Thankfully, the door doesn't creak as I ease it open, and I send up a silent prayer to whatever patron saint looks out fornosy reporters. I creep down the stairs, pausing in the foyer to orient myself.
During our tour this afternoon, there was a room Evander specifically told me I wasn’t allowed in. I assume it’s his office, but even if it’s not, there’s obviously something behind that door he doesn’t want me to see.
Which, of course, means Ihaveto see it.
Heading toward the back of the house, I look for the library, and then retrace our steps to the best of my ability from there. Library, the living room with the giant television that looks more like a movie screen, a room he called the parlor that’s much more formal looking than the living room, a dining room and—a-ha!
The forbidden room.
Jackpot.
In yet another stroke of luck, the door is unlocked and I’m able to slip inside without issue. Somewhere in the back of my mind, alarm bells ring, telling me this has all been far too easy. That it must be a trap.
But even if it is a trap, what’s the worst he’ll do? Another spanking? Yeah, that hurt like hell, but I can endure a few whippings here and there if it means getting the information I need for my story.
I am a journalist, after all.
Turning the light on is a risk, but since the house is still silent around me, it’s one I feel comfortable taking. And I nearly cheer out loud when the overhead light flips on revealing exactly what I expected to find.
Evander Hawthorne’s office.
Double jackpot.
The computer sitting on top of his desk is locked, as I expected, so I set to carefully rifling through his drawers in search of a password. I doubt a man as security- conscious asEvander would just leave it lying around for anyone to find, but a girl can hope.
I’m on the third drawer when something catches my eye. It’s not his password, but something far more interesting. A woman, pretty with dark hair and sparkling brown eyes smiles out from a picture frame. In her arms is a child, probably less than a year old if I had to guess, with its own dimpled smile as it waves to the camera.
Who are they? I’ve never heard anything about Evander Hawthorne having a family, though I’ll admit I never paid that much attention. The mob was never something I paid much mind to, though now I am wishing I’d at least taken a passing interest.
If he has a family, what is he doing here? With me?
My mind is still whirring with questions when a deep voice freezes me in place. “What are you doing in here, little girl?”
Chapter Eight
Evander
Natalie’s head snaps up, her eyes wide with shock and a delicious fear I swear I can almost smell. “Oh, shit,” she whispers, dropping whatever it is she’s holding in her hand back into the drawer.
More swearing, which I’ll need to address later, after we discuss her sneaking out of bed and into my office. “Indeed. You are certainly in a lot of that. What are you doing out of bed, naughty girl?”
“I, um, couldn’t sleep?”
Leaving the door open behind me, I step more fully into the room, a dark thrill racing up my spine when she takes a step back in retreat. “What do you think happens to Little girls who lie to their Daddies, Natalie Quinn?”
“They get spanked?”
“Oh, my naughty little kitten. They get so much worse than that.”
Her eyes somehow get even rounder as she scurries away from me, her back pressing up against the bookshelves behindmy desk. Looking this way then that, she scans the room for an escape.
And then she does exactly what I’ve been hoping she would do ever since the alarm in her crib alerted me that she’d snuck out.
She runs.
I let her skirt past me and out the office door. The house is locked up tight, so there’s no worry that she’ll end up outside in the dark. But there’s plenty of places for her to run and try to hide in a home this size, not to mention one that’s been built to my personal specifications with plenty of long hallways and hidden rooms for a naughty little kitten to duck into.
Cocking my head to the side, I listen to the sound of her bare feet on the marble, giving her a small head start before I chase after her. Excitement, the kind only brought on by the thrill of the hunt, pounds through my veins with every step.
