A lock on the other side of the door clicked, and it slid slowly open.
Half expecting to see Oliver, I had formed my face into a neutral expression. So, I was a little relieved when his brother, George, opened the door wide, his face impassive.
‘What’s with the hair?’ He frowned, taking my new blonde locks with visible distaste.
I refused to broadcast my sudden bout of self-doubt. I’d got rid of the pink I loved because it was easier than dealing with comments from my family. I hadn’t changed it back, partly because I was a little worried about all of those chemicals burning my hair off and partly because, in my mind, serious women nearing their thirties didn’t have pastel pink hair.
My hand itched to smooth down my loose curls. I forced it to remain at my side.
‘Nice to see you again too. Is Oliver here? He asked me to meet him.’
George, still surveying me with a frown—or maybe that was just his face—stepped to the side and let me through. I could see that he’d closed the shop as the shutters were down at the front of the store. He shut the door behind me and started walking away after tipping his head to encourage me to follow him.
My small heels clacked on the cement floor, echoing around the room, as I tottered after him. George wandered across the floor and up a spiral staircase in the far corner of the room, taking the steps two at a time. Grumbling under my breath, I followed him at a much slower pace.
By the time I reached the top, a slight sheen of sweat coated my forehead, thanks to the humidity of the room, keeping all the plants watered.
It was a small carpeted landing. Straight ahead was a row of windows looking into an office where the man I’d come to see was lounging in a swivel chair, his feet propped up on the desk. George entered and lowered himself onto a leather sofa pushed up against the wall. I stepped inside, my heart thumping loudly against my chest.
‘Don’t worry. I made it up here alive. No need to check or even talk at all.’ I huffed, scowling at George, who stared at me with no expression.
I halted in the doorway, gazing at Oliver, whose dark blue eyes stared at me with such intensity he looked angry.
‘What the fuck did you do to your hair?’ he barked.
My eyes bobbed out of my head. It took a moment before I was able to form a coherent thought. ‘Are youkidding me? First you, now you?’ I waved a hand from George to Oliver.
Oliver glanced at his brother, who shrugged.
‘It was pink.’ Oliver lifted his feet off the desk and leaned forward on his elbows.
My irritation reached boiling point, which was never a good thing. My mouth tended to run away with itself when people pissed me off.
‘No shit, Sherlock. Now if we can, please leave some of my self-esteem intact and get down to why you asked for this meeting and demand I come here, down an alleyway where I very well could have been murdered.’
Someone cleared their throat behind me. ‘I see what you mean.’
My head spun around to see a man in a tailored suit standing off to the side. His hands were buried deep in his pockets. At least this man seemed to remember his manners because he stepped forward and held out his hand.
‘My name is Tony. I am Mr Blake’s PR manager and legal counsel.’
I accepted his outstretched hand. ‘I bet your job got a lotmore interesting recently.’ I flashed a sardonic smile at Oliver, who half rolled his eyes.
Tony smiled. ‘I’m never bored with Mr Blake, that’s for sure.’
Mr Blake. It sounded odd coming out of this man’s mouth. My head immediately went to Rosie’s chosen moniker for him—Oliver-motherfucking-Blake—and felt a little better.
‘Please take a seat.’ Tony gestured to the only available seat left. The one opposite Oliver.
With George sitting casually on the sofa to my right, Tony standing to my left, and Oliver leaning on the desk, I couldn’t help feeling slightly hemmed in.
‘Have you seen the godfather? Because right now, I feel like one of you will either shoot me or welcome me into the family. Neither is preferable, by the way,’ I babbled. If I wasn’t mistaken, the corners of Oliver’s mouth twitched.
There was a pregnant pause before Tony piped up, flashing me a tight smile. ‘Miss?’
‘Fallon Lowell.’
‘Miss Lowell,’ I cringed away from the name, it was how people addressed my mother, and it made my skin crawl.
