Page 17 of The Billionaire's Secret

Bastard. All of this is amusing to him.

He reaches the door, then pauses. "I am taking my business across to my space." He turns to survey the other two, "You guys cool with that?"

"Saint," Summer's voice is resolute, "don't hurt her."

Saint's muscles tense, then he tilts his head, "I won't do anything that Victoria doesn't want me to do."

He glances down at me, "We understand each other, don't we?"

The hell does he mean by that?

I open my mouth to ask, but he's already striding out and down the corridor.

"I am not your business," I protest.

He laughs, "So why are you here?"

Well, hell. He has me there. I am the one who stumbled in and collapsed at his feet. Which had not been part of the script, by the way. What the hell happened to me? I swear I am not a damsel in distress...though that's the part I've been told to assume. Lucky for me then, that my actions corroborate my persona, huh?

He walks past two offices, then shoulders open the door to the last one. He steps into one similar in size to the one we left behind. A bookcase lines one wall; on the opposite wall is a massive painting of a question mark.

A question mark? The outline is filled in with shades of blue—jeweled, hypnotic. The more I stare at it, the more I am pulled into it. My head swims and my vision fills with spots.Shit.I shake my head to clear it, then drag my fingers through my hair. This has to be Saint’s office. I stiffen. Apparently, conforming to stereotypes of the weaker sex has its benefits. I'd found my way into Saint's inner sanctum.Can I accomplish my goal as quickly?

"Let me go," I huff.

"That's not what you were saying a few minutes ago." His shoulders heave. A chuckle rumbles up his chest.

"You're an asshole," I mutter.

"So, they say."

"And a condescending prat."

"At your service," he drawls.

And I turned to him for help? Not that I had a choice; but hell, if I stay silent, he'll walk all over me.

He'll take me for granted, use the force of his personality to subdue me, no doubt about that. Men such as him are so used to getting what they want. I'd become another of his conquests. He isn't known as the most eligible bachelor in London for his good behavior, that’s for sure. No, I can't simply give in to him. I have to intrigue him, hold his interest long enough to win his confidence, to get close to him so I can get ahold of the information I need so badly; but damn, if I am pandering to his already swollen ego for that.

I tip up my chin. "Release me," I demand.

He yawns, continues walking toward the far end of the room. What the hell? He ignored me?

I begin to struggle in earnest, shove my elbow in his groin. He huffs, glances down at me and his gaze widens.

Good. That'll teach him to underestimate me.

"Let go of me you prick," I snarl.

His biceps flex. The muscles of his forearms ripple against my back.

The next moment I fall through the air.

5

Saint

She bounces on the couch, her glorious dark hair falling about her face. She shakes it back, scrambles up. I place my hand on her shoulder.