Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
I fisted my hands, swallowed my pride, and faced my bodyguards. “Did Callen go to the office?” I air quoted the words.
“Nay. Tae see Mirren,” Buzz replied, smug.
Ponytail elbowed him in the stomach, as if he’d said too much.
Another mention of Mirren. The gal the gossipers had sympathized with at the party. Was she Callen’s girlfriend? Did he keep a mistress?
I bit my tongue. What did I even know about Isobel’s husband?
Chin high, I pilfered a couple treats—oh, what the heck. I took the whole tray. Recalling the office I’d discovered during yesterday’s tour, I aimed that direction. Thora spotted me as she trotted down the stairs. She stopped to glare, but she didn’t growl.
“Looking adorable as usual, Lady Thorn,” I said with a nod of greeting, sailing past her.
Nose in the air, she trailed me. Well, well. I’d scored a sidekick today.
Happy for the company, I shouldered past the tall double doors, entering the vast office filled with dark wood, shelf after shelf of leather-bound books, and an eclectic mix of antique furnishings. The desk itself proved a feast for the eyes. Hand carved and in the shape of an L, with gilt handles.
Buzz and Ponytail remained outside the door. Not supposed to enter enclosed spaces with me? Or stop me? Because why else would they allow me to infiltrate their boss’s private lair?
Breathing deep of the peat smoke, rainfall, and midnight fantasies scent that saturated the air, I placed the tray next to the keyboard and eased into a plush swivel chair. The dog tried to jump on the desk and failed, so I helped her out. Without getting bitten! She lounged across neatly stacked papers, watching me. How did she get cuter every time I glimpsed her?
I reached out to scratch behind her ears. The movement caused the biggest computer in history to light up. Electronic-speak for use me.
Yes, please, and thank you. I tried to open the file folders on Callen’s desktop screen. Gah! They required a password. What was he hiding?
Determined to find something, I attempted to open his desk drawers. Maybe he’d stash a password reminder somewhere. Alas, the drawers were locked.
My gaze glazed over a phone and darted back. A landline. Hmm. That red-haired soul switcher had blocked me, but she might not have blocked Callen. But. If I did it, if I dialed and Callen looked into my actions, he would gain access to my personal number.
What damage might Isobel do to my cause if he called her out of the blue and inquired about our relationship? If pressed the wrong way, he could take extreme measures to ensure I never, ever crossed paths with her again. The guy had a seemingly bottomless pocketbook and availability of things I couldn’t fathom, making this a risk I shouldn’t pursue.
Decision made. No using the landline. I’d do research. I had tried to look him up on my phone, but the filter stopped me. Something he’d probably added to the device. But he’d had no reason to put a filter on his…
Holding a pastry with one hand—mmm, so good!—I typed with the other, pecking at the keys. Time to learn more about my host. Whoa! My eyes widened. A simple search of his name pulled up countless websites, all openable. Nothing pointed to a social media page, which had been my target, or even his birthday and age. Instead, everything led to articles speculating over his life.
I ate and read, read and ate. Words jumped out at me. Ruthless. Investor. Patents. Aristocrat. Mobster. Hottest man alive. Six-year-old daughter—Mirren.
Oooh. A daughter rather than a mistress, girlfriend, or ex. That honor belonged to a woman named Sorcha, the little girl’s mother, who had been Callen’s live-in lover before going missing under mysterious conditions two years ago.
Talk about a mystery! Fear slashed at my composure. What happened to her? Any investigation into the disappearance? There were no quotes from the family in any of the related articles.
I swallowed. Would I soon share her fate?
Then there were the stories about Callen’s father and his brother, both of whom had vanished without a trace, too. Again, no quotes from the family.
Isobel said Roderick challenged Callen to battle, and Callen killed him. Here was proof something tragic had befallen the guy. Was my businessman husband an immortal dangerous enough to kill? What had happened to his father?
No matter how you sliced it, controversy surrounded Callen. According to Scottish reporters, his icy detachment to tragedy ensured the whispers of foul play followed him everywhere he ventured. Some journalists outright accused him of committing murder, but no one could prove his involvement.
This was the man I planned to win over or annoy?
Where was his daughter, Mirren? Why wasn’t she here at the castle? Other than that awful maze, this seemed like an idyllic setting to grow up. Did she stay with a foster family, and he attended supervised visits? Or was this some kind of berserker tradition?