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His statement was bullshit. The only jobs Max had at this moment could easily be completed from anywhere in the world that had Wi-Fi. But no way was he going to tell her that. He didn’t want to be involved in any way with Zoë Youngblood, especially not with all the signals she was throwing out.
“Money’s no object.”
“I can’t be bought,” he said. She laughed at him, and he gritted his teeth.
“Anyonecan be bought. All you have to do is find their price.”
Zoë spun on her ridiculous heels and sashayed to the elevator. Her slim hips swayed with blatant exaggeration. Most men would probably fall to her feet begging, but not Max. He liked his women curvier. A certain curvy blonde came to mind. He smiled to himself as he made his way over to his office.
After pushing the door open, he walked over and plopped into his oversized leather office chair. Hopefully work could distract him enough to keep images of Sloane from his mind.Yeah, good luck with that, he mocked himself.
Chapter Five
Sloane
Sloane couldn’t believe she’d almost worked right through lunchtime. The morning was filled with appointments, conference calls, and errands. If she hadn’t set a reminder on the calendar to pick up Mr. Marek’s dry cleaning during her lunch, she wouldn’t have remembered to even take a lunch today. Shutting the computer down, she smoothed out her pencil skirt before tapping gently on the boss’s door.
“Come in.”
“Sir, I’m heading out for lunch. I’ll have your suits with me when I return.”
“Thank you, Sloane. You are a lifesaver.”
“Thank you, sir. Is there anything else I can get you while I’m out?”
“No, I think you do enough for me as it is.” He smiled warmly.
“I’ll be back within the hour. Don’t forget you’re meeting with Mr. Peters at two o’clock.”
Taking the elevator down to the ground floor, she exited the building out of the side door. It was only three blocks to the dry cleaners, but in her heels, there was no way she was walking. Not when she would be carrying lunch, plus hangers full of heavy suits. Once in her car and on the road, she turned toward Maple Drive. As usual, the dry cleaner had the clothes ready when she walked in.
Gathering the suits in her arms, she darted into the deli next door to order a turkey sandwich to take back with her. The smell of fresh bread assaulted her nose, making her stomach rumble. Impatiently, she waited for her number to be called. It was already one-thirty when she walked out of the small deli. Since she wanted to have herself settled before Mr. Peters arrived, she knew she’d have to hurry.
The elevator dinged before opening on the floor housing Mr. Marek’s office. Sloane had twenty minutes to hang up his weekly suits in his office closet and scarf the food down. She scurried to her desk, dropped the sandwich off, and immediately pushed open Mr. Marek’s door.
The first thing that came into view was Detlef Marek, kneeling on the floor in front of his desk holding his chest. Oh my God! Was he having a heart attack? Before she could unfreeze herself to run to him, red began to seep from under his hand. That’s no heart attack. Slowly, without thinking, she swung the door open further. She tensed, realizing that she was a few feet away from two men in expensive looking suits.
One was tall, with a frame like a bodybuilder. He had dark hair and tattoos covering a neck she thought would be as thick as her head. A gun hung loosely in his right hand.
The other guy was standing closer to her. He was of average height for a man, his head covered in an old-fashioned fedora. He turned to look at her. There was intelligence and malice in his dark eyes. Shit.
“I told you to lock the fucking door, Booker,” the man in the fedora muttered.
“Sorry, Boss.”
The boss scowled at her. “Ms. Robertson, it seems we have a problem.”
Sloane didn’t wait a moment longer; she turned and ran. No way was she waiting for the elevator either. She barreled through the door that lead to the stairs. A floor down, she heard a door open above. Was it the same floor she’d just exited?Shit. Shit. Shit.Her damn heels gave her position away easily. Hopping on one foot, then the other, she removed her shoes without stopping her quick decent. She should enter one of the other floors and take the elevator, but what if the other man was waiting inside the car? No, this way was safer.
A metallic ping! sounded off the railing where her hand had just been, sending sparks flying off. The big brute was shooting at her! Safer, her ass. Without her shoes she could jump down the last few steps on each floor. After what seemed like hours, she plowed into the door full force, finally entering the crowded lobby.
The moment the door opened, everything crawled by in slow motion; each step felt as if she was running underwater. He had to be gaining on her at this speed. Looking behind her for the brute called Booker, she ran right into a hard flesh wall. Panic had her throwing herself backward away from the arms grabbing her shoulders. This was it. The killer had her. She was going to die, all because she was dedicated to her job. Squeezing her eyes closed, she braced herself for the inevitable gunshot that still hadn’t come.
“Sloane?”
She knew that voice. That voice had haunted her dreams the past two nights. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Max stood next to the man who held her arms, keeping her from fleeing. The man in front of her looked to be in his early forties.
The man took a step back, and Max took her into his arms and tucked her head under his chin. “What happened?” Max asked. “Are you okay?”
