Page 15 of The Tallest Tower (Underbelly Enchanted)

“Home, Ms. Cannon?”

“Yes, please. But only for an hour. I have to be at the Eriksons’ penthouse by eight.” I meet Dana’s eyes one last time. “I’m not stopping on this one. It’s gonna be messy, and it’ll upset some folks. But,” I set my bag inside the car and slide in after it, “it’ll sell millions of papers each morning.”

“You’re looking to take on the mafia,” she rasps, moving closer to my door as Edward merely waits, the perfect gentleman. “Have you no sense of danger?”

“I have a thirst to uncover the truth,” I counter, reaching for my door handle. “But you have nothing to worry about. It’smyname that’ll be at the bottom of every published column.” And with a wink, I tug the door closed, and open my bag in search of my phone as Edward circles the car and settles in for the short-ish drive home.

Unlike the commuters I watched from my office window earlier, I have an apartment in the city: a multi-level penthouse, paid for withCannon Dailymoney. A gift from my father for his only adult child.

Michael Cannon didn’t fuss over the sex of his children. He didn’t kill me because of what I have between my legs. And though he, too, has an empire to pass down when his time is up, my father doesn’t seem to mind that everything he’s created will go to a woman.

Timothy Malone, on the other hand, might be dead now, rotting in the ground, or wearing cement shoes at the bottom of the river. But he stillraised those boys in his image. So if I think, for even a second, they might respect women enough tonotmurder them when they’ve served their purpose, then I may as well surrender myself now and accept my fate.

I’m gutsy enough to run the story. But I’m not so naïve as to think this isn’t a risk.

“Good day today, Ms. Cannon?”

I glance up to find Edward’s sweet blue eyes in the rearview mirror, his stare making sure I’m still in one piece. A mission that, I’m certain, was bestowed upon him by my father when he got the job more than a decade ago. “You seem upbeat, despite the shadows under your eyes.”

“I’m always upbeat.”

But I glance down with a frown when my phone chirps, Davis’ name flashing on the screen.

I thought I’d escaped unscathed. I thought my quick-step out of the Cannon building was my own personal victory. But now he beckons me.

And if I ignore him, he’ll castigate me tomorrow.

I slide my thumb across the screen to accept the call. “This is Christabelle.”

“Chrissy.” He exhales my name like it somehow feels good in his lungs. “You left without saying goodbye.”

“I have a thing tonight.” I drop my head back and close my eyes, thankful I can trust Edward to take me where I need to go. “Dinner at a friend’s.”

“And you didn’t ask me to escort you?” Hetut-tuts. “Chrissy, you offend me.”

I roll my eyes, even behind my eyelids, and swallow down the groan of impatience fighting to surface.

Davis Huntington is, according to all the gossip rags, the most desired bachelor in the city—if we’re discussing law-abiding men, that is. But I know him to be needy and whiny. A total bore unless we’re talking abouthim.

He wants to discuss his teeth. His abs and visits to the gym. His eating regimen, which consists of only broccoli, boiled eggs, and chicken, because god forbid he consume a carb and sully histemple. Andif we must talk about anything other than him, the only acceptable topic to discuss isus. Theushe wishes we would be. Theushe would declare if I gave him even an inch of leeway.

“No offense intended,” I drawl. “This isn’t a work function, Davis. It’s personal, so no plus-one needed.”

“The Eriksons are an affluent family,” hewhines. “I’d have liked to escort you.”

“You’re affluent, too,” I pander, annoying even myself. “You needn’t beanyone’splus one. I know you have the connections you seek, and a rolodex others would kill for.”

“Rolodex,” he sniggers, my ego stroke a shiny distraction from his petulance. “It’s true. What is this thing tonight, anyway? You said a dinner?”

“Yeah.” I bring my hand up and scratch manicured nails through my hair. “It’s some party for their daughter. She’s engaged, I think.”For the fourth—fifth?—time.“I’ll be wearing a gown and heels, and if I’m lucky, I’ll escape before ten.”

“You want to get to bed early?” he purrs, a soundheconsiders sexy and thatIconsider nauseating. “I could come over. Pour us a glass of wine to relax after a long day…”

“I’ll be working the moment I’m able to toss off my heels. I have so much to do, and no time to hang out.”

“Yeah, but?—”

“I’m about to go underground.” I’m a poor liar. A weird liar. And it’s worse, because I have an audience in Edward, who drives along the not-at-all-underground Manhattan streets and chuckles. “I’ve gotta go, Davis. But I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

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