You'd be making your father proud.
Instead, this was my life. Lying about on my duvet with a half-empty bottle of wine.
I wasn’t pathetic. I just needed my job.
Ever since I could remember, I'd wanted to be an Interpol agent just like my Dad. I thought it was so cool when he went skipping off to different countries, working with law enforcement. I’d thought there was a whole lot more of chasing the bad guys, but it was mostly bureaucratic except for the occasional case where I was tracking down jewel thieves. But even then, tracking them down was mostly following paper trails, investigatory stuff. There was very little actual chasing of the bad guys. When the time for that came, I called in local law enforcement. But still, I needed that chase. My brain needed to work. Without it, who was I? That was the problem when your job was your whole life.
It had given me meaning. A purpose. A way to connect with my father even after years of not being able to really communicate with him. Oh, I knew my father loved me. I didn't have the usual daddy complex that most girls did, but I felt like I was always disappointing him. I knew, that in so many ways, I wasn't exactly what he wanted in a child. The worst part was, Denning the Dick had exploited that. And now I was paying the price.
No more thinking about Denning.
My brain gave me a replacement. East.
The way he’d hovered over me last night, one arm braced, his hips bracketing mine. His other hand cupping my cheek as he held my gaze.
My bed smelled of him… of something woody and expensive. He’d come back today. For what though? His things? I was unable to find any evidence that he had been there, but everything in my cells told me he had been. Like his presence had cast a shadow in my flat on everything he’d touched.
And don't forget the knickers. They hadn’t been there this morning. I’d done a mental sweep of the place as we’d left. I hadn't seen them. He’d been back.
Or maybe that’s wishful thinking.
It was. Wishful. I wanted him back so I could rail at him for doing this to me, for turning me into this weak, needy person.
You’re not needy. You're heartbroken. It’s different.
My mind wouldn’t let it go. The possibility that he’d been there. But why?
Did he want something from me?
Was he… watching me?
My skin flushed hot at the thought, and I throbbed between my thighs. Missing him. I was so fucked. I’d been had and discarded by the billionaire. I needed to get over it as quickly as possible.
But the idea that he couldn’t let go stuck with me. He’d watched me before from cameras across the street at the parking tower. I’d kept my blinds lowered after that. But if he was going to torture me, then maybe a little payback was in order.
My phone buzzed, and I forgot all thoughts of revenge as I dove for it, praying that somehow on the other end of the line would be a new purpose, a new intention. Ooh, even better, a new job, though I hadn't exactly applied for one. Or better than that… East with a fucking apology.
"Hello?"
I hadn't even checked the number. What if it was Denning, bugging me like the dick that he was?
But the voice on the phone wasn't familiar. It was mostly British but slightly accented with something else. French? Maybe Italian? No. Definitely, French. "Agent Kincade, this is Francois Theroux."
I bolted upright. "Excuse me?"
"Francois Theroux," he repeated, as if I could have possibly missed it the first time.
"Oh, I didn't know we were phone buddies."
"You are a joy, Agent Kincade."
"Hardly. Try telling that to my father. I am pretty sure he sees me as the bane of his existence, but you didn’t call to talk about my daddy issues. What exactly do you need from me, Mr. Theroux? Because I have been trying to figure it out, and I still don't know. So I think I need you to explain."
"You don't trust easily, do you?"
"Nope, sure don't. I learned that the hard way. What do you need, Mr. Theroux? And why are you willing to throw away your freedom and your livelihood because of it?"
"Who says I'm throwing away my freedom?"
I coughed out a laugh. "I'm sorry, but aren't you the man who told me that you would turn yourself in to me?"
"Oh, I actually intend to turn myself in to you. I make a habit of keeping my word, Agent Kincade."
My head started to hurt. I should have made it clear that I wasn’t dealing with him anymore. I should have told him no. I should have made him go away. But no, instead I stayed on the phone with him, entertaining whatever the hell he had in mind for me. "If you turn yourself in, you somehow think that means freedom?"
"Agent Kincade, just because I turn myself in to you, that doesn't mean I will stay incarcerated."
"And you just told me your plan."
"You don't know the half of it. So, what say you? Do you want to hear what I need from you, Nyla Kincade?"
"And if I'm not ready? If I don't want to hear it?"
"That is, of course, your choice. But I wouldn't bite off your nose to spite your face if I were you, especially not when you can have everything you’ve ever wanted. Are you willing to take that risk? Are you willing to think outside the box for once? You have to trust someone."
"How about we just say that I don't trust anyone? And I will be watching you."
"That's a fair arrangement."
"So, what do you want exactly?"
"You can relax, Agent Kincade. There's nothing nefarious about what I want. I'm merely asking for your assistance in finding someone."
"My assistance?"
"Yes, I
