She bent forward and gave a sniff to the sweet-smelling flowers that were in big planters, spaced every six feet along the wide sidewalk that ran between the building and the street. Just a few blocks off the main drag, this area was much quieter. Not deserted in any manner, thank goodness. That would be bad for business. But a shade calmer, befitting the vibe they were trying to create in their stores.
She pulled open the door, felt the blast of air-conditioning and turned back to get one more breath of warm, fragrant summer air. And when she did, she caught the quick movement of somebody stepping inside a door across the street. Not her building, which housed her boutique and several other small businesses, but the one next to it. Moving so fast that she couldn’t even tell if it had been a man or a woman.
Like they didn’t want to be seen.
Had somebody followed her here? Was she being watched at the hotel? Had they flagged down a cab and chased her here?
Or had someone somehow discovered that she was returning to this office tonight?
Or was she simply losing her mind? Because that’s what it seemed like.
It was more of the same that she’d been experiencing for months. Footsteps behind her. Doorbells ringing in the middle of the night and no one at the door. Hang-up phone calls from numbers that she couldn’t trace. Muffled conversation beneath her open second-story bedroom window.
The overwhelming feeling that she was being watched.
She debated running across the street and searching the other building. Knew the idea had big holes. She was ill-equipped for action in heels with no means to protect herself.
And more importantly, she really wasn’t brave enough. Because whatever it was, it felt sinister.
It was twenty minutes to seven when she finally arrived. Cocktail hour was well under way but Seth hadn’t had a drink yet. And when the elevator door opened and she stepped out, in something pale blue and silky and several inches above her knee, he thought that was why his throat was suddenly dry.
And maybe the music and the crowd of people in the lobby explained the humming in his ears and his general feeling of light-headedness. He crossed the room fast.
“It...uh...looks...uh...different,” she said as he reached her.
Her voice was shaky. And did she seem a little preoccupied? Maybe even upset? Had something happened? “Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” she said, not meeting his eyes. Her hand was clenched so tightly around the handle of her umbrella that her fingers were white.
Something definitely wasn’t right. “No rain expected tonight,” he said, deliberately staring at her clenched hand.
She tapped the wooden nub at the end against the ceramic tile flooring. Nervously. “I’m going nowhere without my umbrella. Ever again.”
“Ever is a long time.”
He watched as she drew in a breath. Then another. Saw her fingers relax. “True,” she said.
He reached for the umbrella. “Why don’t I take that and stow it back here,” he said, motioning to the credenza behind Jane’s desk.
“Thank you,” she said. “I may need some of these,” she said, casually looking around at the array of small tables, “when we reopen the Vegas store.”
“I’ll make sure Jane gets you the contact information for our vendor.” He had to admit that it looked good. Jane had arranged for small high-topped ones along with some leather bar stools to be brought in, to provide adequate seating for dinner. They were scattered throughout the lobby and in other areas. Strands of lights had been hung and candles lit.
“Were you waiting for me?” she asked.
He hadn’t been. Not really. But like before, her presence had changed the room. “Abigail arrived just a few minutes ago,” he said. He pointed across the room where Abigail was chatting with Trey. “I thought you might come together.”
She waved to her sister. “I’m at the hotel, but her husband’s parents live in Vegas and she’s staying with them.”
“I thought he was French.”
“He is. They are. It’s a fish-out-of-water tale. They’re here for just a few years. Mr. Chevalier is technically retired but he’s mentoring some high potentials in his old securities firm. I imagine they’ll be back in France within two years. But them being here was actually a stroke of luck for Abigail and me. We’d been looking at properties and she saw the Vegas store on one of her visits. While it wasn’t being run well, we could see its potential. One thing led to another, and well, you know the rest.”
“I imagine you’re excited about being an aunt.”
She looked him right in the eye. “I’m scared to death.”
It might have been the first really honest thing that she’d said to him.
“Why?”
“There’s a thousand things that could go wrong. Preeclampsia. Placental abruption. I mean, I know medicine is very advanced but still, bad things happen. Abigail isn’t concerned. That’s good, of course.” She stopped. “Whatever you do, don’t repeat this conversation. It bothers her that I worry.”
And she didn’t want her sister bothered about anything.
Which is why she’d agreed to hiring security even though she clearly wasn’t happy about it. “I think it’s going to be okay,” he said.
“Oh, sure,” she said, not sounding convinced. But Abigail was approaching and Megan gave her a big smile. “Did you get some rest?”
“I did. And such a stroke of luck that we got invited. Otherwise, I was going to have to learn to play belote.” She turned to Seth. “It’s a French card game.”
“We speak poker here,” he said. “I see you got something to drink.”
Abigail held up her water. “Trey took care of me.”
“What would you like?” he asked Megan. “We’ve got a bartender here. I imagine a piña colada is within the realm of possibility.”
“White wine will be fine,” she said.
“You two go ahead,” Abigail said. “Trey was going to find Kellie and meet me back here.”
Seth motioned Megan to precede him down the hall. They’d set the bar up in the break room. There were three choices of white wine, all equally good. They also had red wine and craft beers and all kinds of liquor for mixed drinks. Hagney, a friend of Kellie McGarry’s from when she’d been a cocktail waitress at Lavender, was bartending.
“That one is perfect,” Megan said. “Thank you.” She took the wine and turned.
Hagney’s eyes met his and the message was clear. Wow.
Indeed. “Business,” he mouthed. Then turned quickly back to Megan. “I’d like you to meet my partner Royce Morgan.” He led her back to a conference room where Royce stood in the corner, swaying back and forth. Grace, oblivious to the noise, was sleeping on his shoulder. He’d never seen his partner look so comfortable and confident.
“Royce, this is Megan North. She’s a new client.”
Royce smiled, shifted the baby slightly so that he could shake Megan’s hand. “Thank you for choosing Wingman Security.”
Seth wondered if she’d correct Royce, insisting that she hadn’t chosen them but rather, they’d been pushed on her. But she just smiled. “You’re welcome. How old is your little girl?”
“Seven months. Her name is Grace.”
“She’s beautiful,” she said.