Page 7 of Owned

Her mouth tightened. “Well. It was…interesting to see you again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just?—”

“Not so fast,” I interrupted without heat, curious now. “Your boss told you to bring that file in yourself?”

She hauled the purse strap higher up on her shoulder. “Yes. So?”

A suspicion gnawed at my gut. The only non-members allowed in Arcadia were guests of members, not members’ staff. All work was supposed to be left at the door, not brought inside.

“It’s a client file?” I asked.

“Yes, but why is that important?”

I ignored that. “And your boss wanted you to bring it to him personally?”

“He did, but?—”

“What’s his name?”

Rowan was now looking extremely irritated. “Ben Jordan. What has that got to do with anything?”

Ben Jordan. Of course, it was fucking Ben Jordan. He was a member on probation for various infringements of Arcadia’s rules, including making a nuisance of himself to younger female members. Sounded like he was playing the same kind of games with Rowan, because she the kind of woman he liked. Extremely pretty and if he was her boss, then extremely vulnerable.

Christ, I hated men like that.

“For one thing he’s a fucking creep.” I held out my hand. “Give me the file and I’ll get it to him for you.” I’d also pass it along with a warning not to invite impressionable members of his staff to Arcadia again. On pain of having his membership revoked and my fist in his face.

She glanced at my hand then sniffed. “I can give it to him. I don’t need you to do it for me.”

“Sure. You really want to go wandering around the upper halls of Arcadia trying to find him? Things go on the rooms here, kid. Things that’ll make what you just watched with me and Tina look like kindergarten.”

“I’m not a kid, Atlas,” she said severely, seeming not so much like a funeral director now, as an officious librarian. “And I can look after myself.”

“Oh, I know that already.” I folded my arms and didn’t move, blocking her exit, because I wasn’t going to let her out of this room on her own, not when there were assholes like Ben Jordan around. “Give me the folder, Rowan.” It wasn’t a demand, but it was an order nonetheless, and mostly when I used that tone, people knew to do what I told them.

Rowan’s dark brows twitched, her sulky, pouty mouth tightening even further. Yeah, I remembered that look too. She’d always hated being told what to do.

After a moment, she let out an irritated-sounding breath, then dug around in her purse before extracting the folder and holding it out. “Fine. If you want to do my job for me, that’s up to you.”

I took it. “How are you and Cait?”

“Really? Can’t we reminisce another time?”

“It’s just a question, kid.”

“She’s fine,” Rowan said impatiently.

“Still on her own?”

Something flickered in her eyes, then was gone. “Why? You looking to for an easy lay? Oh wait, you just did that.”

Ah, yes, that was the Rowan I remembered, though she’d never said shit like that to my face. I ignored it. “It was a serious question.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you mean has she remarried, then no, she hasn’t. She doesn’t need yet another man to let her down.”

Another dig and I knew it. But I’d never told Rowan the reason I’d married her mother, and apparently neither had Cait. Rowan hadn’t understood why I’d left then and it was obvious she didn’t understand now.

Me and Cait had been…convenient. We were never in love and our marriage was purely for other benefits — her for protection and me for the money she paid me after the divorce. I was her husband-for-hire. Yeah, we slept together, because she wanted me and I thought she was beautiful. The sex was fine. But Rowan didn’t know all that and I wasn’t about to enlighten her.

“Anyway,” she went on. “She’s not on her own. She has me.”

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