Page 7 of Her Billionaire Bargain (Kensington Square)

“My kid too, and she’s not the next thing. Just only. That was the last thing I wanted for her after I grew up without brothers and sisters around.” I blew out a breath. “Not relevant, sorry. Did you make an appointment for Mr. Wonderful?”

“Yeah.” Her wince came through loud and clear in her voice, and preemptively, I tugged the covers over my head because I just knew what she was going to say next. “In ninety minutes. Give or take. Look, I’m sorry! I know it’s Saturday. But I also know you have cashflow issues.Wehave cashflow issues. Just talk to the guy. He’s not going to bite.”

“He sounds like he’s more interested in my clothes than anything else.”

“Not entirely. He also asked about Ber.”

“My daughter?”

“Do you have another Ber? Yes, Shelby. He didn’t remember her name,” she hastened to add. “I filled him in. But he did ask about Fire-Breathing Mama’s cute kid.”

I was not going to soften toward this man. Using the kid as leverage was a prime tactic of a certain kind of man. Probably one like Dexter Shaw, who certainly was used to getting his way. “Fire-Breathing Mama, huh?”

I preened just a little. Far better than spineless, like a certain someone used to call me. But when it came to my daughter, I was anything but.

“Yeah. He said it like a compliment.”

“It is a compliment, no matter how he said it. Fine, I’ll meet him at the office in ninety minutes.”

I was already juggling my schedule in my head. Hopefully, my parents could watch Berry. They were almost always good for a last-minute visit from her, but I didn’t know if they were even home. It was an almost summer weekend, after all.

“Uh, how about his house?”

“His house?” There was no tempering my screech. I’d have to go see what Berry was up to momentarily anyway. Her silence concerned me. “Not sure what kind of meeting he’s looking for, but it ain’t happening.”

“No, no, nothing like that.” TJ let out a bawdy laugh. “He wants to redo his place and wants you to see what you’re working with first.”

“Jeez, how come he didn’t request for me to swing by after dark?”

“If you’d prefer that, I can call him back—”

“You’re an ass. Verify that Bishop rec and get back to me. Assuming Bishop says he’s not a dick, I’ll go to his damn house. Address?”

She rattled off the address of a house on the lake road that wound around Crescent Lake in nearby Crescent Cove.

Big money, all capital letters.

Big sprawling houses with spectacular waterfront views.

Big time ass-kicking for both Dexter and my bestie if this turned out to be a waste of my Saturday.

“Just reel in this giant fish for us. Bat those baby browns.”

“Whatever. Text me that rec. Bye.” I clambered out of bed and crossed to the bedroom door, yanking it open and charging into the hall barefoot. “Berry?”

No reply.

I tried again. “Berry? Are you up?” Her sleeping past seven am on a weekend was unheard of, but just in case, I hurried to her bedroom and opened the door.

Her bed was in its usual state of chaos along with the room itself. But no bright red hair and sparkling hazel eyes and mischievous giggle.

Where was she?

My skin went cold as visions of kids being stolen from their bedrooms filled my head. I rushed to her row of windows to check them. I huffed out a breath as I realized all the locks were still firmly in place.

Not stolen. Not stolen.

I gripped my throat and raced downstairs into the living room. She was probably just watching cartoons—

---