Page 2 of Once Upon A Sale

Dancing with Logan is familiar, comforting, like dancing with a best friend. Fuck buddies we may be, but anything more is never happening. Others are swaying and twirling around us, and I spot one of my favorite couples here this evening, The Mancinis. They’re generous donors to my charity events, and I’ve even done some private work for him, as well.

As the owner of a worldwide security and technology company, I’m not short on rich and powerful clients, but the Mancinis are a different breed altogether. They don’t hire me for my technology skills.

The rest of the evening goes off without a hitch, as expected. I’m confident in my ability to host these things, and everyone begins to leave with smiles on their faces and polite handshakes.

“Wanna come home with me?” Logan wags his brows as the last person leaves, a drunken grin stretching his lips.

“Not tonight. My driver’s waiting outside already and I think you need to get some sleep.” I laugh when he sways on his feet a little, clearly having had too much champagne. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“Whatever, Sunny.” He chuckles to himself and allows me to take his arm. I lead him outside to my black Escalade, where the driver is standing and holding open the back door.

“Thank you, Robert.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Warren.” My driver, Robert, closes the door once we’re both inside, and within a few minutes, we’re on the road.

The streets of Miami at night are nothing like the streets of Miami during the day. There are colorful lights lining the roads, the bars and clubs spilling over with people—mostly tourists—and there’s just a whole different vibe.

I love living in this city, and it’s all great for my public image, but on nights like this one, I’m glad my home is more secluded than where Logan lives. He lives in a gated community full of twelve ridiculous mansions, and even that’s too much for me.

The security guard at the gates lets us through and we pull up Logan’s driveway—his parents’ driveway because yeah, he still lives with his parents, albeit in a different wing of the house.

“Go and get some sleep. Text me tomorrow sometime, okay?”

“No nightcap?” Logan’s eyes are hooded, but not with lust. He’s probably got another thirty minutes in him before he passes out. Luckily, I already messaged his house manager, who is waiting just outside the front door with a stern look on her face. Her white hair seems to glow in the moonlight and I know her hard stare doesn’t mean she’s angry.

“Goodnight, Lolo.”

“Goodnight, Sunny.”

I watch him walk up the rest of his driveway to Mrs. Wickens. Well, walk, stumble…either way, once he reaches her, I give Robert a nod through the rearview mirror, silently communicating to him to take me home.

It’s been a long night and rather than being happy about all the money I’ve helped to raise, I’m anxious about the message I received from one of my best friends, Tabatha, early this evening.

The good kinda anxious, but anxious all the same.

Pulling my cell from my rhinestone encrusted bag, I open my messages and read over the text again.

Tabby:We found him.

Chapter Two

Ophelia

My bullet flies silently through the cool night air, finding its mark square between the eyes of my target before he collapses to the floor. Blood forms a puddle on the pavement beneath his head, and it glistens from the reflection of the street lights below me.

Yes!I internally fist pump at my accuracy. I know I’m good, but it still feels nice to congratulate myself.

It may seem cowardly to not have taken him out face to face, but he was surrounded by too many people for me to take him on my own. I mean, I can handle myself—very well—but fifteen trained security guards against little old me? Nope. I’m not stupid, I know my limits.

From my position on the high roof opposite the office building, I can see through the scope on my rifle as the bulky guys encircling my target go into full-on security mode, and a feeling of satisfaction warms my insides. Most of them are looking around, trying to see if they can figure out where the bullet came from. The shortest guy is on the phone, probably calling theircleanup crew. Not that any of them are really short because he must be at least six-foot. Two of them have picked up my now-dead target and are hurrying his body into the black van parked nearby so it’s off the street.

Lucky for them, it’s 1:30am and there’s nobody else around to see what’s going on.

The two people I trust most in the world, Tabatha and Caliope, are waiting for my text to let them know everything’s gone as planned. We have spent years researching the hell out of this trafficking ring, each for our own reasons, and this is the second member that we’ve managed to take down. It’s satisfying in a way that can only be felt when vengeance is carried out, and right now, adrenaline is coursing through my body. I can barely contain my grin.

The new dead guy, Roland Gonzales, may have been a politician who wasn’t stupid enough to believe he was untouchable—considering the hefty security he regularly had around him—but our research proved he had been a regular investor, receiving a large sum once every few months from an offshore account. He also liked to sample the merchandise. As a result of his poor choices, one of the girls we rescued mid-transit last month confirmed his identity.

While Caliope was doing her techy research, Tabatha has been staking out our latest target. Me, on the other hand, I’ve been training my ass off between the events and obligations of the life I don’t want to live. It’s necessary though, to keep the rich girl façade and my place as the CEO of a multinational security company. In those circles, secrets are easily exposed when you know the right buttons to press, and occasionally, those secrets are helpful to our cause. Plus, a too-sweet-and-innocent-looking woman could never be dangerous, right? This is the only time misogyny works in my favor.

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