Page 58 of Prodigal Son

Shallie was big – professional wrestler big – and she’d suppressed an inner chuckle watching him try to sit carefully in one of her dainty chairs.

“Perhaps the sofa would be a bit sturdier,” she’d suggested.

“Oh, right.” Thus, the process had begun all over again, ending in a groaning sofa and a nervous biker.

Chef had a distinctly military look about him, very calm, but very stern.

Phillip hadn’t sent idiot children to watch after her, and that alone ratcheted her worry up another notch. She wasn’t a junkie or club friend; she was a successful, fairly well-known businesswoman in the fashion world. Surely these people, Pseudonym, couldn’t afford to just kill her…could they?

She knew the answer to that, which was why she struggled to fall asleep to the murmur of strange voices in her lounge, and didn’t breathe a word of reproach toward them.

Now, she sat up, clicked on her bedside lamp with a wince, and reached for her mobile. She didn’t recognize the number flashing across the screen.

Her bedroom door swung open, an exhausted-looking Shallie looming huge and unexpected on the other side.

Raven stifled a surprised shriek and clutched the covers to her chest. She wore a camisole, but it was lace and silk, and it was the sense of invasion anyway.

“Get out!”

He ducked down, tucking into himself, but stayed. “We’re here to keep you safe, miss. Who’s on the phone?”

“Well I can’t know that if I haven’t answered it yet, can I?”

The iPhone trilled again.

Shallie dropped the doorknob and stepped back a pace, but he didn’t leave, still stood, taking up all the space in her hallway.

Still holding the sheets across her breasts, she answered with a swipe and an aggravated, “This is Raven Blake.”

“Miss Blake,” a smooth masculine voice greeted. “This is Clive Mahoney, from Gleaux Cosmetics.”

“Oh.” She sat up straight, sheets falling, forgotten, into her lap. “Clive. Hello. Yes, I was going to give you a ring today.”

“Ah. It is rather early, I’m afraid. Did I wake you?”

“No.” Her heart hammered so hard in her chest that she was definitely awake now, and sounded it.

He chuckled, a low sound like a purr, more polite than humorous. Still, it was pleasant to the ears. “I didn’t figure. Odd that, in this business, no one ever gets any beauty sleep. Not that you would need any.”

Her gaze darted toward her window, the closed curtains and blinds.

“Sorry,” he said. “That was creepy, wasn’t it? When Ryan emailed me yesterday, she sent me a scan of your business card, and I recognized your name straight away. I watched you walk in the Versace show at New York Fashion Week five years ago.”

Raven didn’t know what her face was doing, but it prompted Shallie to ease a few steps into her room, frowning at her with concern. She waved at him, but he stayed. She’d have to have a talk with Phillip about that.

“Yes,” she said, and knew that the nerves were bleeding into her voice, “well. That’s. Very. Um.”

He chuckled again, true this time, soft. “Good Lord, I’m making an idiot of myself. I didn’t intend to ring you first thing and make you uncomfortable.”

“Some people just seem to have a knack.”

Another laugh. “I don’t usually.” Then he cleared his throat and adopted a more serious tone. “As I said, Ryan emailed me. I believe the two of you had a conversation yesterday? She gave me a heads-up, and I thought I would reach out and suggest a meeting. You said you were interested in some product samples to use in gift baskets?”

“Yes, right.” She slid into her business persona, and hammered out the details with him. She didn’t want to meet him in person – alarms were pinging in the back of her mind – but she was too much Devin Green’s daughter, damn it, to pass up a chance to get the good dirt she needed to make a case. They scheduled for one, and he left her with one last attractive little laugh and another apology.

She set the phone aside on her night table, chewing at her lip in thought. She needed to call the clubhouse and make sure her “assistant” would be ready by noon, at the latest, and had to check in with Phil, and with her mum, who was technically the president of their company, and–

“Everything alright, miss?” Shallie asked.

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