Page 26 of Final Serenade

TO: [email protected]

I still think this is a prank.

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

Only one way to find out, right?

I tore my gaze from my computer and paced around the room in my underwear. Adrenaline ran through my veins. I couldn’t determine whether I was excited or terrified. My blood pounded hard in my temples and not because of my trip to the gym. Drawing a deep breath, I returned to my desk and wrote a response.

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

I’m allergic to wheat, eggs, and soy.

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

I know just the place. Where do I pick you up?

This wasn’t happening. Frankie Blade wasn’t taking me to dinner. Or was he? After careful assessment of the situation, I decided to send him the address of the apartment complex across the street.

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

See you in two hours. Be ready.

My stomach knotted as I crossed the courtyard.

This is insane, Cassy, my common sense whispered.What if the guy is really a serial killer?

There was a preview of an unread email from [email protected] on the screen of my phone.

Outside, it said.

I stopped in front of the gate and surveyed my surroundings. Of course, it had to be a red Ferrari. The car stuck out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. It sat in the middle of the street, engine roaring, LED headlights shining blue.To match his eyes.The man either didn’t know how to blend in or wanted to be caught by TMZ. I know I didn’t. Thank God it was late and most people who lived on this block were fast asleep.

My jeans seemed two sizes too small and the red Guess crop top I’d pulled out from the back of my closet felt like a roll of scotch tape wrapped around me. Putting together outfits for interviews had always been easy. I had a system. For small indie bands, jeans and T-shirts were fine. Bigger names usually called for formal with a splash of hip kind of attire. Dinner with a man whose name was on every website and every TV channel? Well, color me blind. Not the slightest clue.

Taking a deep breath, I approached the Ferrari. The tinted passenger side window rolled down and I poked my head inside, cautious. My heart jumped to my throat. This wasn’t a prank. Frankie Blade sat behind the wheel.

A soft gasp of surprise left my mouth. Unsettled, I scanned the posh interior of the vehicle.

“There’s just one body in the back. Picked her up on the way here,” Frankie said.

Who knew the man had jokes?

“Do I need to sign another confidentiality agreement?”

A soft smile curled his lips. He shook his head, his eyes roaming my face. “No. I trust I won’t read about our dinner inRewiredtomorrow morning.”

I was shocked he knew what magazine I wrote for. Most people of his status didn’t even go online, let alone keep track of the publications who ran an editorial on them.

“You’re funny.” I pulled the door open and slid into the passenger seat. My knees were weak and my chest swelled with fearful bliss. I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening and why I’d been asked to dinner.

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