“Don’t be so sure.” He glanced back at the entrance—where Hughes was surely giving the blue-haired girl a stern talking-to. Mac shrugged. “The most dangerous attackers are the ones you least expect. If I were hiring a hit man, she’s exactly the type I’d go for. Attractive. Naïve-looking. Too small to be threatening.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or embarrassed for him. “You got all that just from walking by her?”
“I got enough. Most people judge a book by its cover, and her cover screams ‘harmless.’ She’s wearing a sundress with her hair in a braid. Now, the blue is odd and attracts too much attention, so it’d have to go if she were a hit man. And we’d have to work on those reflexes; she didn’t even try to duck under my arm. But I can guarantee she’s the last person you’d expect to stab you with a poisoned knife.”
I shook my head. “You read too many books.”
“No such thing,” he shot back just as we reached the private elevator tucked behind the corner. A bellhop had already called it down, and the teenager smiled eagerly at us.
“Welcome back, Mr. Westbrook.” He gave a short bow and gestured into the lift. “Your elevator’s ready.”
“Thanks, kid.” I stepped into the sleek space. The same marble from the lobby continued into the lift, but its walls were made of mirrors. “Hurry up, bodyguard. Before my reflection jumps out and attacks me.”
Mac glared at my dry tone but joined me in the lift.
I pulled up the calendar on my phone as the elevator ascended silently. “Anything else on the agenda before the Tokyo call tonight?”
“We cleared the other meetings, which just leaves a cleaning service coming this afternoon,” Mac said. “They’re only washing windows today, but I can have Nina reschedule them for tomorrow if you don’t want to be bothered.”
“It’s fine. Just have them stay out of my room. Are they the same cleaners who dusted the Van Gogh?”
The restoration expert claimed there wasn’t any lasting damage to the piece, but my art curator had ended up in the hospital when he heard someone had taken a feather duster to it.
“Nina switched companies while we were gone. The new one is called”—Mac scrolled on his phone and snorted—“Steve’s Cleaning Services. How original.”
At least it wasn’t a cheesy name like the dry-cleaning service my estate manager hired.
Wrinkle Warriors.
I refused to ever say their name aloud.
“What are your plans?” Mac asked.
“I need to check in with Tobias, then I’ll catch some sleep before the call.”
He glanced at his watch. “You’re not concerned about jet lag? It’s two in the afternoon.”
“I’ll risk it. That deal took months to close, and I couldn’t get any sleep on the jet.” A quietdingannounced our arrival, and we walked straight into the penthouse’s foyer. “You hanging around?”
He waved toward the sunken living room. “I’ll stick around for a while. Maybe do a touchpoint with the security team.”
“Wake me if anything pops up.”
Mac gave a short salute before taking off. I turned to the hallway on the right and dialed my grandfather.
He picked up on the second ring. “Cade, my boy. I hear congratulations are in order. Are you back home yet so we can celebrate?”
“I just landed in Westport an hour ago.” I grinned. “You heard the news?”
“Got an email from George saying the deal was finalized and you were getting on the jet. Well done. I can’t wait to rub it in the board’s faces that my grandson was the right man for the job.”
The pride in his voice made all the long hours worth it. Tobias Westbrook had built Westbrook Capital from the ground up decades ago, and it’d grown from a family business into an unstoppable empire. The biggest name in mergers and acquisitions on the East Coast, but our ambitions didn’t end there.
“Now, tell me all about London,” my grandfather said. “Meet any nice women in the pubs?”
“Pubs?” I almost laughed. “There wasn’t time for pubs. I was there to close the deal.”
He clicked his tongue. “You were overseas for months. Tell me you didn’t spend the whole trip in a stuffy old office building.”
