Page 27 of Lone Spy (Starstruck Thrillers #2)

Chapter Twenty-Three

I do think about Omar's offer. I think about it at the premiere in Berlin, through the days of press. Every time another bouquet of flowers arrives from him. When Ash's hand brushes my hip in a crowded elevator to move me behind him.

I think about it when I'm on the phone with my attorney and my financial advisor. Most of my assets are owned by corporations that I, in turn, own. Even my houses in Malibu and LA are owned by my LLC. “That doesn’t mean they are safe,” Tamara Delgado, my lawyer, says.

“Right now is the time to secure your situation.”

“What do you recommend?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral.

I’m pretending we are not talking about something unthinkable and yet historically so much more likely than the freedoms I’ve known my whole life.

But my rights are relatively new—women didn’t have access to credit in the United States until the seventies.

That’s only fifty years. Less than a lifetime.

It took a century of fighting to get to where we are, and the Grand administration is rolling it back in a matter of years.

“We can place your stocks, bonds, and a big chunk of cash in a trust that we establish offshore,” Tamara says. “The Cayman Islands and Switzerland are both good options.”

“Okay.” My lips are numb. I stare out the window of my hotel room.

It’s early here, the day gray and gloomy.

Raindrops patter against the glass. I focus on them, watching the individual path each one chooses after slapping the glass, the way each zig-zags down the smooth surface, following gravity’s pull in its own unique way.

“We can also set up foreign entities to own the property. Really, moving as much offshore as possible is vital.”

“What about Violet Glamour?” I ask.

Tamara clears her throat. “If we establish residency for you abroad…”

Tamara keeps talking but the words stop making sense. It’s like I’m underwater. I can hear the sounds she’s making but they are distorted. Inside my head Ash’s voice reminds me that it's easier to kill you outside of the United States.

“We can also consider relying on male family members or associates as nominal account holders or property owners, ensuring you have control through enforceable private contracts.”

I take a breath, let it out. “That’s kind of what Mary’s doing,” I say. “But she’s going a step further and getting married.”

“It’s a strategy that does provide a lot of protection and allows you to continue living in the United States. Do you have someone in mind?”

“I hate the idea of it,” I say. “Depending on someone like that.” I’m not one of those girls who grew up dreaming of a white wedding—I longed for Oscar’s accolades, not a husband. I wanted freedom. Still do…

Tamara sighs. It’s the first time I’ve heard any emotion from her on this topic.

She’s in her fifties, black, and at the top of her field.

This is a woman who busts balls for a living.

Like Mary, she sounds like this is all business—and that bitching and moaning about it to her clients isn’t going to change a single fucking thing.

But that sigh. Fuck. I felt it in my bones.

“I understand,” she says, her voice softer.

Gentler. “You don’t have to decide right now, but I think it’s important for you to start to think about this—while it’s possible nothing will happen at the federal level, and you’ll be fine with your California residency, I’d hate to bet your fortune on that outcome. ”

“Of course,” I say. “I understand.”

“Just think about it.”

“I will,” I promise.

I do think about it. I think about Omar’s invitation to Scotland, Rebecca Levi’s intelligent eyes, and if I need to find a safe man to marry while going over my next projects with Mary—I have one lined up but scripts are pouring in.

"There is a lot of awards talk around The Benefactor ,” Mary says with glee in her voice. "Everyone wants to work with you."

I’m thinking about it all when Synthia and I finally reach each other after a dozen missed connections. Ash and I are driving back to my hotel after a long second day of press. One during which Alesana mentioned a hair was out of place and then winked at me.

Zade slapped his brawny shoulder and then pretended their hand had been gravely injured. It made me laugh. The whole thing reminded me I’m not drowned yet.

Ash is sitting next to me now. Our pinkies are nowhere near each other. "You seem better," Synthia says, the connection distant—like she's in a cave talking to me through a tin can.

"You mean I didn't burst into tears at the sound of your voice."

She laughs. "We like improvement. Have you been working out?"

"Yes, Mom. Every morning." As long as I didn't spend the night in clandestine meetings or fighting for my life. "But I'm looking forward to being back in regular training with you."

"Mary tells me you're going to need swordplay training. And horseback riding lessons."

"Yes, should be fun. I rode when I was a kid." Before my parents died…my mind tries to drag me back to those sun-soaked memories, but I block them. The joy hidden there is drenched in sorrow I can't face right now.

"Totally, I've got some good people to introduce you to. You're back next week, right?"

"I'm not sure, I was invited to Scotland after this leg is over—so I may be a few days delayed returning to LA."

"Scotland? Who invited you there?"

I shift in my seat, turning to look out the window, blocking Ash from my vision. "Omar."

"The prince who nearly got you killed?”

"When you put it like that…"

"How would you put it?" Synthia's tone isn't playful. She's pissed. Pissed I'm considering becoming more involved with a man who has proven to be dangerous.

"He didn't do anything."

"Except abandon you in a burning building."

"He was unconscious. His…assistant, estuary, whatever that word is that means assistant but is all royal. But Rashid pulled him out. Nothing personal. Ash wouldn't have gone back for Omar after saving me."

Synthia lets out a frustrated sigh. "Angela, there are lots of men in the world. Why put yourself in danger for this one?"

"He is a prince," I joke. Every little girl's dream…one my grandmother would have refused to let me participate in even if my heart had led me that direction. No one will save you. Always be ready to run.

"Who lives on the other side of the world. You broke up with Julian because of these same issues; you think a prince has more flexibility in his schedule?" Synthia asks, always ready with the logic. "You barely know him. Don't do it." Synthia's advice never comes sugar-coated.

I chew on my lower lip. She's right. Of course. But she doesn’t have all the information. And I can’t give it to her.

"How is Archie?" I ask, changing the subject.

"Speaking of princes," Synthia says. "You spoil that dog."

"Oh, really? You're the one who got him hooked on Wagyu."

Synthia gasps. "It's the healthiest meat for him."

"I'm not even allowed red meat," I point out.

"You, my dear, are not a dog."

The hotel comes into view, a scrum of photographers surrounding the entrance. "I have to go, it was great to hear your voice."

"Same. I'm glad you're feeling better. Come home. Skip the prince."

"I'll think about it," I promise again.