Page 742 of Hell Hath No Fury
He nods for me to walk outside with him, where he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of a rolled-up t-shirt sleeve. He lights it and takes a drag, exhaling the smoke without a care where it blows, which is directly in my face, causing me to grimace andcough. Does everyone in this fucking city smoke? Strangely, his brows draw together as he looks at me then at the cigarette.
“Does this bother you?”
“Oh good. He’s smarter than he looks.” I’m not sure why I poke the bear, but instead of getting aggravated, he shrugs and stubs the cigarette out on the sole of his boot. After he flicks it into a can beside the door, he pulls the half-full pack out of his sleeve and tosses it in the can, as well.
I shake my head slowly, saying, “What are you doing?”
He smiles, his eyes holding secrets he won’t share, then answers casually, as though it were the easiest thing in the world. “You don’t like them, so I quit.”
CHAPTER TWO
Owen
The look on the gorgeous blonde’s face was priceless when I dropped the “take a leak” line—haughty and judgmental—but her expression when I quit smoking on the spot revealed far more than she’d intended. Wonder and a little bit of wistfulness. Is quitting smoking seriously the biggest gesture anyone has made for her? That’s just not right. I’ll have to buy stock in chewing gum, but what kind of losers has she been dating? You know what—scratch that. I don’t want to know.
Instead, I’ll think about how she’s going to look as my bride. No doubt still haughty, but with a beautiful dress and hopefully not that hideous orange nail polish. She’s nearly perfect, but not quite. That’s cool though. Her ugly nail polish only sets off her beauty. The stubborn tilt of her chin and what my mom calls “I want” lines just forming between her brows tell me I have many lively discussions in my future.
I’m getting the cart before the horse, though, so I should probably introduce myself.
I know who she is. Not one Concierge on the West Coast doesn’t know who Elizabeth Brand is. Daughter of Norman Brand, the San Diego Director, she’s quickly making a name for herself on her own. Smart and gutsy, she did her legacy internship in “operations,” aka assistant to the Director’s assistant. She insisted on attending college, where she majored in psychology. After graduation, she immediately used hereducation to outwit everyone around her when she came back to work for the Network.
She’s spent her life training harder, working faster, and never backing down when men try to push her back behind a desk. Just like all the criminal organizations we provide services to, C.I. is a boys’ club, but she is determined to smash that ceiling down.
When the losers at headquarters talk about her, it’s with a mixture of resentment and admiration. I’ve heard of her gutsiness in the field, which should have her on the fast track to Chief of Security, but the odds of that happening are slim, and only if she isn’t distracted.
Distracting her is exactly what I intend to do, but I have no intention of screwing up her career. No way she’s going to believe that, though, so I’ll just prove it to her over time.
If it seems like I know more about Ms. Brand than casual gossip would provide, I can’t deny it. I’ve been fascinated with her since I arrived in California and watched her from the sidelines, where she doesn’t see me. This has suited me fine, until now.
Now, I’ve had her within arm’s reach, and I won’t be fading back to the shadows. Even so, I force my voice to sound casual as I introduce myself.
“I’m Owen. Owen Stone.” I hold out my hand and she looks surprised for a second before grabbing it for a brisk, firm double pump.
“Elizabeth Brand.”
The silence between us is heavy. I know why: we’re on the first steps of a life of shared adventure. She, on the other hand, doesn’t know. She feels the electricity in the air around us, but she shrugs it off to focus on her job.
Standing here in the heat radiating from sun-drenched shop, I realize I have my work cut out for me. ElizabethBrand, Concierge princess and security professional, isn’t just ambitious.
She’s driven.
* * *
Having dropped the gory Town Car here at the shop, Elizabeth needs a ride back to headquarters. I immediately volunteer, and as soon as we’re in my black Dodge Power Wagon, she digs around in the seat to find the seatbelt. I look at her, puzzled, until she nods for me to buckle up as well. Okay… I do, wondering about her cautiousness and adding it to the list of things I can’t wait to learn about her.
When she realizes I’m not driving toward the office, she puts her knee on the seat and faces me across the truck cab. “Where are we going?”
“To grab a burger.”
“I need to get back to the office. The Director has work for me to do.”
“Babe. We’re criminals. It’s not good for him to think you’ll be at his every beck and call.”
She thinks about this with a frown and I know I hit a nerve. It’s well-known her father dictates her activities more than any of the other Concierges. Shoot, the interns have more leeway than she does.
“C’mon. We’ll go to my favorite bar, have burgers and beer, and play some pool. No one’ll know you weren’t at the shop.”
“Fine,” she says finally, and I’m saved from telling her I wouldn’t have turned around anyway.
