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“I tried to catch you at Buona Sera,” he says, breathlessly.
“Are you following me?” I demand.
He flinches. “N-Not exactly.”
I get in his face. “Not exactly? What are you doing here?” My hands ball at my sides. I don’t have security with me, since I only use them for major public appearances. Besides, I don’t need them to handle Chastain.
I can put him on my ass myself without breaking a sweat.
“What do you want?”
“I need to speak to you.”
“You don’t know when to take a hint, do you? Did the countless times I had my assistant tell you all but to get lost not clue you in?” Hell, I told Michael to tell Chastain to fuck off. But knowing my assistant, he told him in a much kinder way, which is probably why Chastain is standing in my face now.
“It’s important.”
“Everyone thinks their bullshit is important.”
I turn to make my way to my car.
“Kyle, please.” He moves to stand in front of me.
“You’ve got from now until I reach my car door to make your point.” I walk directly past him, taking long strides to get to the car where the driver stands with the door open.
“It’s about Carissa.”
“I don’t know any Carissa.” I don’t bother looking back at him as I say those words.
“No. Um, her real name is Riley. Riley Martin.”
My chest tightens and my legs stop, just as I reach the door to the backseat of the car. Slowly, I turn to face Brendan.
“She’s not who you think she is,” he says.
I narrow my eyes and glare at him. “You think you know more about Riley than I do?” My voice is a block of ice and dread. The mention of Riley’s name pisses me off.
Brendan rocks back on his heels.
“I have proof,” he says. “You want to see what I have. She’s not what you think she is, and if she’s working for Townsend, she can cause you and your family a lot of trouble.”
My entire body grows hot with anger. At first, my instinct is to punch Brendan Chastain until he begs for me to let him up for talking shit about Riley. But I restrain myself because, despite my irritation, I can hear the urgency in his voice.
He’s serious.
“Get in,” I order and step back, making room for him to get in the backseat of my car.
As soon as he’s in, I pull out my cell phone to call the person I go to in any significant security situation.
“Who’re you calling?” Brendan asks.
I glare at him out of the corner of my eye. “None of your business.”
I send a text.
Me:Can you meet me at Townsend in thirty minutes?
Uncle Brutus has been my family’s head of security for almost two decades now. Though semi-retired, he still takes on cases concerning our family’s security. He also trains all incoming security staff, whether they work for family security or business.
