Page 1 of True Hearts

ChapterOne

GRAHAM

“Can you step back?” I wave at the black-suited man with the stern face. He doesn’t look like he’s smiled a day in his life. He does, however, take one step back, which allows me to walk around my desk without stepping on his foot. Ever since I gave my nephew his birthday gift, I’ve had four of these unfriendly bodies near me at all times, including at my home. I really need to move. I cross the hall from my corner suite to the other corner suite and find my prey. Two of the black-suited men fall in step behind me. I can feel their presence like a wet wool mantle on my shoulders. Itchy and uncomfortable.

Uncle Norris startles when his door bangs against the wall. He drops his phone between his legs and stutters. “G-graham, do you have an appointment?”

“Yes, a meeting at”—I check my watch—”one fifteen.”

Norris swings his daily planner and scrolls down until he finds the current time slot. “You’re not on here.”

I pull out my pen and scrawl my name across his empty planner page. “Now I am.” I sit down.

“I know why you’re here, and let me tell you that I argued in your favor.”

“Liar. I read the minutes. The agenda item to employ bodyguards for Graham Dassault was proposed by you and passed unanimously.” I half-turn to look at the two men standing just outside the door. They have the good sense to pretend to be staring at a spot on the hallway wall instead of listening in on my conversation with my uncle.

The traitor hangs his head. “I had to. The girls were ganging up on me.” The girls being his three sisters, one of whom is my mother.

“I’m thirty, Uncle Norris. I do not need a babysitter.”

“Great, and we want you to live until you’re twice that.” He opens the cigar box and offers one to me.

I shake my head. “I’m the CEO.”

“Correct. You run this company, and we as the board make sure you’re alive to do so.” He gives me a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, pup, but we had to. That one CEO was shot on the street, and the writings from that thing”—he waves his hand in the air—“that Facebook thing say that they’ll be looking for other rich, irresponsible CEOs.”

“I’m not irresponsible, and that other man was targeted for other reasons, not because he bought his nephew a car. A car that will appreciate in value,” I add. In retrospect, buying a one-year-old a sports car was incredibly dumb, but in my defense, Nicky is my first nephew, and my sister told me he liked cars. How was I supposed to know she meant toy cars?

“What’s it going to take for these bodyguards to go away?”

“Probably grandkids for your mom?”

My jaw drops. “This is all because I turned down her matchmaking attempts last month?”

Uncle Norris tries to hide his head, knowing that this is all so much bullshit, but like he said earlier, the girls were ganging up on him.

Deciding not to heap more misery on him, I leave. There’s a café on the first floor of our building, but it’s suffocating even there. I stride down the sidewalk, dodging a couple of kids on electric scooters, allowing the aromas of the food trucks to fill my lungs. Running the conglomerate can be stifling even on the best of days, but the presence of four bodyguards in my space is making me crazed.

A bakery window filled with an assortment of desserts catches my eye. My stomach grumbles, reminding me that I skipped lunch. “I’m getting a snack. What can I do to make you guys stay outside?”

“Sorry, sir, no can do,” the head stone-faced guard says. He pulls open the door and waves for me to go inside.

I almost want to wrestle him for the door but decide that would look even more ridiculous. I’m going to have to plan something. I’m not sure what. Maybe I buy the personal protection firm that these autobots come from and then I fire everyone.

The café is busy, and I use the crowd to put some separation between the guard and me. In line ahead of me, I spot a familiar face. An idea coalesces. It’s not the greatest plan, but as an impromptu one, it could work.

I cut in front of two others and throw my arm around the woman. “Pretend you’re with me, Luna,” I say.

The gorgeous blonde’s eyes widen at her name. “Do I know you?”

“Maybe? Graham Dassault. We haven’t met formally, but we both were at the Orchard Charity Gala last October. You were with Michael Montclair.” My eyes fall to her hand, where a big rock glitters on her finger. The sparkles are odd, not fully reflective.

“It’s ostentatious, isn’t it?” She rubs the ring with her finger.

“Fake, actually,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

She looks at me in horror. “What did you say?”

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