Page 86 of His Ruthless Match
Jareth laughed, pulling off the wig and scanning the shelves for something else. Finally, he grabbed a blond wig with a man bun and held it up triumphantly. “This is the one.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. This one really transforms me. Plus,” he added as he put it on his head, “we’ll have matching hair colors. Maybe people will think we’re siblings.”
I shook my head. “You’re out of fucking control.”
“What’s new, Delgado?”
After trying a few more wigs, we finally settled on our disguises. I grabbed a red wig for Genevieve and paid for them at the register, my mind already spinning with how I was going to explain this to my staff. As the clerk bagged our purchases, Jareth leaned over and told her we’d be wearing them out of the store.
I glared at him. “We don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, we do. Your brother’s orders, remember?”
Reluctantly, I put my wig on while Jareth adjusted his with an exaggerated flourish. When he turned to me, he struck another dramatic pose with his hands on his hips. “What do you think?”
I chuckled. “I think you should wear it all the time.”
“That’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”
I sighed, adjusting the blonde bob one last time. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Jareth held the door open for me as we stepped back onto the bustling streets of New York.
The walkto the public parking garage felt longer than it should have. My feet moved, but my mind spiraled. I needed answers, and Genevieve was the only person who could give them to me. But every word out of her mouth lately contradicted what I was seeing with my own two eyes. My instincts told me she was in trouble, but logic disagreed.
Jareth walked silently beside me, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. His wig was slightly askew, but I didn’t point it out. When we reached the car, he clicked the fob, unlocking it with a chirp, and we slid inside.
“She better have something solid to say this time,” Jareth muttered as he started the car.
I shot him a look. “She’s not on trial here, Jareth. She’s my client.”
He arched an eyebrow, glancing at me as we pulled out of the garage. “Your client’s been avoiding you for weeks while she made your job a hell of a lot harder.”
“Maybe. But maybe not. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
Jareth let out a low grunt, clearly unconvinced, but thankfully dropped the subject. The drive to Genevieve’s hotel was uneventful, with only the radio breaking the silence. My phone vibrated in my lap, and I glanced down to see a text from the security team I’d hired. One of the guards confirmed that he was stationed outside her room. At least something was going according to plan.
When we reached the hotel, I strode to the front desk, giving the clerk the same fake name we’d used before. To my relief, it worked. The clerk smiled politely and told us to take the elevator to the tenth floor, room ten-oh-one.
“Fancy,” Jareth muttered as we stepped into the elevator. “Your clients don’t settle for anything less than luxury, do they?”
“Genevieve deserves a safe place,” I replied curtly, my eyes fixed on the numbers climbing on the screen above the doors.
When we stepped out onto the tenth floor, the security guard I’d hired was standing tall and alert outside the door. He nodded as we approached, his stance professional and reassuring. It was a small relief in the chaos that had become my life.
Genevieve was slumped on the couch, surrounded by a sea of used tissues. Her hair was greasy and matted, and the dark circles under her eyes looked like bruises. She barely registered our arrival until Jareth muttered, “She’s seen better days.”
I elbowed him sharply in the ribs, shooting him a glare before hurrying over to Genevieve. Her eyes flickered toward me, and she pushed herself upright, her movements slow and lethargic.
“Eva,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. Then, to my shock, she practically collapsed into my arms. Her entire body shook against me, and I froze, unsure what to do.
I glanced over my shoulder at Jareth. He shrugged helplessly and looked uncomfortable. I gave him a pointed look as I awkwardly patted Genevieve’s back and let her cry it out. When her sobs subsided, I gently guided her back to the couch and took a seat across from her on the loveseat.
“Genevieve,” I began carefully, “I need you to listen carefully to me.”
She nodded and wiped her nose with a tissue.
