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CHAPTER ONE
“I HAVE A debt to collect, Violet King.”
Violet stared out the windows of her office, glass all around, providing a wonderful view of the Pacific Ocean directly across her desk, with a view of her staff behind her. There were no private walls in her office space. She preferred for the team to work collaboratively. Creatively.
Her forward-thinking approach to business, makeup and fashion was part of why she had become one of the youngest self-made billionaires in the world.
Though, self-made might be a bit of a stretch considering that her father, Robert King, had given her the initial injection of cash that she needed to get her business off the ground. Everyone worked with investors, she supposed. That hers was genetically related to her was not unheard-of nor, she supposed, did it fully exclude her from that self-made title. But she was conscious of it. Still, she had made that money back and then some.
And she did not have debt.
Which meant this man had nothing to say to her.
“You must have the wrong number,” she said.
“No. I don’t.”
The voice on the other end of the phone was rich and dark, faintly accented, though she couldn’t quite nail down what accent it was. Different to her family friend, now her sister’s husband, Dante, who was from Italy and had spent many years in the States since then. Spanish, perhaps, but with a hint of Brit that seemed to elongate his vowels.
“Very confident,” she said. “But I am in debt to no man.”
“Oh, perhaps I misspoke then. You are not in debt. You are the payment.”
Ice settled in her stomach. “How did you get this number?”
In this social media age where she was seemingly accessible at all hours, she guarded her private line with all the ferocity of a small mammal guarding its burrow. She—or her assistants—might be available twenty-four hours a day on the internet, but she could only be reached at this line by business associates, family or personal friends. This man was none of those, and yet somehow he was calling her. And saying the most outlandish things.
“How I got this number is not important to the conversation.”
She huffed. “To the contrary, it is extremely important.”
Suddenly, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and she turned around. The office building was empty, just as she thought it was. It was late in the day and everyone had gone home. Her employees often worked from home, or at the beach, wherever creativity struck them.
Her team wanted to be there, and she didn’t need to enforce long office hours for them to do their work. The glass walls of the building made it possible for her to see who was in residence at all times, again, not so she could check up on them, but so there was a sense of collaboration.
It also made it easy to see now that she was alone here.
Of course she was. A person couldn’t simply walk into this building. Security was tight, and anyone wanting entrance would have to be buzzed in.
But then suddenly she saw a ripple of movement through the outermost layer of glass, motion as a door opened. A dark shape moved through each clear barrier, from room to room, like a shark gliding beneath the surface of clear water. As each door opened, the shape moved closer, revealing itself to be the figure of a man.
Her chest began to get tight. Fear gripped her, her heart beating faster, her palms damp.
“Are you here?” she whispered.
