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“Understood.” Cash hung up the phone and immediately thought about Riss. The fact that she was here with all this going on was his version of a nightmare. How in the world was he going to keep her safe, find the bible, and make sure this meeting went off without a hitch? The answer was obvious. He wasn’t. The thing was… the only area that Archer would let him compromise on was keeping Riss safe and that was just non-negotiable.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Riss checked her reflection in the full-length mirror in the closet. The Society certainly knew what they were doing when it came to amenities. Not only did they supply a hair dryer, but also a drawer full of hair and bath products that would rival any of the top salons that Riss had used liberally.
Now her long blond hair hung straight over her shoulders. She’d pulled on her favorite violet vee-neck sweater dress. She loved the way the dress clung to the curves of her breasts and hips but stopped mid-thigh. She donned over-the-knee black boots. Her makeup was subtle but emphasized her large eyes. She looked damned good. Somehow, that was important. She wanted Cash to notice her as she’d noticed him. If he saw her, she could build on that kiss, maybe grow something between them. Pun intended. Her cheeks flushed pink as she thought about what it would be like to indulge in playtime with the oh-so-serious man.
Good lord, I am a fool. She shook her head. Cash Walker was a man who would kill her if the need arose. But would he hesitate? He might if he felt anything near for her as she felt for him.
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. She could do this. She wasn’t going to think about the fact that someone wanted her dead. That Cash was supposed to kill her if she didn’t join the stupid Society. It was all so…outrageous. So far-fetched. It just couldn’t be real. None of it could. She knew ignoring the crazy situation could come back to haunt her but ignore it she would.
After a final check of her appearance, she made her way to the door. The hand she reached out for the knob shook like an aspen leaf in the wind. Swearing, she closed her eyes and took a series of deep breaths. Whatever was going on, whoever was after her or the bible or whatever, it would all be over soon. She would get to go home and go back to living a normal life. She need never step foot in a Society building ever again. She would put it all behind her and move on. One more deep breath and her hand was steady as she twisted the handle. She could do this. Cash and whoever else wouldn’t know what hit them.
When she reached the bottom of the steps, voices floated out from a room on her left. She made her way across the hall and entered what appeared to be a living room. A fire burned cheerily in the huge fireplace, and an inviting grouping of opulent sofas and chairs were arranged around a table in front of it. She counted two women and three men seated there. All faces turned towards her as she made her entrance.
“Good evening,” she greeted them.
A tall well-built man with sandy blond hair and blue eyes stood. He looked vaguely familiar. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said coming forward. “I’m Derek Davenport.”
Right. The tech guru she’d seen earlier right before she’d been shot at. Easy to forget the man given the circumstances. She, along with half the world, had read about him in the newspapers and in Time magazine.
“Mr. Davenport,” she murmured as she put her hand in his large warm one.
“And your name?” he asked, one eyebrow cocking upward.
“Larissa Day, but please call me Riss.”
“Riss. How charming,” he said with a smile. “Come join us.”
He motioned to a chair next to the sofa. It faced the fireplace but had its back to the door. She didn’t want to sit there but there were no other empty seats unless she wanted to wedge herself between the two men on the other sofa.
Davenport took his seat right next to her chair. “Do you know anyone here?”
“No.” Riss offered them a smile.
The red-haired woman sitting next to Davenport, leaned across him, rubbing her breast against him, and offered her hand. “Vanessa LeGris,” she’d said with what Riss thought was a French accent.
Riss shook the other woman’s hand and tried not to laugh. Could she be any more obvious in staking her claim to Davenport? Vanessa’s blood-red nails stood out against Riss’s pale skin. The woman’s dark eyes were intense as she studied Riss. She didn’t have to be clairvoyant to know that Vanessa LeGris already hated her. The waves of dislike rolled off her. Her smile was hard. The fine lines around her eyes that she’d artfully disguised with makeup told the tale of a hard life.
“Nice to meet you,” Riss murmured.
“I’m Poppy,” the brunette sitting next to Vanessa said. “A pleasure to meet you.” She reminded Riss of her favorite librarian growing up, Mrs. Wilson. Comfortably plump around the middle but with a warm smile.
Riss shot her a smile. The woman’s accent was the kind of posh that made Riss know Poppy was an aristocratic Brit. The cream sweater and tweed skirt she was wearing were top quality. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and her round face communicated the sense that the woman brooked no nonsense.
Two other men sat across from them. “Peter Kirkly,” the shorter, rounder, dark-haired man with glasses introduced himself. He too had a charming British accent.
“Daniel Dimon,” the last man said in an American accent. Riss recognized his type immediately. Being an office manager for a medical group with offices in Manhattan, the Hamptons, and Palm Beach, she dealt with men like him every day. Neatly coiffed hair…check. Manicured nails with clear polish…double-check. Ferragamo loafers that would cost Riss a week’s paycheck…yup. Riss pegged him as a man of means who summered in the Hamptons and spent winters golfing in Palm Beach. He ate at all the right places and played squash. He spent an inordinate amount of time yelling into his phone and he gave off an air of self-importance and unapproachability. He was, in short, a complete dick.
She merely nodded at the men and then jumped slightly when a man dressed in a dark suit appeared at her side to take her drink order. She glanced at the table in front of her. Everyone was drinking wine. “I’ll have an old fashioned.” She needed something a hell of a lot stronger than wine after the past forty-eight hours.
The waiter offered her an approving smile and left the room.
“Are you here on vacation?” Poppy inquired then sipped her red wine.
“Of a sort,” Riss replied. She wasn’t going to get into it. “What about all of you?”
Poppy nodded. “Came with friends for a few days. They’re leaving in the morning. Thought I would stick around a bit longer.”
