Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“He’ll see me.”
“Sure he will.” Burgess snorts. “Some no-name detective? You’re not even primary on this case. Do you have any proof to tie him to Martin’s death?”
“He owns the building next door to Martin Shipping.” I’d dug this up in the early hours after Mina’s call woke me up.
“That’s nothing. Rex Roy owns half the city. He probably owns this whole block.” Burgess waves a hand.
“He fits the profile. He ran in the same circles as Gregory Martin. Roy Enterprises uses Martin Shipping. A year ago, they put in a bid to buy them out, but negotiations stalled. Now, with Martin out of the way, Roy Enterprises can snap them up for a song.”
“Circumstantial. You got nothing. You’re gonna walk in there and harass an upstanding citizen. And not just any citizen—the top donor to the NRPD. The chief will have your badge for this.”
I ignore him and approach the giant glass doors. There weren’t even any signs to announce that this building was Roy Enterprises. They didn’t need to. Everyone knew.
The door handles are fashioned as snarling lions.
“Oh, gods. Oh fuck.” Burgess stops at the front doors, visibly sweating. “I can’t be a part of this. If you walk in there, you can kiss your career goodbye.”
I soldier forward, leaving him behind. I flash my badge at the security stand. “Detective Ramos to see Rex Roy.” I settle on my heels, prepared to wait a while. To my surprise, the security guard touches his earpiece and waves me through. A second security guard falls into step beside me, ushering me to a door beyond the bank of main elevators. He swipes his badge and escorts me beyond the locked door to a private elevator, where we ride in silence all the way to the top floor.
The doors open to a giant lion sculpture flanked by flower-filled urns taller than me.
“This way, Detective.” He walks me up to a desk manned by a blonde giantess.
“Ms. Ramos,” she greets me. I raise my badge, and she corrects herself, “Excuse me. Detective.”
“I’m here to see Rex Roy.”
“Of course.” She rises, towering above me in her stilettos. “He’s expecting you.”
He is?
“Right this way,” she invites me to follow her. I do so, trying to keep shock off my face. The executive floor has soaring ceilings and glass windows that make me feel like I’m swimming in a giant cube of light. A crystal chandelier sparkles overhead.
With each step into the cavernous space, my trepidation grows. We walk up a grand staircase guarded by more giant lions and pass a seating area composed of heavy leather furniture. In a private corner, we finally come to a proper office space. The main focal point is a giant desk made of polished, black wood. The closer I get to it, the stronger the scent of Rex’s woodsy cologne becomes.
I’m really in the lion’s den now.
The high back chair swivels. Rex raises his dark head and fixes his gaze on me immediately. His eyes crinkle at my approach.
And here’s the lion.
“Detective Ramos is here, sir,” the woman announces and leaves.
“Inara.” His voice is a caress. “Welcome.” He strides out from behind the desk, and my heart stutters. I lock my legs to keep from running back the way I came. I forget how intimidating he is up close, how much my body responds to him.
He’s in CEO mode today, a power suit molding to his muscular frame. A god among peons. There’s no trace of softness in him except for the fond look in his eyes and a slight quirk to his full lips.
When he kissed me, his lips had been soft enough on mine. Gentle yet dominating. He’s always so careful with me.
He catches me staring at his mouth, and the small smile becomes a full-on smirk. Gods. I need to remember why I’m here.
“Mr. Roy.” My voice catches a little on his name. He towers over me, his height and broad shoulders making me feel small without him even trying. “I’m here to question you about the murder of Gregory Martin.”
“So formal.” He loosens his tie, slips it off, and tosses it on his desk. “Have you eaten today?” He motions to the far corner, where a table has been set for two. “Come.”
What?
He leads, and I follow, feeling off my game. The intimidating office, the strange circumstances, this game of lion and mouse we’re playing—none of it helps. But the real reason I can’t get my words out is the simmering heat that fills me the second I meet his eyes.
He leans over the table and lifts a silver cloche off a plate. The scent of steak and butter hits me in the solar plexus. I start to salivate.
He nods to the steaming steak. “Shall we eat?”
“No. I’m not hungry,” I say, even as my stomach growls.