Elle, by the way?” she asks as she eases back into her seat. “I’d gotten used to seeing her around for the past few months. She was a breath of fresh air around here. So bright. And pretty.”

“Well enough, considering. And thank you for your discretion. I don’t like asking you to lie for me, but this is important.”

“Working here means too much to me to risk it. Working foryou, I mean. What you’re doing for that girl is above and beyond, but after getting to know her, I’m sure it’s worth it. After everything from before…”

She trails off, shaking her head, but she doesn’t need to fill in the blanks. I know what she means, and I know all too well the secrets she was forced to keep for my father that nearly broke her, and nearly ran the company into the ground.

Lindsey’s one of the few people on the planet who know most of my secrets, and she might be the only one I actually trust with them.

I retreat to my office, pausing for a moment to enjoy the deep gold of the sky over the bay as the sun begins its descent. The Coronado Bridge stretches off into the distance, a line like an arrow aimed at the sun. It’s a clear afternoon, promising a warm night, no doubt. I take a moment to pull out my phone and text my chef, suggesting an outdoor supper tonight so the four of us can enjoy the evening.

It feels strange, this sense of domesticity that’s crept into my waking hours since they moved in. It hasn’t even been that long, but I already look forward to the companionship, even though most days I feel like an outsider looking in. So far I’ve avoided insinuating myself into their little triangle. Elle and the twins have a history, though it isn’t clear how deep that rabbit hole goes. I just know they’ve known each other since they were kids, which speaks to Arturo being involved, at least peripherally, in her life all along.

But I don’t get the sense that they’ve ever been more than friends. She ribs them like brothers, and they give as good as they get, though I don’t miss the way they both look at her when she isn’t paying attention. She may have been just a childhood friend at one time, but she’s definitely a woman in their eyes now.

I avoid looking, but that doesn’t mean I don’t notice. Elle has absolutely no clue how gorgeous she is, and it shows. She possesses the brash innocence of an extroverted young woman who grew up with four older brothers. She lacks the filter of a girl taught to behave like a proper young woman and isn’t afraid of sharing her opinion. This, plus her drive and dedication in school likely insulated her from the advances of boys as much as her brothers did, so it shouldn’t surprise me that she’s so clueless about the allure she has.

It’s definitely not lost on the twins, though. Or on me, though Lindsey was right; I’m probably too old for her and should restrict my attention to that of a mentor, not a suitor. Paying too much attention to her is a minefield of potential issues that go way beyond the complications of a boss getting involved with an employee. There are far more compelling reasons for me to keep our relationship formal.

In the interest of mentorship, I turn back to my desk and sit, switching on the monitor and pulling up the screen I closed earlier. I’m curious how much headway she’s made on her trek through the auditing program and fully expect to be impressed.

But what I see isn’t financial software code at all.

A heavy stone drops into my belly at a sight I thought I’d banished from my mind years ago: A screen filled with camera angles of bedrooms, one of which shows a young woman seated cross-legged on a bed with a laptop open in front of her.

The shock takes a moment to shake off, and the realization that I’m looking at Elle in her own bedroom upstairs delays any anger or confusion.

I’m seeing what she’s seeing, andsheis looking at surveillance of herself, as well as every other room in my penthouse, including my own bedroom and my private office. I’m not there at the moment, but judging by the angle, the camera has to be situated somewhere on the bookcase beside the door.

Didsheput it there?

No fucking way do I believe Elle is somehow a spy for her father. That’s absurd, especially considering there’s a camera inherroom.

The window blinks as she opens another app, and for a moment, all I see are lines of code. Then I’m looking at a file structure and quick clicks as folders are opened and scanned. Leaning closer, I look for her search term.

Drake Stavros + Arturo Flores.

I snort. The sneaky little minx is hacking my network, evidently hunting for information on my connection to her dad.

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