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Trace had been right about the driver’s license. His boldness blew her away. “I, uh, only recently moved here. From North Carolina, I mean. That’s where my mother and I lived.”
“If you didn’t drive, then how’d you get here?”
“Bus?”
“You’re asking me?”
Priss realized how she’d said that, and rephrased her answer. “I didn’t know if you meant here, as in your office, or here, Ohio. Either way, I took the bus.”
Murray’s eyes narrowed. “Where are you staying?”
Her brain scrambled, but with Trace’s warning in mind she came up with a lie. “I’m in a hotel.” She named the location, which was a good five miles from where she’d actually rented an apartment.
Hell picked up a photo. “Your mother?”
“Yes.”
She smirked. “I see why Murray left her.”
Oh, soon, Priss thought. Very soon she would make Hell pay for that insult. “My mother never blamed him. She said she knew it was a brief affair and hadn’t expected anything more.” Transferring her attention back to Murray—in time to see him studying her calves—Priss said, “That’s why she never contacted you about me. She knew you hadn’t been involved enough to want responsibility for a child.”
He laughed. “Is that what she told you?”
“Yes. That you were a powerful, accomplished man, and that she couldn’t burden you, knowing your preferences.”
“She was protective of you.”
“Yes.”
“And she was right.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Priss saw that they were twice the size of Trace’s arms, to match Murray’s thick neck and colossal back. But put to the test, Priss would place her bet on Trace every time. He had a quiet but lethal edge to him that instilled confidence in his ability. He might not be savage like Murray, but he would be effective.
Probably why Murray had hired him.
Behind his goatee, Murray’s lips curled in a smirk. “I never wanted a child, but you’re here now, aren’t you?”
Priss took that as a rhetorical question and kept her mouth shut.
Taking her arm, Murray pulled her, not gently but without overt hostility, from the chair. Not giving her much choice, he turned her in a circle, inspecting her from every angle. “I’ve made up my mind.”
“About?” she asked hopefully.
“We’ll get acquainted over lunch.”
Still recovering from that sudden spin, Priss said, “Oh! Yes. Lunch would be great.” I could kill you over lunch. There’d probably be plenty of time.
“But not just yet.”
Confused, Priss said, “What?”
Murray surveyed her with a critical eye—and disdain of her person. “You’re not exactly a fashion plate, now, are you? If I’m to be seen with you in public, we need to do some … adjustments.”
“Adjustments?”
“Surely you realize that more flattering clothes are required, along with a makeover of sorts.” Before she could protest, Murray said, “My treat of course.” And then with a smarmy smile, he continued, “It’s the least I can do.”
Sounding bored, Trace asked, “Want me to take care of it?”
Murray nodded. “Yes, that will work. Take her shopping for a new wardrobe, and then make an appointment at the salon. Total do-over, Trace. Hair, makeup, waxing …” He gave a salacious smile. “Whatever she needs.”
Priss tried not to look as appalled as she felt.
Trace continued to look bored. “No problem.”
By way of dismissal, Murray said, “On your way out, stop by Alice’s desk and set the lunch appointment on my calendar.”
“Do you have a specific date in mind?”
Still holding Priss’s arm and giving her that very non-paternal appraisal, Murray shrugged. “Whenever I’m free after she’s had the work done.”
“Got it.”
Priss gaped at the autocratic management of her life. No one had even bothered to consult her. “Shopping?” She tried to sound appreciative. “That’s so … generous of you, but really, I don’t need—”
Hell loomed near again. “Do you realize what an important man Murray is? Do you realize his stature in society? He can’t be seen with you when you look so—” she searched for a word, and settled on the not-so-insulting “—common.”
“Oh, but …” But Priss really wanted to deck Helene. Just one good palm shot to the nose, hard enough to leave her a bloody mess, but not hard enough to drive her cartilage into her brain. Priss forced a nervous smile. “It’s just that I didn’t want to impose.”
Hell made a rude sound. She scooped up the contents of Priss’s purse and dumped it all in her arms. “You imposed the minute you showed up here claiming a relationship. Accept Murray’s generosity. You need it.”
“Down, Helene. That’s not necessary.” Chuckling at the exchange, though it wasn’t in the least funny, Murray asked her, “Isn’t that right, Priscilla?”
“Well, of course…. I mean …” She struggled to get everything back in her purse. “If you’re sure that’s what you really want to do—”
He dismissed her ramblings. “Drive her home, Trace. Make sure that she’s secure.” He gave Trace a telling look. “Wherever she’s staying.”
“I’ll see to it.” And again Trace took her arm to lead her from the room.
Behind her, Priss heard Hell muttering something indistinct and she heard Murray laughing some more while playfully shushing her.
After closing the doors behind them, Trace gave her arm a jerk, drawing her from her thoughts. “Come on, then.”
Mulish, Priss made him drag her every step. He only went as far as the poor receptionist’s desk. “Hey, hon. Can you check Murray’s calendar for me? He wants me to set up an extended lunch.”
“Sure, Trace.” After tucking her short brown hair behind her ear, Alice began typing. Her slender fingers flew over the keyboard. While she did that, Priss again studied Trace. He spoke so kindly to Alice, in a tone he hadn’t used on Hell, or on her. He actually sounded … gentle. Kind.
So, did old Trace have something going on with the mousy secretary? Priss considered it—and shook her head. No, not likely.
Alice peered up at Trace with big brown eyes. “He’s free tomorrow for a few hours.”
No, no, no. She wasn’t ready yet.
Trace frowned, and to Priss’s relief, he said, “That’s not enough time for me to prep her.”
Alice glanced at Priss with new sympathy. “Oh. I see.”
Oh, what? What did she see? Priss wondered. Put out that Trace so thoroughly ignored her, she started over to a leather chair to sit, but without looking away from Alice, Trace caught her wrist and kept her ensnared beside him.
“Early next week he has three hours free. That’d give you through the weekend to … finish.”
“That’ll work. Pick a swanky place and set the reservation. Wherever Murray likes best, okay? I’ll get the details from you later.”
Priss tapped her foot in impatience. She couldn’t cross her arms, not with the way Trace kept her trapped in his hold, so foot tapping was the only way to express her annoyance.
But then Trace’s big foot came down over hers, not hard, but with a clear message. He didn’t even look at her while he gave the silent order for her to be still. The jerk.
“Got it,” Alice said.
“Thanks, honey.” He straightened again and, after removing his foot, turned his dangerous stare on Priss. “Let’s go.”
Without a word of complaint, she followed him to the elevator. She was more than ready to breathe in some fresh air untainted by corruption and evil.
This time the elevator took them all the way to the basement and into a private parking garage.
“I parked out—”
Trace jerked her closer, making it almost look as if she’d tripped, when she hadn’t. As he helped her straighten, he breathed near her ear, “Monitored.”
“Ah.” She knew better than to start looking around, but the idea of surveillance made her skin crawl.
Was Murray watching her even now? She fought off a shiver of dread.
When Trace stopped at a spiffy, shiny-clean, black Mercedes with darkened windows, Priss lifted her brows. “Wow.”
He opened the passenger door, and she more than willingly got in.
“Buckle up.” He shut her door, circled the hood and folded his big body in behind the wheel. With both doors closed, he took several deep breaths, then braced his hands on the steering wheel, squeezing and working until his knuckles turned white and the muscles in his forearms bulged.
Impressive. Knowing no one could see her through the dark windows, Priss lifted her brows. “Is it safe in here?”
By way of answer, he whipped his head around to pin her in place with white-hot rage. “I should save myself a lot of trouble and just kill you now, before Murray has me do it.”
Oh, shit. Priss reached for the door handle, but the locks clicked into place, and she knew she wouldn’t be going anywhere, not unless Trace wanted her to.
Possibilities and probable scenarios winged through her mind. Should she fight right now, or wait until they were out on the street? How should she attack? Face first, or the more susceptible crotch?
She peeked over at Trace, and knew no matter what she tried, he’d be ready. Well, hell.
CHAPTER THREE
AWARE OF PRISCILLA seething beside him, Trace put the car in gear and headed for the exit ramp. “What does your car look like and where did you park?”
“Umm …”
He sensed her tensing beside him, probably waiting for sunlight to hit the car before she launched herself at him. Such a foolish, but brave, consideration.
He shook his head. “I never hit a woman.” He glanced at Priss. “First.”
Confusion softened her hostile edge. “What?”
“I don’t suggest you try me, Priscilla. I’m seriously pissed enough right now to give you that paddling you so very much deserve.”
Understanding that he’d just been letting off steam, her shoulders slumped. She even scoffed. “Paddling? Don’t be an ass.” She dropped her purse onto the floor in front of her seat and put her head back. Almost as an afterthought, she said, “I’d never allow that.”
She honestly thought she could stop him if he was inclined toward a little discipline? What a joke. But she was correct to relax. He had no intention of abusing her in any way.
Far as he was concerned, she’d been abused enough for one day.
“I parked two blocks away, just in case, ya know? It’s a dark blue Honda Civic coupe.”
“I’ll have someone pick it up.”
“Just like that, huh?” She stretched, yawned. “You don’t need my keys?”
“No.”
When she slipped her feet from her shoes, wiggled her toes and let out a sigh, Trace’s temper shot up another notch. “Feel better now?”
“Well, yeah.” She turned her head to see him, and even smiled a little. “Knowing that you’re not really thinking about murdering me is a huge relief.”
“Don’t get too comfortable. You’re not out of the woods yet.”
She shifted toward him. “Yeah, I get that. So what’s going on here? What’s with the wardrobe and all that nonsense?”
“You require a whole new look to showcase your dubious charms.”
“My …” Her jaw went slack as everything finally fell into place. “That son-of-a-bitch! I told him I was his daughter.”
“You think Murray cares about a kid he’s never known? Get real.” Trace couldn’t believe her naivete. “No way in hell will he allow anyone a claim on his empire. Being related makes you a bigger possible threat, not more endearing.”
“But … people saw me with him. A whole building full of people!”
“People who work for him.” And that said it all—or should have.
“And they do what he says, when he says?”
“That’s about it.” Those who wouldn’t be an accomplice to his ruse of legit business, or an alibi when the facade cracked, would be as susceptible to harm as Priscilla.
