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Ella blushes and says softly, “Maybe, I don’t know.”
“Anything else, any tattoos, defining features, jewelry?”
“Not that I can think of, except she did have a fluffy keyring, you know, the kind hotels use sometimes.”
“What was it?” This piece of news interests me because if she can describe it, we may just know where she came from.
Ella’s eyes narrow and she appears to be thinking hard. “It was white, a lamb I think, or it could have been a polar bear. It had black ribbon around it.”
“I’ll get it checked out. Anything else?”
“She seemed nervous, as if she was being followed. I didn’t think it strange though, a lot of my customers feel nervous, usually because they don’t want to be seen buying something that’s fake.”
“Did you see anyone waiting outside, the car she used?”
“I think she had her own. It was pulled up outside and I remember thinking how smart it was. Almost brand new actually.”
“Make, model?”
“I’m a bit rubbish at cars, they don’t interest me. It was the color that struck me, nothing else.”
I hide a smile. Typical woman.
I roll my eyes. “So, what color was it?”
“Electric blue with a silver stripe. I remember thinking it looked quite cool.”
I make a mental note of everything she tells me because I will get this all checked out.
She seems a little more at ease, so I pull out a chair. “Take a seat, we should eat, you must be hungry.”
She sits as gracefully as she can manage given the fact she obviously can’t walk on the heels I gave her and the dress is obviously longer than she’s used to and wraps around her legs. She almost falls into the seat and looks so mortified I want to laugh out loud. Instead, I fix her with a dark look.
“Practice your walking, if you want to go anywhere in public with me, you need to look and act as if you belong by my side.”
“What if that doesn’t concern me? Why would I want to be by your side, anyway, you know you’re a little presumptuous, Lucas?”
She can’t help herself and her sarcastic use of my name gives me all the ammunition I need as I fix her with a dark look and say roughly, “Are you answering me back, Ella?”
The memory of what happened earlier comes back to bite her, and she backtracks—fast.
“Of course not, I’m sorry, sure, I’ll practice walking in heels, I could use learning a life skill.”
She mutters something under her breath and I say angrily, “What did you say?”
“Nothing, um, just telling myself not to be such a bitch, nothing bad.”
“Do you take me for a fool, Ella?”
“Um, no.”
She looks worried, and the bastard in me loves every minute of this exchange.
“Then what did you say?”
She shrinks in her seat and I can tell she is trying desperately to think of another answer and mutters, “I, um, just said I’ll practice walking in these heels, um, over your head.”
She blushes and looks away, and I love every minute of it. Not that she will know that, because I growl.
“Stand up, Miss. Quinn, now, if you know what’s good for you.”
As she looks up in fear and slowly rises, it begins.
