Page 26 of Deadly Obsession

We park, and the driver gets out to open my door, ready to present me like a debutante at her first ball. Tim would never have done this. He’d always drive around the back of a building to avoid making a scene and drawing any attention to me. He respected my privacy.

I swing one leg out of the car and am blinded by the explosion of lights thrust into my face. Blurry orbs swim before my eyes. People stop to stare, pointing and talking loudly to their friends about the headlines.

“Look, it’s him!”

“The Rebel Royal.”

“Talk about royalty behaving badly.”

Some papers have published more sympathetic stories, but they’re even worse than the scandalous ones. Journalists discuss the psychological trauma caused by the fire. If they knew it was a bomb, they’d have a field day. I press my lips together, keeping my expression neutral as I wade through the cameras.

I make it into the restaurant, flanked by my driver-turned-security. I don’t need a fucking babysitter, but I have to keep my cool. Some of the businesses I’ve been trying to invest in have gone cold, and I need them… especially with the state of the Dukes.

Once inside, the thick oak door seals away the chaos. It’s the kind of restaurant where it takes months to get a reservation, but the food is subpar, and people only come because it’s the place to be seen. The hostess at the desk smiles. My arrival was not a surprise.

“Mr Montgomery, it’s so good to see you again,” she gushes. “Your date is already waiting.”

My cheeks flush with anger. “My… what?”

“Your mother said you have to stay for at least an hour,” my new driver hisses in my ear, pre-empting my imminent plan to escape.

“Do you want me to take your jacket?” the over-friendly hostess on the desk offers.

“I’m fine,” I hiss.

“I’ll take you to your table,” she says, well-accustomed to smiling through rudeness from their clientele. “This way.”

She escorts me through the restaurant. At the very least, I’ll eat something other than takeaways and meal deals. I expect to be seated somewhere in the back of the restaurant, but I’m not so lucky. The table is in front of the giant bay window to give the paps a perfect view, and my date is already waiting…

CHAPTER16

CALLEN

Finding Seb and Freddie’s location was a stroke of luck. I know about Seb’s other properties in London, and it just so happened that I struck lucky on my second hit. I don’t believe in the universe having your back bullshit, but maybe I’ll be a convert to that woo-woo if things keep going my way.

I have no plans to crash their pity party, but keeping tabs on what they’re up to doesn't hurt.

I watch Seb leave the building. He’s scrubbed up well in an over-priced suit. A posh car is waiting for him. He must be going out on official family business. There’s no sign of Freddie, however. I haven’t seen him venture outside at all. Seb’s the one who goes to the door to collect takeaway deliveries and do their food shopping.

I put my helmet back on and decide to follow the car. I’m cautious—weaving through the traffic behind them and staying a few cars back. I worry that he sees me after he chased a random woman down the street like a man possessed, but he’s too deflated when he discovers it’s not Rose to notice.

When he arrives at his final destination, the paparazzi descend on him like a group of single mums preying on a newly divorced dad in the playground. I park and hang in the shadows, pressing my back against the wall, and watch him step inside.

It’s a pretentious place. Not one I’d go to. Chips wrapped in newspaper with lashings of salt and vinegar beats caviar on bruschetta or whatever bullshit they serve.

Through the window, I watch him move through the restaurant. The waitress guides him to a table to sit with a woman I don’t recognise. Her subtle black dress would cost a tenner in Primark but must be designer, and she has a face you’d want to slap. This must be someone off Margaret Montgomery’s list of suitors.

If she thinks matching Sebastian with a suitable lass will sort out his problems, she’s wrong. Most of Seb’s issues come from being part of her toxic family.

I’m about to hop back on the bike and grab a pint at the nearest pub when someone else catches my attention. A car at the opposite end of the street with bullet-proof windows stops, and a woman’s tanned leg slides out. She strolls around to speak to the driver, giving me time to check out her arse. Not bad.

My jaw sets when she turns around. How could I forget a pretty face I’d held in a headlock? Bingo, I’ve found a Killers Club lead.

I’m careful and keep my distance from Blondie, but I don’t let her out of my sight. Instead of entering, she detours around the paparazzi, talking on a phone loudly to blend in and prove she belongs there. She’s good, maybe even better than Rose.

I could go inside and warn Seb about an assassin crashing his date, but who am I to ruin his quality time with his future wife who resembles a horse? Besides, the Dukes made it clear they didn’t want my help by throwing me out of the group.

I bow my head as the car passes to do a loop around the building. They can’t see me here twice. I climb onto my bike and drive along, following Blondie’s route. She takes a corner down the side of the restaurant. The sneaky bitch wants to slip inside. Maybe she wants to poison Seb or leave him a message.

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