Page 4 of Unlock My Heart

“Mr. Calvani knew you’d say that.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and hands me a thick envelope.

A peek inside reveals a nice stack of hundreds. “Sorry, I’ve changed my mind. But tell Fabien thanks for the parting gift.” Dropping the cash in my bag, I take off.

“Wait, Ms. Jenkins!” The lawyer catches up to me, his chest heaving. “You have to come with me.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Clark. I don’t have to do a damn thing.”

“Clark?” His perfectly manicured black eyebrows lift sky-high as he adjusts his thick-rimmed glasses.

“You’ve got the whole Clark Kent thing going.” Never would’ve pegged him for a mob lawyer; the guy looks like he’d be the first one to help a little old lady across the street. “And speaking of going.” I continue on my way.

Glancing over my shoulder, I see him sprinting through the crosswalk to catch up to me. “Ms. Jenkins, you know what will happen to me if I don’t deliver,” he says between pants.

“Ugh.” I let out an annoyed sound from the back of my throat. “If I save your life, you owe me a favor.”

“Well, that’s not exactly what I meant⁠—”

“Or I can keep walking, and you can go back to your boss empty-handed,” I threaten.

“Alright, miss. I owe you a favor,” he quickly agrees.

“Wonderful. I need to stop by my apartment first. Where are you parked?”

“Right this way.” He leads me to a luxury vehicle, where he opens the passenger door for me, his designer watch glinting in the sunshine.

“Is it worth it?” I ask him as I climb into the vehicle, and he closes my door and hurries around to the driver’s seat.

“Is what worth it, miss?” The car’s engine thrums to life, and he cranes his neck, merging into traffic.

“Belonging to Mr. Calvani?”

Personally, I wouldn’t know.

He remains silent.

“Pleading the Fifth, I take it. What’s your name?” I try instead.

“Clark.”

My head snaps in his direction; he’s fighting a smile. “You’re messing with me.”

“Yes, miss,” he says with laughter in his voice. “My name is Saint.”

“Interesting.” I eye him with curiosity. “Do you live up to your namesake?”

An undercurrent of tension fills the vehicle. “There are no saints,” he says flatly, turning his attention back to the road.

We arrive at my apartment, without me having given Saint the address. But of course, Fabien had his lackey track me down. “Give me a few minutes to freshen up,” I tell him, hopping out the car and hurrying inside.

The first thing I do is stash the money in my safe tucked in the back of my closet. This new cash influx will float me for a few more months, but then what?

Not having an answer, I run my fingers along the fabric of a red mini dress, Fabien’s favorite once up a time. My jaw clenches as I fling the dress to the back of my closet, and instead, go with the most conservative pant suit and collared shirt I own. Stepping into my heels, I drop my phone in my purse and lock up behind me.

Saint appears relieved when I rejoin him. “Didn’t think I’d come back?” I raise an eyebrow. Not that the thought didn’t cross my mind.

“Wasn’t sure,” he admits, pulling away from the curb.

“Do you know who I am?” I ask, curious if he knows the sordid details of my life.