Page 22 of Sixth Sin

Five minutes.

I agreed to this to get him out, not to proposition my stalker, so I clear my throat and sit in a nearby chair. Tossing the camera beside me, I clench my hands together in my lap. “Let’s hear it, Mr. McCallum.”

“It’s Dominic.” His broadened smile sends my resolve flying out the window and a rush of heat between my legs.

No! I’m not attracted to him. I let out a groan and clench my teeth. Focus, Angel.

He leans forward and balances his elbows on his knees, “You seem nervous, Miss Smith.”

He’s close. So close I ditch my own rules and breathe him in. God, he smells good. A deep mix of rich coffee and earthy pine. Like Christmas morning. Well, what I imagine Christmas morning would smell like. Not that I’ve ever had one.

The thought jerks me out of my lust-filled haze and slams me back into reality.

“Nervous?” I repeat the word, hating the slight wobble in my voice. “Not at all. I just... You have four minutes left.”

His rough laugh melts over my skin. “What would you say if I told you I could not only fast-track your way back into Hollywood, but I could make you the biggest star they’ve ever seen?”

“I told you before, I’m not a whore.”

“And I told you before, I don’t mean in exchange for sex.” I quirk an eyebrow which he answers with a wicked grin. “I mean, I wouldn’t turn it down, but that’s not what this is. I’m offering a professional opportunity for mutual gain. So, what do you say?”

“I say there must be something you want pretty bad to make such big promises.” I force a polite smile. “You have two minutes to tell me what it is before I call the cops.”

He smiles back, but it’s nowhere near as polite. “How about I show you instead?” Keeping his eyes on me, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a worn picture. Carefully unfolding it, he flips it around between his fingers and holds it up for my inspection.

It’s a little girl, and the longer I stare, the more my eyes sting. Not because of the obvious expensive dress she’s wearing, but because of the vacant, sad look in her eyes. She’s looking at the camera as if begging someone to hear her.

“Cute kid.”

“Look familiar? Long, dark hair and green eyes.”

“That’s not me.”

“No, it’s Alexandra Romanov. This picture was taken four days before the murders.” I’m still staring at the photo when he pulls out another folded up picture and holds it up. “But this is an FBI aged-progressed photo of what Alexandra Romanov would look like today.”

This one is much different. It’s a woman. Older, but just as sad. I stare at her long dark hair and haunted green eyes. I swallow hard at the stubborn set of her jaw and pale skin.

He’s right. The resemblance is uncanny.

“Look, I’m not interested in whatever—”

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you it’s the fifteenth anniversary of her disappearance,” he says, drawing my attention back to the hard lines on his face. “It’s all over the news that the estate has offered a million-dollar reward for information leading to her return.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

His hold tightens on both pictures as he pushes them even closer. “To quote a certain mouthy waitress, it’s been a long day. Do I really need to point out the obvious? You could be sisters, or at the very least cousins.”

That’s when it hits. When his words from earlier make sense, and all his cryptic offers converge into a moment of stark clarity. Horrified, my jaw drops. “Have you lost your fucking mind? You want me to pretend to be Alexandra Romanov? As in the Hollywood royalty Romanovs?”

He shrugs, as if the idea isn’t absurd. As if we’re simply trick-or-treating down Rodeo Drive. “The estate has hundreds of idiots trying to pass themselves off as Alexandra Romanov every day. They never get past the phone screen.”

I let out a patronizing laugh. “And you think I will?”

“You have something they don’t have.”

“Common sense?”

“Me.” He smirks. “Like it or not, when I talk people listen. If I write that I’ve found the missing heiress, you’ll get more than a phone screen. You’ll get the keys to the kingdom.”

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