Burning Offer (Trevor's Harem #1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

his involvement in some kind of … girl-napping scheme, maybe.  
    The woman at the front desk disarms me. She’s entirely too polite, no matter how cunty I act. She seems to know who I am and where I’m expected to go. Her tone is cordial, even deferential. She speaks to me like a dignitary. She asks me if I’d like coffee. Tea. Complimentary champagne.  
    I ask her who I’m meeting, but she’s obviously been prepped. She smiles. “Someone worth meeting,” is all she says.  
    I’m slightly early, so she invites me to sit. I keep my eyes peeled for the other people who are coming to this whatever-it-is. There must be an army of time-share suckers on their way. Maybe if we compare notes, I can suss out what’s going on.  
    I see a man with small glasses. I try catching his eye, but he walks off without seeing me. So he’s not here for the same thing.  
    A teen girl.  
    Three Japanese men in suits.  
    An old couple. I’m sure they’ll stop; scams and lies love old people. I’m vindicated when, after catching the woman’s eye, the pair comes over to say hello. They even sit down. But when I ask them why we’re all here, they seem confused. Then they tell me it’s their anniversary. It takes me a while to figure out that it’s an answer. Why are they here? For their anniversary. And when I don’t respond in kind, they say their goodbyes and leave.  
    A young man, maybe in his twenties, walks down the hall toward me. He’s immaculately dressed, his hair too fine and thin for someone so young. The poor bastard will be bald by thirty-five, I’m sure. But for now, he’s all youth and charm. Enough to thaw what’s left of the chip on my shoulder. It’s hard to stay angry for as long as I’ve been sitting.  
    I look at the wall clock: exactly one minute before two.
    “Mr. Rice will see you now,” the man says.  
    “I know several Rices,” I lie as if this is all very usual for me. “Which one is here today?”  
    “Daniel, Miss.”
    Ah. A chink in the armor. I should slip off to the bathroom, use my phone to look him up in the minute before we meet. But there are no bathrooms along the corridor. When we arrive at the conference room, it’s empty. Glass walls, just like I thought.
    “He’ll be along shortly, Miss Miller,” the man tells me, gesturing into the room, toward one of two chairs. White things with soft interiors, almost like big postmodern eggs. They don’t look comfortable, but they’re literally the only furniture in the otherwise bare room.
    We stop at the door. His arm is out, a smile on his face.  
    “Where is everyone else?”  
    “It’s just you today, Miss.”  
    I want my fucking money. But being here, in this place, is sapping my nerve.  
    “I don’t want to wait.”  
    “Very well, Miss. I will tell him you’ve declined.”  
    I look at my guide. At the egg chair.  
    I’ve come this far. Dammit.  
    I sigh and enter but refuse to sit. The first thing I do, when my guide is gone, is to slip my phone from the backpack that is serving as today’s purse. My day bag holds almost nothing more than what my purse usually does because I’ll be damned if I’m here for more than thirty seconds once this mysterious Daniel Rice arrives.  
    Using both thumbs, I type DANIEL RICE into the search bar of my phone’s browser. I see a few articles and news mentions that, on first glance, mean nothing to me. He’s nobody of much note, probably not more visible on Google than I am.  
    I click over to the images tab.  
    I gasp.  
    And a deep voice behind me at the door says, “It’s nice to see you again, Bridget.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Bridget

    Alexander .  
    My lips form the word You , but I won’t say it. I can’t give him the satisfaction.  
    “Do you know who I am?”  
    I won’t answer that, either.  
    “Oh, come on. Take a guess.”  
    He pauses right in front of me. I don’t like that my body’s reaction is a traitor’s response. I don’t like that