A listing from a popular auction website came up on the screen as the reporter continued talking in the background. It matched what I’d heard them talking about earlier, so the details didn’t come as a surprise. But the picture of the woman who’d saved the boy’s life got a hell of a reaction from me. With her long, dark hair, pale green eyes, and plump lips, she was gorgeous as fuck. Her looks meant the auction was definitely going to draw attention from the wrong crowd.
“Motherfuuuu—” I bit out as I stalked away. Brecken was still in his meeting, but that didn’t stop me from poking my head into his office. “Something urgent came up. I need to use the Gulfstream this weekend.”
My boss gave me a curt nod, and as I shut the door, I heard the potential client ask, “You have a private jet?”
We had three, which was sure to impress the head of a local art museum, who was considering hiring us to overhaul their security system. I asked for the G100 so we wouldn’t need to stop to refuel along the way. With our transportation nailed down, I headed back into my office and slammed the door shut. Then I pulled the damn auction site up and created an account. For the next four hours, I barely got any work done because I ended up in a bidding war with some asshole who was determined to beat me out on the opportunity to be the stunning brunette’s knight in shining armor. There was no fucking way I was going to let that happen, though.
When the auction closed that evening, I was the winner. Less than five minutes later, I got an email from the woman who’d done the interview, asking for my full name and phone number. Figuring that she was going to use the information to check me out before she gave me any of her sister’s information, I felt a little better about the whole stunt. When my cell rang with a number from an unfamiliar area code an hour later as I walkedinto my condo, I answered in case it was related to the auction. “Hello.”
“Is this Devon Miller?”
The voice was feminine and familiar, so I assumed it was the woman who’d been interviewed. “Yup.”
“Hi, this is Oriana Bisset. You won an auction I set up…” Her voice trailed off, and I heard a masculine rumble in the background before she giggled. “You know, the one where I basically sold my sister to you.”
“After watching your interview, I get why you went that route.” I knew it wasn’t my place to take this woman to task for what she’d done, but the unexpected protective streak I felt for a stranger overcame my sense of courtesy. “It was a risky move, putting your sister out there like that, though.”
Judging by her soft laugh, my criticism didn’t seem to bother Oriana. “Maybe, but it worked.”
“I could be a serial killer for all you know,” I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“You and Mel should get along great,” she snorted.
I didn’t understand why she thought so, but I hoped she was right. “How come?”
“Because she was complaining that you could be a serial killer when I told her about all the people on social media who think this is the best real-life meet-cute ever.”
I walked over to my kitchen table and flipped open my laptop to search online. The interview had been shared a fuck ton since I’d seen it, and the story had gone viral. Everyone and their brother seemed to want more details about the knight in shining armor who’d paid for the right to save the damsel in distress. It was a good thing we kept the planes at a private airport because the last thing I wanted was some nosy reporter splashing pictures of Mel and me all over the place.
3
MELISANDE
Icouldn’t believe the number of photographers who were camped out on the sidewalk in front of my apartment building when I got home last night. Luckily, I had spotted them as I was driving past and was able to find a parking spot in the attached garage instead of having to use the overflow lot across the street, which would’ve meant I’d have been forced to walk through them to get inside. My sister had thought it was hilarious when I’d called to complain, but it wasn’t as though I could lay into her too much since she’d sent me the details for my flight this morning while we were talking.
When she’d told me someone was going to pick me up so I didn’t need to worry about leaving my car at the airport, I assumed she was sending a rideshare or something. But I wasn’t expecting a knock on my door five minutes before I was supposed to leave. Afraid that an overzealous photographer decided to stick around all night and had snuck into the building as people were leaving for work, I went to the door and rose on my toes to peek through the peephole into the hallway. My eyes widened as I took in a guy who was attractive enough for me to tell he was hot even with my limited and distorted view. Hefit tall, dark, and handsome to a T, and his looks only improved when I unlocked and opened my door. “Hey, are you my ride?”
Of course, I blurted that out instead of coming up with a clever greeting of some kind. My awkwardness was a big part of why I rarely dated, and it got really bad when I was around hot guys. But the man at my door didn’t seem to mind. His lips curved in a grin, and his dark eyes were full of humor before his gaze dropped to take in my outfit. Since the flight was going to be long, I’d gone for comfort when getting dressed. I was wearing a pair of black leggings and a form-fitting T-shirt but hadn't thrown on my oversized sweatshirt yet. There was no missing any of my curves with the tightness of what I had on, and his dark orbs flared with desire when his gaze made its way back up again.
I had a feeling my reaction to him was just as evident in my eyes, and my cheeks filled with heat when his grin widened. I shouldn’t be too embarrassed since no woman alive would blame me for appreciating the hunk standing in front of me. Between the lock of dark hair that had fallen on his forehead, square jawline covered in scruff, and broad shoulders, he was pretty much irresistible. I was willing to bet his tips from female customers more than made driving people to the airport worth his time.
“Yeah, and judging by the crowd of reporters out front, it’s a good thing that Oriana gave me your address. I would’ve hated for you to be stuck walking the gauntlet on your way out to a cab.” His smile widened as a gleam of satisfaction shone from his dark eyes. “Your sister told me how to get in the garage, so we should be able to make a clean getaway without any of the reporters knowing you’re in my car. If not, I’m sure I’ll be able to lose ’em on the way to the airport. And if I’m wrong, they won’t be able to follow us when we get there since the plane is in a private hangar.”
My hand tightened on the edge of the doorframe as my brain caught up with the second half of his answer. “Hold up. You’re not just giving me a ride to the airport?”
“No, I’m Devon Miller, your”—another lock of dark hair fell against his forehead as he made air quotes with his fingers—“knight in shining armor.”
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome was the guy who had paid cold hard cash for the privilege of flying me out to Portland? Thinking about how the true crime podcast I liked to watch had mentioned that serial killers tended to be charming and attractive, I flashed him an apologetic smile and stuck a finger up in the air. “Give me just one minute, please.”
I gently shut the door in his face before making a mad dash over to the kitchen counter to grab my cell phone. Pulling up my sister in my recent calls, I paced back and forth while I waited for her to answer. After the third ring, she finally said, “Hey, are you and Devon headed to the airport?”
“You didn’t tell me that I was being picked up by the guy who won the bid,” I hissed.
“Of course, I didn’t. You would’ve just obsessed all night long over the possibility that a serial killer was going to come knocking on your door, and then you would’ve been too tired to enjoy Harry’s party when you got here.”
I wanted to bang my head against the wall a few times—but only because my sister wasn’t here, so kicking her butt wasn’t an option. “You just sent a perfect stranger to my home, Ana. I think I have the right to be a little worried here, and not just because I’m a fan of true crime podcasts.”
“Relax,” she chided. “Jeff asked the cop who lives down the street to run Devon’s name before I called him. The guy doesn’t even have so much as an unpaid parking ticket. And he tried to lecture me about how risky it was to put you up forauction, which is not something a serial killer would do if he was planning to make you his next victim.”
