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“Name?” The gentleman greets us with a smile while my mouth goes entirely dry without a single word to offer him.
“Joseph McNish,” Rowan says clearly and confidently.
The man looks to his paper and searches the sheet of names. The mere seconds tick by painfully, and I swear I can feel the sweat beading at my temple. I’m going to puke on the welcome mat of this fine home.
“Mr. McNish, we’re so happy you could make it. Please come in. There’s hors d’oeuvres here in the grand foyer, and the gala will begin at seven o’clock sharp with kind words from our host Edward Sinclare in the dining room just to your left.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rowan tells him before pulling me and my stunned silence away from the man.
He winks at me when we’re inside, and I can’t help the stupid grin I give him back. This is fun. Exciting. A little bit scary but mostly fun so far. If I don’t think too long about how everything ended for Bonnie and Clyde.
I’ve come a long fucking way from lying around in my pajamas with hot Cheeto dust on my fingers, that’s for fucking sure.
Rowan steals a glass of white wine from the hors d'oeuvres table and passes it to me. I down the glass in one gulp and reach for another to calm my nerves. My undercover agent at my side has more class and simply holds the stem of the drink as he scans the room quietly.
“We’re going to be exiting on the staircase to your right,” Rowan instructs under his breath before taking a drink. “Once more people shuffle in and get seated in the dining room, we’ll make our move as the gala begins.”
I nod and take a weird little cracker with some kind of white-and-orange paste on top to give my hands something to do. I regret it the moment it touches my tongue. I swallow the atrocity down hard. Rich people. They have all the money in the fucking world, and it still can’t buy them a good meal. Despite that, my stress is making my stomach twist with hunger, and I try not to stress eat the entire fucking table while we wait the ten minutes for the gala to officially begin.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Please make your way to the dining hall. Our generous host will be with you shortly,” a far-off voice says over a microphone, and then Rowan’s taking my hand again.
As the last remaining guests walk past the snack bar, the two of us stride casually up the stairs. It feels like a dark, twisted fairytale retelling. I’m here in the most amazing gown with the most gorgeous man in a castle of a home.
To fuck up Edward Sinclare’s entire life.
We come to the second-floor landing. A white rug runs down the flooring with several doors on the right-hand side.
Rowan opens the first one and looks inside before closing it and moving on to the next. I watch our back and keep an eye out for us, but there isn’t a single person. All is quiet. The door to the next room is pushed open, and after a short minute, Rowan nods his head to me.
We step inside.
He closes the door softly behind us and flicks the light switch on the wall. A large desk, all sleek and glossy, sits near a bookshelf of memorabilia. Photos and plaques and city awards all shine like new. My fingers itch to toss them all in the unlit fireplace and start a weenie roast there, but we have bigger problems to worry about.
“Where would he keep the documents?” I ask, peering around at the large room with an oversized sofa and a practice golf-swing setup running along the wall. A thin rug of green leads to a fake hole at the opposite end of the room. A putter is leaning against his leather desk chair, and once again, I have the urge to just start swinging into all his belongings.
I want revenge in the form of chaos, but our revenge is coming in a much quieter tone.
“He used to keep all his secrets in his desk drawer when I was a kid. Told me never to touch anything in his office. Of course, I did. I read all about his affairs and his payoffs to women over the years of my mother’s marriage.”
I arch an eyebrow at my unhinged boyfriend, but he just shrugs a littlesuch-is-lifeshrug.
“I liked to keep the info for blackmail. When he first thought he could run my life, he beat the shit out of me for breaking a lamp.” He talks as he checks a few drawers on the side of the desk. “That only happened for a few years. He never touched me again when I got the courage to ask him about his separate bank account in Thailand my mother didn’t know about.”
I shake my head like I understand what kind of fucked-up childhood this beautiful man had, but honestly, it sounds like his mother was too busy to notice her son building a criminal empire and his stepfather... I think Ed admired Rowan in a sick way. I think he liked seeing how he could carve a kid into something he could use.
And he definitely used Rowan.
He pulls the bottom drawer on the far side, and it doesn’t budge. It’slocked.
Rowan looks up at me from where he’s squatting on the floor, and the sexiest fucking smile tilts his lips.
He pulls skinny metal rods from inside his suit jacket and starts picking around in a way I can’t see from over his hulking shoulders. Why is this so sexy? Picking a lock shouldn’t be an attractive trait in a man, should it?
The sound of metal on metal resounds through the silence, and I make my way back to the door, pressing my ear along the smooth surface. I hear his voice. Ed’s words are a blend of overbearing tones that mix together into rumbling sounds from downstairs.
“Got it!” Rowan stands, and he has a fist full of papers, flipping through each one as he looks up at me with wide eyes.
“Your birth certificate is here. He didn’t sign, but he has a copy. Ed likes to make copies because he lives in the stone age. There’s also a DNA test.”
