Page 3 of Fiery Romance

Meeting my employees’ eyes, I give a slight nod and watch as they rally around the customers.

In the melee, I pull Nova aside.

“Do you know who that guy was?” I ask her.

She’s the CEO of Vision Tech, one of the largest tech companies in the country. Plus her billionaire-inventor boyfriend runs in elitist circles. If anyone would know how to find a guy that can drop bank money like it’s dollar bills on a stripper, it’ll be him.

“That’s Clay Bolton,” Nova says, her voice smooth and low. “He owns a security company.”

“A security company?” My voice climbs with hope. Then he was definitely pulling my leg. One little security company can’t generate enough to purchase a bank.

I start to breathe easier. “Thanks, Nova.”

“Did you really call CPS on him?”

The smile doesn’t drip from my face when I say, “Why don’t you get back in your chair and relax? I’m not expecting any more Goliath-sized intruders, so there’s no need to look so worried.”

“Island…”

“I’ll handle everything, alright?”

Her nose scrunch says she knows she’s being brushed off, but if it’s one thing my gran taught me, it’s the power of playing dumb.

Don’t give nobody the upper hand by letting them know how smart you are. The best defense is being underestimated.

“If you don’t mind, I have to make a call. I’ll have someone else wash your hair today.” I point Nova in the direction of another washing station.

She patters away in her designer heels and then looks back at me. I give her a tight smile and make a ‘go on’ gesture.

When she’s settled with another hair stylist, I drop my practiced smile, whip my cell phone out and stalk to my tiny office in the back of the salon.

The room is tight because I do most of my work on the go. There are boxes of hair products and accessories stacked to the ceiling. I can barely appreciate my funky floral wallpaper or the gilded, Gatsby-themed chandelier I had installed.

“Come on, Rosie, pick up,” I mumble.

The phone rings and rings.

I chew on my bottom lip, tap my leather mini skirt with a finger and breathe out steadily until I hear a click.

“Hello?”

I scramble up. “Rosie, what the hell?”

“Island? What’s wrong? Wait—did you hear from my brother? Is he okay?”

My heart pinches. Amazing how I was fine when that menace in the tight T-shirt barked at me, but one mention of Taz makes me feel like I got sucker-punched.

“No, he hasn’t contacted me.”

“That idiot,” Rosie mumbles. “It’s been weeks. He’s making mom and dad worry.” She seems to realize who she’s talking to and quickly tacks on. “And you, of course. You’re probably more important to him than all of us.”

I rub the bridge of my nose.Wish that were true.“I’m not calling about Taz. I’m calling about that favor I asked you.”

“What favor?”

“The little girl.” I close my eyes and I can immediately see the child’s face. Dark skin. Chubby cheeks. The sweetest smile, although it took a lot of coaxing to earn one. “Regan. She came to my salon a few weeks ago. I gave you a picture and a name and asked you to check up on her. What the hell did you do?”

“What do you mean? I looked into it like you told me to.”

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