Page 52 of Protecting Bianca

I stood from the chair, but just as I turned around, a thought popped into my head. “What’s Tagert’s order? At the coffee shop? What does he get?”

Khan picked up a notebook on his desk and flipped through the pages. “A double espresso macchiato.”

I nodded and walked out of the office. I had a lot of work to do. I had an idea, and I didn’t think it could wait.

My laptop was at home, but I’d left my woman at the hotel. I needed to remedy that as soon as possible.

I dialed her number and Bianca answered on the second ring.

“You caught me at a very bad time,” she said in a sultry voice.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m relaxing in a tub filled with Epsom salt and lilac-scented bubbles.”

A groan escaped my lips. “You’re making this harder than it already is.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll be tied up for the next couple of hours, but I’m arranging a body massage and pedicure at the spa in the hotel for you while you wait.”

She didn’t say anything, and I worried she was upset that I was bailing on her. “I’m sorry, B. If I didn’t think this was important, I wouldn’t neglect you like this.”

“Neglect me?” she scoffed. “Jager, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Not just the massage, that’s great, of course, but your consideration of my needs.”

“I will always think of your needs first. Especially when you take care of mine so well.”

She laughed, and I could listen to that sound all day. “So, you’re good with the plan?”

“Definitely.”

“Then consider it done. I’ll have the concierge call you with the arrangements.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

After ending the call with Bianca, I dialed the hotel and conveyed my instructions to the concierge. He was more than happy to help when I told him to add a significant tip for himself to the services.

With that taken care of, I could now focus on the task at hand, discovering if Tagert was the man behind this whole scheme.

13

Jager

I pressed my thumb to the blue-light scanner beside my apartment door. A red laser beeped across my hand and the door unlocked.

I installed the scanners years ago for me and my brothers when we all moved into the penthouse floor of our Park Avenue apartment building. Since the building had enough safety measures in place, they weren’t necessary, but I found them easier than carrying keys.

The heavy door clicked behind me, and I dropped my coat on the couch. Despite the sun shining through the south-facing windows, I shivered. It felt cold inside. Most likely, that had nothing to do with the temperature as much as theambiance. I had never bothered to buy a carpet, hang any paintings, or decorate in a way that would make the place feel like a home. Perhaps I’d always thought I’d move one day or maybe since I hadn’t had a real home my whole life, making this apartment feel like one wasn’t something that came easily to me.

My parents worked a lot. It wasn’t for any lack of money. As far as I knew, we were fine financially. I think my mother worked overtime because she didn’t like my father and he worked late, because, well, he liked his coworkers better. Especially hissecretary. They weren’t horrible parents. They never yelled or told me I couldn’t do something. They just weren’t around much. Ever. I couldn’t recall one memory of the three of us sharing a meal or a holiday. I couldn’t even find a family photo of us. I didn’t think it wasabnormal until I visited other people’s homes and realized there was something seriously missing in my childhood.

I still spoke to my parents. I sent them cards for their birthdays and called every few months to check-in. My dad usually told me about some new car he was fixing while my mom would share the details of her upcoming vacation. She traveled alone. She called them her health retreats, and she seemed happier anticipating them, but miserable when she returned home.

Walking over to the dining room table, I turned on my desktop.

My wallpaper made me smile as it was a photo of me and the boys after we returned to the U.S. after nearly eight years abroad. No one’s smile was wider than Jake’s. He had a sister and parents who met him at the airport. The rest of us were just happy to be back home.

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