Why not?
She was gorgeous. Smart. Knew exactly how to manage a room full of men with too much money and no conscience. She was the kind of woman I usually appreciated—low drama and transactional.
But tonight, I didn’t want her.
Not really. I was meeting with her because it was convenient. I was already in town on other business, and she was a private banker working to help me convert some of my holdings into liquid US dollars. Now that I was living in Manhattan and building up an armory, I needed greater cash flow.
My phone buzzed once. Then again. And again.
I ignored it.
Brooke leaned closer, her perfume floating in the air between us. “Would you like to move this meeting inside?” she purred.
My gaze dropped to the manicured hand sliding up my thigh. I thought of Lyla’s fingers—strong, short nails, fidgety as hell—and something I refused to acknowledge punched me square in the chest.
Buzz. Buzz.
I yanked my phone from my coat pocket and glanced at the screen.
Henri.
Shit.
I opened the thread.
We lost her.
We never saw her leave the theater, and she’s not home.
We’re not the only ones who can’t find her. Delgado’s lackey is freaking out. Overheard him talking, and he said Delgado was going to kill him if she wasn’t found immediately. Something about how she’d called Carlos and told him she quit.
Checked with Carmine. He got a text from her saying she quit on him too. She’s heading back to Tennessee.
Something cold and twisted settled in the marrow of my bones—a rare, unwelcome punch of dread, the same I’d felt the day I learned Ana’s car had been totaled.
“What is it?” Brooke asked.
I downed the rest of my drink in one swallow. “I’ve got to go.”
“Seriously?” Her tone snapped like a whip. “Nik, I thought we were—”
“I’m not in the mood to explain,” I said, standing. “Thank you for the meeting. You’ll send over the documents and an invoice tomorrow, won’t you?”
She blinked up at me, wounded pride flashing in her eyes. “Okay, sure. No problem. Is there something you need my help with? You look…off.”
I didn’t answer, turning away and heading to my room.
Because no one could fucking help me.
Lyla had disappeared…vanished out from under my men’s noses.
Delgado’s man had lost her too. If he couldn’t find her, Delgado would assume she was hiding fromhim.
And he’d come looking personally.
Not with questions, but with a blade.
“Fucking hell,” I muttered, storming toward the elevator.
