He grins. “I know. Scared?”
A little, but showing weakness to this man would be dangerous. My chin lifts. “Not at all.”
“I’ll be next door then,” he says, wearing a self-satisfied expression as he stalks away. Narcissist.
Realizing he’s manipulated me using my inability to back down from a challenge, I growl. I hear him laugh. My mental shields kick in, selecting “Boombastic” by Shaggy. Can’t beat that for clearing your mind. Aaden jogs up the stairs, taking two at a time, and stalks into my bedroom. He must consider personal boundaries optional.
His face wrinkles at my song choice. “What did he do?”
“Manipulated me into letting him take the adjoining bedroom.”
Aaden rakes his hands over his face, and he lets out a tired sigh. “You’ve got to be kidding me… I’ll handle it.” With that, he storms out.
I walk into the closet with my clothes slung over my arm, ready to be hung up. I stall as clothes for all occasions greet me, including smart and casual outfits, fabulous cocktail dresses, and the necessary business wear.
What has me frozen is the coordinating underwear hanging with each outfit. My jaw drops open—underwear? Underwear?
Aaden and Zee come running into the closet. Zee whistles, focusing his attention on the underwear.
Spinning around and turning Shaggy up in my head, I repeat the mantra, “I must not kill my bodyguard.”
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
Aaden blushes. “Erm… you were shouting ‘underwear’ at the top of your voice…”
I rub my hand over my face. I couldn’t even differentiate between voicing my thoughts and internalizing them. Herding them out of the bedroom, I mutter, “I’m tired.”
“We need to go over the strategy for tomorrow’s meeting,” Aaden pipes up before I shut the door.
“Can we do it in the morning?”
He sighs. “Set your alarm for 5 a.m. We have a lot of prep to do.”
I groan as Aaden closes the door. Collapsing sideways on the oversized bed fully clothed, I fall asleep within minutes.
***
Waking at 4 a.m. in the star position I’d fallen asleep in, I climb between the sheets and roll on my side, trying to reach for that last hour of sleep. At 4:20, I give up and drag myself to the bathroom, stripping my clothes off as I go. Eyes barely open, I turn on the large walk-in shower, big enough for… well, more than two. Who needs that? I get the two people… but more? Sounds complicated.
Switching on the soft glow of the ceiling lights designed to resemble the stars at night, I undo my braid. My hair touches my hips. Maybe Uncle Charlie has a point. I shrug. Priorities.
Rifling through the contents of my bag, I locate my toothbrush. Digging deeper for the toothpaste, I groan when I can’t find it. Glancing around the bathroom, I spot my favorite shampoo, conditioner, and body wash perched on the vanity unit.
I smile—bless my grandfather for his thoughtfulness. We hadn’t spent much time together after my grandmother died of a sudden heart attack. I coped by throwing myself into my studies, taking extra classes, attending more rehearsals, and exhausting myself so I couldn’t think of anything but work—effectively abandoning by family. My grandfather’s heart broke, and I wasn’t there to help him pick up the pieces. I was selfish, hardening my own heart against the pain. Even now, five years later, his aura holds remnants of his overwhelming grief, as does mine. We avoid the subject, and I try to avoid the guilt, shoving it away when it comes knocking.
Smelling like coconut and citrus, I step out of the shower and wrap a huge, soft, white towel around my hair then pull on a fluffy robe. I pad down the stairs; it’s 4:45 a.m. I’m hoping I have fifteen minutes before the guys wake and start bombarding me with information.
No such luck.
The wall-length fire is lit, bathing the room in a soft light. Both men sit on a sofa with coffee cups in hand, Aaden’s laptop open, and various documents strewn across the table.
I ignore them. Coffee then strategy. No… coffee is my strategy. I snicker at my own joke. Zee and Aaden turn to me.
“What, I can’t find something funny?” They shake their heads in unison, probably correctly concluding I’m a little crazy, made worse by the early hour and lack of caffeine.
Nursing my coffee, I sit on the opposite sofa.
Aaden pushes a plate piled with various Danish pastries toward me. “Sleep okay?”
I nod but ignore the food. “What’s the plan?”
Aaden hands me a few documents to read. “It’s a preliminary meeting—should be straightforward.”
“As for Reinheart, it’s time to dig deep for the Waterford charm and make nice,” Zee adds.
I nod. “I’ll find something to talk to him about and take a read of his aura.”
“Lauren describes him as an arrogant ass. Be prepared, and try not to let the stronger parts of your personality out,” Zee continues.
I raise my eyebrows. “Are you insinuating I can’t play nice?”
“I’m saying your default position of stubborn sarcasm is not ideal for getting to know someone.”
Bristling, I glare at him. “I can be nice.”
Aaden and Zee laugh.
“What? I can.”
They laugh even harder. Zee’s phone tinkles and vibrates on the coffee table. “Boss man” appears on the screen, and Zee grabs it.
“Hi, boss.” He listens for a few seconds as Uncle Charlie talks then presses the loud speaker button and places his phone in the middle of the coffee table.
“Can everyone hear me?” Uncle Charlie asks.
“Yes. Go ahead,” Aaden says.
“Natia?” Uncle Charlie enquires.
“Here,” I grunt, like I’m answering a teacher at school.
“We have another disappearance. Mary Conway. Last seen five days ago. She’s a legal secretary for a subsidiary company offering pro bono work for Reinheart and Hunter. Her neighbor reported her missing last night.”
I rub my hand over my face. “Where was she last seen?”
The line crackles with the ruffling of paper. “Last Tuesday night, she had drinks with a colleague at a local cocktail bar. She set off walking home about 7 p.m., but she never reached it. Jack’s here—I’ll send him and Joan to her apartment, as you have your meeting today.”
I groan at the mention of sitting in a meeting all day. I should be at Mary Conway’s apartment trying to piece together what’s going on.
Uncle Charlie sighs. “Natia, I know you’re frustrated, but your job is to infiltrate this from the top. Leave us to do the groundwork.”
“Yeah, Natia. Leave the hard work to me and Joan,” Jack grumbles through the phone, his disdain spilling from every word. What a jerk.
Charlie leaves me with his version of a pep talk. “I’ll update you with what Jack and Joan find. Do your job, but be careful, Natia.”
We finalize a few bits. Zee’s my official bodyguard. We decide not to take weapons to our first meeting since it may give a bad impression. “Hi, my name is Natia Waterford. Oh, don’t worry about the Sai swords strapped to my back—they’re this season’s accessories.”