Page 27

Twelve
Henley
Conner took my panties.
I knelt in the dark, feeling around for them for what felt like hours, panic mounting. I imagined them kicked into a corner or wedged under one of the shelves, waiting to be found by a janitor or someone who wanders in here, looking for an actual book and not a dark corner to get off.
When I realized they were gone, I felt a momentary blast of relief, with indignation hot on its heels.
He took them to mess with me.
Just another way to get under my skin.
I straightened my skirt and tucked in my shirt before shrugging into my jacket. Then I took the staff elevator to my second-floor office and spent the last twenty minutes hiding from Margo, waiting for five o’clock.
I should just leave.
Go home.
I don’t need Conner to go with me to find my dad. I can ask Tess. I bet she could find him. She’d go with me.
That’ll show him.
Pleasure doing business with you, Daisy.
I feel my cheeks warm, the heat sweeping down my neck and across my breasts. Down the length of me to pool between my legs.
The clock on my computer rolls over.
It’s five o’clock.
I call the concierge and request that someone pick up my car from the library. You would’ve I told him he’d been made the sole heir of Spencer’s fortune.
After I hang up, I turn off my computer and pull my purse from the bottom drawer of my desk, dropping my phone and my keys into it before slinging it onto my shoulder.
I turn out the light and lock the door, pulling it shut behind me. Giving brief consideration to saying goodbye to Margo, I decide against it. Rather than risk seeing her, I take the stairs to the first-floor, slipping out the side exit that leads to the parking lot.
I don’t know why I’m surprised that he’s here, waiting for me as promised but I am. So surprised I stumble a little when I see him, leaning against the trunk of a mean-looking muscle car, painted a flat black. Thick, muscular arms folded over his chest. He’s wearing different clothes. A long-sleeved henley, it’s top two buttons open at the throat, exposing the tattoo that wraps around his neck. The jeans are darker. Newer.
He doesn’t smile when he sees me. No cocky grin. No Heya, Daisy. No smartass smirk. He just watches me, his gaze dark and hooded. Legs crossed at the ankle, one boot planted in the ground while the other is poised on its toe, like he’s ready to run.
When I get close, he moves, skirting the trunk he was leaning against to open the passenger door for me. He stands ramrod straight, hand poised on the door handle, waiting for me to get in so he can shut it behind me.
Slipping past him, I feel his gaze rake over me as I slide into my seat, the smell of him now familiar enough for me recognize its different Sharper somehow.
As soon as he slides into the driver seat and shuts the door, I turn in my seat.
“I want them back.”
The corner of his mouth lifts in something too grim to be considered a smile. “You want what back?”
He turns the key and the car roars to life, its rumbling engine drowning out the sound of my voice.
“You know what.” I practically shout while I watch him drag his seatbelt across his chest to click it into place. Then he turns in his head and stares at me expectantly and I scramble to follow suit, fastening my seatbelt as fast as I can.
As soon as I’m secured, he shifts his car in to gear.
“I’ve taken a lot of things from you over the past few days, Daisy.” This time the smile he gives me looks more like Conner, his dimple winking at me so fast I almost didn’t catch it. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific.