Page 2 of Velvet and Valor (Platinum Security: Shadows of LA #4)

Once I get my lone rolling suitcase—I always travel light—I meander my way out to the sidewalk.

I text up a storm, both to our legal department as promised, and to my fellow producer girl-bosses.

Lots of emojis in their responses. I showed them some footage from the biopic and they were bummed when it looked like we’d lost it.

I stop my texting when a message from the ride app comes in. I only see the first sentence of the message.

Good news! We upgraded you to a luxury express driver at no additional…

At least I won’t have to fold myself into the back seat of a Prius.

One second I’m walking, staring at my phone, and the next second bam! I collide with a solid object and stumble back, losing my balance. It feels like the sidewalk rears up and slams into my butt.

“Ow!” I cry as everything in my hands goes skittering across the sidewalk. A groan gets my attention. I look over to see another woman on her hands and knees nearby. It only takes me a second to realize she’s the solid object I collided with.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I say, going to help her stand up. She has a cut on her lower lip but seems otherwise uninjured. “I should have been looking where I was going–”

“Yeah, you should have!” she snaps, shoving me away from her. I’m a little taken aback by her rude manner. “Next time, don’t walk and text.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re bleeding.”

She touches her lip, then looks at the crimson on her fingertips.

Her glare could peel paint. I take a step back because I see the promise of violence dancing in her eyes.

We’re about the same age, but the lines on her face and the haunted look in her eyes tell me she’s lived a hard, hard life.

One that’s sharpened her into something dangerous.

Her upper lip curls into a snarl, “You bitch. You fucking bitch, you made me bleed.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again, trying to offer her a napkin I took from the bar. “Let’s get you cleaned up, at least.”

“No!” Her eyes go wide. “Never mind. I’m fine!”

“Are you sure–”

“I said, I’m fine!” She grabs her luggage and storms away like she’s on fire. “I have to go.”

“Wait.” I stoop over and pick up a silken scarf off the sidewalk. It has a brilliant if unfashionable black and white striped abstract pattern printed on the silk. “I think you dropped this.”

The woman doesn’t slow or react in any way to what I’ve said.

“Ma’am?” I say, again trying to catch her attention. But she heads into the nearest lavatory, presumably to check out her busted lip. I could follow her, but on the other hand she said she was fine, and I need to get my ride sorted out…

Absent-mindedly, I tuck the scarf into my palm and gather my things from the pavement.

In my flurry of texts, a message comes and goes from my ride service. I eventually get around to checking it, when I realize it’s almost time for my car to arrive.

Hello, JuneMayweather246. The following changes have been made to your scheduled ride:

New driver/vehicle.

A message with the driver and vehicle information will reach you soon. Thanks for using the Sir Liftsalot service…

“It’s fine,” I grumble, adjusting my sunglasses in the face of the hot sun. “It’s not like it’s a million degrees or anything.”

A glossy black, stretched limo rolls up to the curb almost right in front of me. The driver’s door opens, and I see a black hat first. It rises up into the air…and up…and up, propelled by a head shaped like a thumb and sized for a Brahma Bull and not a human being.

The driver gives me a rather sour look as he stalks over to the terminal sidewalk. He’s so big, it’s like his own body is hindering his movements. Definitely a beach muscle type.

He looks at me for a long time, his eyes narrowed. His gaze darts down to my hands, and then back to my face. Then he strokes his chin and looks at the rear door of the limo.

I put my hand on my hip and give him a look. Like, what do you want, dude?

Then it hits me: The alternative ride. This guy looks just as confused as I do, it’s probably him.

“Um,” I say, stepping forward. “Excuse me, but I think you’re here to pick me up.”

His eyes widen. The driver’s gaze darts left and right before he tries to yank the briefcase out of my hand.

“Paws off please, this is vintage!” I screech, “Are you sure you’re working for the--”

His shifty brown eyes dart around, landing on a fender bender in the line of cars behind us, “I am here to pick you up. Get moving,” he says, shoving me toward the rear door of the limo.

“Hey! This suit set me back four figures,” I blurt as I stumble toward the door. “Your people skills need some shoring up, real talk.”

He gives me a dirty look. Then he comes over to the door and opens it with greatly exaggerated magnanimity.

“Here you are, Princess,” he croaks. “Do you want a satin pillow for your behind too?”

“Yeah, if you’ve got one,” I say without batting an eye. “And if you could get me an ice water with a wedge of lemon, some anise, and a sprinkle of brown sugar that would be super.”

We stare at each other for a long time. He balls his hands up into fists at his sides, making a sound like somebody eating peanut brittle. I wonder for a second if I should call the ride service now to complain. Wanting to get home, I set my anger aside and decide to tough it out.

“Or, I guess I could just do without the pillow and the water, I’m not that thirsty anyway,” I say, sliding in the open door. I watch as he closes it behind me, bending over to glare at me through the window before lumbering back to the front.

“Hello.”

“Jesus Christ!” I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of the male voice behind me. I turn to find I’m not alone in the rear of the limo. Not alone at all.

I don’t remember clicking the box for the ride-share option.

The razor-thin, sharply dressed man sitting closest to me is pale enough to be a vampire and has graying hair that is probably slicked back to cover up a bald spot. His gnarled hands grip the glass head of a mahogany cane carved to resemble an elephant.

“Cool cane,” I say.

“Thank you,” he replies.

“Did the behemoth try to manhandle you when he picked you up too?”

The man’s thin lips pull back in a smile. The other man in the rear with us, who looks like he could be the rude driver’s cousin, frowns and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“He’d be ill-advised to try.”

“Right,” I say, shivering slightly from the sudden chill in the air. “I’m June, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Names are ill-advised in our profession, but the pleasure is mine.”

His chiding tone has my jaw snapping shut, just before a cold hand blasts up from the netherworld and squeezes my stomach into pulp.

What an odd thing to say.

I knew I should have listened to my gut when Frankenstein pushed me into the limo. I’ve screwed up. I don’t know how, but I screwed up big time. Something is absolutely not right here.

Fuck. I told the driver he was here for me.

Do they think I’m someone else? If they do, and don’t even want to know her name, that can’t be a good sign.

Another shiver runs up my spine as I try to make sense of the situation.

If someone turned this in to me as a script, me and the girls would laugh our asses off at the implausibility. You know why?

Because no audience would swallow a protagonist as stone-cold stupid as I have been. What do I do now? Admit my mistake and hope for mercy? It’s not too late for that--

Brawny cousin guy leans across the aisle and grabs my forearm, prying at the briefcase in my hand.

“Hey, what the fuck? I have pepper spray; you knuckle dragging troglodyte!”

I recoil, yanking back as far as I’m able.

“Ow,” I say. “Get your hands off of me.”

The albino Bond Villain I’m stuck ride-sharing with gives a perturbed look at his muscle.

“Do try to be more restrained. We are all just people doing business. There’s no reason we can’t be civil.”

Deeply disturbed, I try to reason with the Alpha Villain of the group, “I think there is a misunderstanding,” I peek over the seat at the behemoth driving and shoot him a pleading look, “You can just let me out here.”

The snarky look in his eyes tells me that I’m dreaming if I think they are going to let me out of here. For the first time since I got into the limo, I genuinely wonder if I am going to make it out alive.

At this point in my day, can I really rule anything out? Hell, maybe it will turn out all right in the end. Maybe some handsome stranger with huge biceps and a cute, tight tush will show up and save my day.

Yeah, right. I’m so dead.