Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
I’ve drawn the curtains shut, but there’s still a lot of natural light coming in through the skylights in the high ceiling.
When she came downstairs, wearing a t-shirt with a chocolate stain on it and a pair of shorts that were so tight around her plump ass, I was hit with a wave of attraction I haven’t felt in a long time.
The dress and heels she wore to lunch did nothing for me. But damn, those shorts…
I remove my suits from the garment bags and hang them in the closet. Opening the duffle bag, I remove the weapons, and taking two guns, I hide one beneath the mattress and another on top of the cabinet in the ensuite bathroom.
I grab the duffle bag, and heading out of the guest room, I go downstairs and strategically hide weapons in the living room and kitchen while memorizing the layout of the penthouse.
Not wanting to step on Camille’s toes, I head back to the first floor and knock on the door.
“Yes?”
I push the door all the way open. “I need to hide a weapon here and in your bedroom.”
She blinks at me for a moment. “What?” A frown forms on her forehead. “Nevermind.” She waves a hand around the room then continues to frame the photo she took of the busker on Thursday night.
I place a Magnum on top of the cabinet containing all her supplies. “If you find a weapon somewhere in the apartment, just ignore it.”
Her features tighten, but instead of arguing, she nods and continues with her work.
An uneasy feeling settles in my chest, and my eyes sharpen on her face.
She’s unhappy.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll try my best to stay out of your way.”
Her fingers stop fidgeting with the frame, and for a moment, she just stares at her desk, then she says, “This is all very sudden.” Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes meet mine. “I understand my father employed you, but I’ll feel better if I could get to know you. Right now, I have a strange man in my personal space, and it’s really unsettling.”
I respect her honesty and gesture to the doorway. “Coffee would be nice while I tell you about myself.”
Surprise flickers on her face, and she quickly gets up from her desk chair. When I follow her down the hallway, I glance at the photos covering the entire hallway wall, which overlooks the open space of the living room and kitchen below. “Did you take all of these?”
“Yes. It’s something I like to do in my spare time.”
Before she can head down the stairs, I ask, “Where’s a safe place to hide a weapon in your bedroom?”
“Not my drawers,” she answers immediately.
When I walk into her bedroom, I notice all the underwear is missing. I stop by the side of her bed and ask, “Are you okay with a gun beneath your mattress?”
“The cleaning staff might find it.”
Christ, Maurice didn’t tell her.
I shove the gun beneath the mattress then say, “The cleaning service has been canceled until I have time to do background checks.”
A frustrated expression tightens her features, but not saying a word, she turns around and walks out of the room.
As much as I prefer to do my job and not interact with Camille on a personal level, I know it’s impossible.
Honestly, it’s downright unsettling being around the woman, knowing I shot her, and she has no idea who I really am.
She’d fucking lose her shit if she were to find out I’m an assassin by trade and the person responsible for the bullet that almost ended her life.
I follow her to the kitchen and say, “I’ll make the coffee.” While I take two cups from the cupboard, I ask, “What do you want to know?”
“Do you have family? Are they in Russia?”
I shake my head. “I lost my sister to cancer fifteen years ago, and my mother died the year after. My father passed when I was young, and I don’t remember much of him.”
In my world, it’s a rare thing to grow old. Eventually, the lifestyle catches up to you, and the hunter becomes the prey.
Silence follows my words, then Camille murmurs, “I’m so sorry to hear that. It must’ve been hard.”
I shrug as I watch the cup fill with dark liquid. “It’s life.” Not wanting to come across as the coldhearted bastard I am, I add, “Sure, I’d love to still have them around, but it is what it is. I’ve moved on.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence before she clears her throat. Her tone is filled with compassion when she asks, “Do you have friends?”
I set the coffee down in front of her, my eyes meeting hers. “I have one friend.”
She looks relieved as she picks up the cup to take a sip.
“So you grew up in Moscow?” she asks.