Well, I have a name on a Post-it: Peyton Radd. It’s not much to go on in terms of evidence, but it’s a start. What I don’t have is my sanity, and I will my heart to stop beating so fast.
Coming out of the bathroom, I find Owen still working out—shirtless now. I brush my hands through my wet hair, unsuccessful in locating a hairdryer. Not that I expected one.
Owen stops for a moment, his expression veiled but his eyes on me, before he resumes his workout without a word.
Switching on my computer, I get straight to work, going over the names and compiling a list of the patrons who should get invitations for the gala.
“You have a venue yet?” Owen calls from across the room.
“Yes,” I reply, not looking up from my work.
“And?”
“And it’s a surprise, Mr. Mills.”
“Once again, Miss Riley, you are making me feel a bit afraid for my life.”
My gaze shoots to his, but instead of seriousness, his eyes sparkle with mirth.
“Once again, Mr. Mills, I didn’t kidnap you yesterday. You can trust me.”
I inwardly cringe at the lie. Everything about this situation is a lie. Everything I do is bringing him one step closer to a lifetime in prison. I’m the last person he should trust.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t notice he crossed the room until he’s sitting on my desk, trying to steal a peek at my computer screen.
I swat at his head, and he ducks, chuckling. “So violent, Miss Riley.”
“What do you not understand about the word surprise?” I ask, trying to sound stern.
“I don’t like surprises.”
Cocking my head to the side, I study him. “You’ll like this one.”
He snorts. “I don’t doubt it, Miss Riley.”
We stare at each other for a moment before I return my attention to the screen, wanting to get the gala details out of the way so I can continue with my real purpose.
Owen doesn’t move from my desk, but he doesn’t try to look at my computer screen.
“Is there something else you need from me?” I ask, not pulling my eyes from the work in front of me.
He shifts his weight as though he’s going to stand but thinks better of it. “Did you eat, Miss Riley?”
The question has me snapping my attention to him. He notices my wrapped knuckles hovering above the keyboard.
“No,” I say.
That’s when his eyes find mine.
“Come.” He stands, grabbing a shirt and throwing it on before heading out of the office not bothering to see if I’m following.
We make our way to the cafe in the lobby, once again in companionable silence. Owen orders two coffees and two chocolate croissants and places one of each in front of me at a small, two-person cafe table by the front office windows that look out onto the busy sidewalk.
I thank him, and he nods in response.
Chewing the croissant, I think of all I know about the man in front of me. My research came up with only basic information, which isn’t surprising given that big names usually have a good PR team to keep them mostly anonymous.
He’s an only child. His mother doesn't appear to be in the picture, though I couldn’t figure out what happened to her. His father used to own the company but signed it over to Owen a few years ago, giving himcomplete control of the company and the finances. He’s been labeled the richest man under forty by Forbes magazine, as well as the hottest billionaire under forty. And he won hottest man alive by People magazine last year. I almost roll my eyes but remember my company and smile instead.
