You have got to be kidding me,” I fume.My boss, Dan, is sitting across his desk from me and Grant Carlson. Grant still has his tie undone around his neck, which bugs the hell out of me, because it feels like a neon sign screaming, We just had sex! We just had sex in Eve’s office, and I fucked the bejeezus out of her!I hope that’s not the case.I mean, it is the case that he fucked the bejeezus out of me.But I hope nobody else knows.Please God…“He’s hired you as a personal consultant,” Dan says. Dan’s a nice guy. Wife and three kids, with pictures of them on his desk. Not a good coder, but a pretty good manager. At least, he stays out of my way.And if he knows I just had sex with Grant Carlson, he’s not letting on about it.“Nobody’s ever hired me as a personal consultant before!”“There’s a first time for everything,” Grant chimes in.I glare at him. YOU shut UP.He just grins at me in response.“What the hell does a personal consultant do, anyway?” I ask.“Well – ” Grant start
We’re in my apartment. I drove there in my Audi; Grant arrived in his own private limo.I have to admit, I was a teensy bit jealous.Now he lounges on my bed and watches as I pack a suitcase.“And why do I need to pack, exactly?” I ask.“We’ll be hopping from place to place a lot. I want to be a moving target, not a sitting duck.”“Uh huh,” I say dubiously. I’m still half-convinced this is all just an elaborate excuse to get me naked in his bed for a couple of days.Not that that would be a bad way to spend a couple of days…Focus, Eve, FOCUS. Stop getting turned on.I pull out some bras and panties.“Do I get a show?” he asks.“NO,” I say as I stuff them in the suitcase, although part of me desperately wants to give him one.“Maaaan…” he complains playfully.“For a guy with a serial killer after you, you don’t seem too concerned.”“I’ve got you to help me now.” He says it with a complete lack of sarcasm.“I got news for you: I can flush this guy out from an online trail of breadcrumb
As it turns out, I got that ride in the limo after all.“Where are we going?” I ask Grant as the limo cruises through the warm LA sunshine.“New York.”I stare at him. “What?!”“My base of operations is there. All my people are there. It’s a lot more secure than where I’m staying in LA.”“Why didn’t you tell me we were going to New York?!”He looks mystified. “I told you we were going to be moving around.”“Yeah, but – I thought you meant between Santa Monica and Hollywood!”He laughs. “I want to keep you guessing.”“You’re certainly doing that,” I mutter, then get down to business. “Okay, what are we going to do now? Go over your plan? Try to formulate… a…”He’s smiling and giving me bedroom eyes.“Oh no,” I say, and shake my head. “NO.”He leans in for a kiss.I have a moment of almost-weakness, but I back away at the last instant. “No means no. En Oh. NO.”“Why not?” he asks, amused.“Well, for one, because I don’t want your chauffeur knowing what we’re doing.”“There’s a partition
We’re lying in the bed now, side by side, drinking more champagne and eating a selection of fruits and cheeses. I was so embarrassed when the stewardess brought it that I hid in the bathroom – but now that we’re alone, I’m enjoying every bite.“We need to talk about how we’re going to find this guy,” I say.“So tell me,” Grant says. He’s lying on his stomach but he’s still quite distracting, with his golden skin and rippling muscles of his back. And his ass is out of this world. I mean… daaamn. It’s this curve of powerful muscle. Not quite a bubble butt, but just about there. Very distracting. Yet I manage to pull my eyes away and concentrate. “What did your people say about the texts?”“What, besides the fact that they’re unsettling?”“No – about the technical information attached to the phone texts.”“They said there’s nothing they can use. They said he covered his tracks incredibly well.”“What else?”“There is nothing else, so far as I know.” He kisses my ear, and a thrill of p
Dinner is absolutely amazing. We dine at a small table on the patio under the rising moon. We drink the most delicious wine I’ve ever tasted and sample several entrees – filet mignon, duck, sea bass.“Do you have a cook who fixed this?” I marvel.“Well, I do have a chef, but he’s got the week off. I ordered this from Le Meilleur.”I drop my fork. ‘Le Meilleur’ is the best new restaurant in New York.I’m kind of a foodie, too, FYI.“You got this from Le Meilleur?”“Yeah.”“What – somebody ordered it and picked it up?”“Naaah, they ran it over.”“They ‘ran it over,’” I repeat in shock. “A five-star restaurant ‘ran it over.’”Grant shrugs. “I’m good friends with the owner.”Of course.By the end of the meal, I’m tipsy and we’re playing footsy under the table.“Want to go for a swim?” Grant suggests.“I didn’t pack a swimsuit.”“You don’t need a swimsuit.”Heat flushes across my chest. “You want to skinny dip?”He grins, amused by my surprise. “Why not?”“What about all those guards?”“Th
I wake up the next morning from a deep sleep. I remember last night and all the hot sex, and get a little smile on my face. I reach over for Grant – He’s not there.I immediately get a flashback from when he left me on the balcony. A little bit of anger, a little bit of fear.Asshole!I prop myself up blearily on one elbow – There he is, across the cavernous bedroom, putting on a tie in front of a mirror.God, he’s gorgeous. The suit pants he’s wearing hug his ass perfectly. He’s also got on a beautiful midnight blue shirt and a vest. The sight of his massive arms and chest in all that tailored finery – yum.He sees me in the mirror and grins. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”“If I were Sleeping Beauty, you should’ve woken me up with a kiss,” I say sleepily.He laughs and walks over to the bed, tucking his tie into his vest. “Let’s do the post-wake-up version.”As he leans over me, I bat him away. “No – I look awful – ”“You look hot.”“I’ve probably got morning breath – ”“I don’t
Hodge drives up just as I exit the building.“Hi Hodge.”“Miss Saunders,” he replies in his upper-crust British accent.“Do you know where we’re going? I only know it’s an art gallery in Chelsea.”“Yes, Mr. Carlson texted me the address.”I get in the backseat of the Rolls and watch the New York City streets creep by as we wind our way through traffic.About 20 minutes later, we stop in front of an industrial loft-looking building. Hodge gets out and holds the door open for me.I call Grant’s number but it goes straight to voicemail.Immediately a text comes in. FBI guy doesn’t want me answering the phone. Security concerns with recording or whatever. Go right in, the front door’s open. I paid the owner to clear the building; we’re on the third floor.I walk in the front door and let it shut behind me.The gallery is amazing. It’s a huge four-story space, with an open atrium and levels that circle around it. The lights are off except for a few single white emergency lights on the four
Oh God NO!I turn and run through the maze of corridors, back the way I came.“That won’t do you any good, Ms. Saunders,” the voice says, full of mock sympathy. “I’ve already shut down the elevator.”In confirmation, when I hit the DOWN button, it doesn’t light up. I try UP – same thing.My mind is ticking through the options.Got to find a stairwell – got to get out of here – But the text was from Grant! It came from his phone number! How did – And then I realize: if this guy could find Grant’s phone number, he could temporarily clone it, reroute it, whatever he wanted to do.Long enough to send me a couple of text messages, anyway.The text messages make me think of my cell. I fumble it out of my purse to call 911 – But the screen says ‘No Service.’I want to scream.Actually, that’s a good idea.“HELLLLLP!” I shriek.“No one can hear you from the outside,” the voice informs me. “And if you were planning to call the authorities, let me save you the trouble: I’m blocking all frequ