Switched. HelenKay Dimon
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with an abandoned industrial carpet shampooer against the wall. Most of the doors weren’t even on their hinges yet on this floor.
She waited for any sign of life, any noise. When the floor remained quiet, she snuck into the ladies’ restroom and let the door softly shut behind her on a swish.
With her palms flat against the fancy quartz sink, she stood still and let her breathing and heart rate dip back into normal range. As she pivoted for the stalls, the main door flew open. A blur dressed in black raced toward her. Before she could scream, hands clamped down on her arms and the figure shoved her hard against a stall door and back into the enclosed area. She only stopped when the back of her legs hit the toilet.
When her brain kicked back into gear, her arms and legs started moving. Her attacker’s hand settled over her mouth even as she shook her head to avoid him.
“Stop. I’m here to help.” The harsh whisper bounced off the tiles as the man crowded around her, though his focus was centered on the restroom door.
One more step and her back hit the far stall wall and her head came up. If the guy wanted to hurt her, he’d have to watch her as he did it … and be on the receiving end of the battle of a lifetime.
The air gathered in her lungs and then rushed out in a raging scream as she decided to go for his face. When he turned back to her, her next breath stalled and her brain cells sputtered to a halt. “Aaron?”
“Risa?” His fingers clenched against her skin one last time then his arms dropped to his sides. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s a ladies’ restroom.”
“No, I mean … the building. This area. Why are you here?”
“You told me about this place when I said I needed a party venue. Why are you here?”
“This is unbelievable.” His mouth stayed open even after he stopped talking.
His shock was nothing compared to hers. No matter how hard she tried to blink, she couldn’t. She took in the same sexy eyes. Same dark brown hair he liked to smooth his hand through. A dark suit and a firm jaw.
But not everything about him looked familiar. She focused on the gun tucked into the holster at his waist. “Since when does a tax attorney carry a gun?”
He held up his hands. “Keep your voice down.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Not at all.” His voice barely carried over the soft hum from the heating vent above her head. “I can explain all of this.”
Fury blew over her with the force of a hurricane. “While you’re at it, maybe you can make up an excuse for why you didn’t call after our last date.”
“What?”
“You know, the dinner we had. The call you never made.” Her head buzzed with red-hot rage at the memory.
He finally clamped his jaw shut. “This isn’t the right time.”
“Oh, really?”
He winced the second before he glanced behind him again. “Look, I know this is awkward.”
“No kidding.” This time she did keep her voice down, but only because she was muttering.
“In my defense, I’ve been a little busy.” His mouth hovered over her ear as he spoke.
“Lying takes up a lot of your time, does it?” Now he had her whispering. And arguing in a bathroom stall on an empty floor of a not-yet-opened building.
The day just kept getting better and better.
“We can fight about this later, which I’m not looking forward to at all, by the way, but right now we have to—” He reached for her again.
“Since when are you so grabby?” She shrugged out of his grasp and then stopped when she spied the tiny lines of tension around his mouth. “What is it?”
“I need you to stay calm.”
“I’m not thirteen. I can take bad news.” She fought the urge to ruin her point by rolling her eyes.
“Then you won’t lose it when I tell you we have to hide.”
She tried to stop her eyes from blinking so fast. “I didn’t say that.”
ANGIE TROUTMAN STOOD up from the empty table without bothering to scan the room. People were staring and whispering because that’s what these losers did. So much jealousy packed into one small room. The room pulsed with it. She was almost sorry she’d talked Lowell into wasting money on them. Their lack of gratitude choked out any chance of enjoying the party.
She scanned the unhappy faces for Palmer, official Craft security, but instead spied a member of the outside team hired to back up Palmer. Not that the backup team viewed itself as anything other than being in charge. She’d warned Lowell about the potential turf war and he’d ignored her, citing the death threats.
Men never listened.
She tried for eye contact with the random security guard nearby. She couldn’t remember his name. It was something odd, one of those names parents chose when they wanted to be clever but ultimately ended up dooming their children to snickers.
But the name didn’t matter. She had a bigger issue. Aaron McBain had been trouble since he’d walked through the Craft lobby doors and taken over without saying a word. Something about his presence demanded attention. He issued orders and people jumped.
Worse, bringing him on board added to the Craft hierarchy, a pyramid she’d already given up so much to climb. After only a few days in the building, McBain had showed up everywhere, making it nearly impossible for her to speak privately with Lowell when needed. And now, when she needed him to stay in one place and in clear sight, McBain had disappeared off the floor. Hardly the keen skills of a crack security expert promised by the lucrative contract he’d signed with Craft.
Since his assistant—whatever his name was—was talking to someone rather than looking at her, she poked him in the arm to get his attention. “What’s your name?”
His head turned toward her, his gaze bouncing down to her hand and then back to her face, but his frown never wavering. “It’s still Royal Jenkins, ma’am. Just like it was when you asked yesterday.”
She’d insist on his company firing him from this assignment if she had the power to do so, and by Monday she’d convince Lowell to give it to her. She’d see if this man’s voice still dripped with disdain when he was standing in front of her desk, begging for his job. “Well, Roy. We have a—”
“Royal.”
As if she had time for this holier-than-thou male nonsense. She let her fake smile fall. “Where is your boss?”
“Excuse me?”
“McBain. His job is to watch Mr. Craft.” She glanced to where Lowell last stood and froze when she saw him across the room, handing his wife a drink. With a quick mental shake, Angie returned to the crisis at hand.
“He’s checking the rest of the building.”
She felt the blood drain from her head. “I don’t pay him to be hotel security.”
“Craft pays for his expertise. Right now he is ensuring the safety and integrity of the floors above us, which is protocol.”
That was the last place he could be at that moment. She couldn’t have him snooping around. “I need him here.”
Royal’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
She inhaled deeply, trying to calm the sudden swirl of rage and anxiety inside her. If she showed any outward sign of concern, this man would jump on it. He might be insubordinate, but he wasn’t stupid. She knew that from the way his gaze wandered around the room, taking in every movement, assessing and analyzing.
She