W\\CKED

A Slight Change of Plans

[Sanny]

We descended the grand staircase side by side, long skirts trailing behind us. Our costumes caught the attention of every employee passing through the bustling foyer below. I felt a thrill right up my spine when more than one gaze lingered on Jul, riveted by her gown.

The skirt was deep blue satin. The collar was low and beaded with pearls, giving a subtle tease of her modest cleavage, and leaving in plain sight the dark eye painted against her milky flesh. The finishing touch was her most precious possession, an uncut onyx strung around her throat by a silver chain.

Griffin let out a long, low whistle from the foyer, where he was overseeing the unpacking of several screens intended for the estate's security room. "We've got a pair of wicked beauties on our hands."

I leaned over the stair rail, giving everyone a better view of my cleavage. "Talking to us, old man?" It didn't faze him, but a less fortunate employee carrying a screen glanced up — and lost her grip. The screen hit the floor with a satisfying thud.

Griffin winked at me. "See any other ruthless flirts hanging about?"

Juliet's only uncle (more like her mother's first cousin who popped in twenty years ago for a visit and never left), Griffin was a proud-and-don't-you-go-forgetting-it Welshman with charcoal-black sideburns that forked into two jagged prongs like a lizard's tongue. There was a bit of gray in his wavy hair that hinted at his rapid approach to middle age, but having seen him and his co-workers buffing up sans shirts in the estate's gym, I happened to know his body was built like a Navy SEAL fresh out of boot camp.

Which, I suspected, was the main reason Juliet's new bodyguard — Kyle? Chris? The guy duct-taped in the closet — started dating him a couple weeks ago.

The foyer was as imposing as a cathedral, and big enough to fit a modestly-sized congregation in. As we passed through it, employees of Blythe Security Enterprises veered around us.

"Where's Ken?" Griffin asked as we passed him.

"Having a little something to warm his huevos before he heads into the cold."

Griffin didn't seem to find my joke funny. Blythe had a zero tolerance policy for drinking and drugs — on or off the job. "That kind of talk could get a man fired."

"Not if he's got someone high on the food chain covering for him."

I could tell his tolerance meter was about to top out, so I grabbed Jul's hand and moved toward the hall. "See you later—"

"Hold it, Sandra."

Dammit. I turned to face the one person I most dreaded encountering.

Juliet's father stood in the doorway of the study that served as the estate's central hub. Not much taller than his daughter and built like a brick wall, Asshole Abrams was exactly the guy you'd expect to be running a gazillion-dollar corporate empire built out of macho bodyguards and overpriced alarm systems for the very, very, very rich.

One look at his hard-as-stone musculature and you'd totally turn over the six figures his company charged annually to protect the richer-than-gods from their apparently endless list of haters.

"There's no need to go to the garage," he said, as if it were a crime for me to go anywhere in his house without explicit permission. "The sedan's out front."

"We were kind of hoping to take one of the limos." My voice echoed across the foyer like I was standing in a canyon, making me feel like everyone within a hundred miles could hear me having to beg.

"You're lucky I'm letting Juliet go at all."

"It's just a concert."

"In an unsecured location."

"It's Byram Beach! We feed ducks there all the time!"

Abrams frowned like he thought ducks had an ulterior motive for floating in water.

His gaze shifted to his daughter. As their eyes met, she smiled at him tentatively. His expression tightened when he spotted the symbol painted on her chest. "That finger paint better wash off."

"It's only temporary." Finger paint? Did he think we were five years old?!

"Curfew is ten." He turned to Griffin. "We have a virtual conference with Cape Town in ten minutes."

The two men disappeared into the study.

I resisted the urge to jab my middle finger at the back of the man who treated his daughter like a piece of furniture in his home — no, his place of business masquerading as a home.

Instead, I grabbed Juliet's hand and headed for the garage anyway! No way was he going to stop me from making tonight the best night of Juliet's life!