Page 85 of The Billionaire's Wake-up-call Girl

I direct Derek back to her place, back to the spot we parked at last time. “We’re going to sit on it for a while,” I say.

He nods.

What I really want to do is storm up there, but I can’t be reckless. There’s something I’m not understanding.

I sit back and watch her window. Lights on. What does it mean?

Insufficient data.

According to my PI, Elizabeth Cooper, aka Lizzie, moved from Fargo to New York City right after high school. She attended an elite baking school on a scholarship and went on to land an apprenticeship with one of the top people at a Michelin-rated restaurant. She started a little pop-up bakery after that, then got a permanent storefront just before she turned twenty-five. Cookie Madness.

The place became quite successful. She got a few write-ups praising her offbeat cookies. An article from theTimesfood section has an image of her grinning, holding a huge tray of brightly frosted cookies up to the camera. Young hipsters in baker’s hats—her employees, presumably—are gathered around her. But the strange thing is that none of them are looking at the camera, they’re looking at her—beaming at her—with undisguised affection.

Another article has a photo of her next to a blond man with movie-star looks and a smile for the camera that I don’t like. Or maybe it’s the way he drapes his arm around her shoulders. Or maybe I just don’t like him. The article identifies him as Mason West, who, according to Lizzie’s interview, “pitches in with business expertise.”

Some business expertise—the bakery imploded around two months ago, and Mr. West bought a one-way ticket to St. Thomas the same time.

Did Mason West have something to do with the collapse? Or was he a fair-weather boyfriend who left as soon as the gravy train ended?

And why did things go bad? My PI is still digging. He said it looked fast and furious. Gambling debt, bad investment, relative in trouble, or embezzlement—those were his guesses.

It can’t be too dire, though—her blog is full of glowing plans and ideas. Vossameer was clearly just temporary for her. She quit with no notice. She would’ve gotten a great bonus if she’d stayed. What happened?

A face at the window.

Her.

Does she see me down here? No chance; even if I weren’t in the back of a town car with shaded windows, I’m a full block down. She seems to be looking at something directly across the street.

Discreetly I get out and take a look. Right away I see it—two guys leaning on a car directly across from her. Staring up at her window. Just standing there, eyes on her windows, no phones.

She grabs the curtains and yanks them shut. Angry? More like scared.

“Wait here for me,” I say to Derek.

“Sir,” he says.

I button up my coat against the cool March air and head for the guys.

They’re still standing out there, still looking up at her window.

I’m taken back to a time I’d prefer to forget. My dad had gotten into another jam, but this one was bad. Guys just like this outside our house. Watching. Dad acting nonchalant.They just wanna know they’ll get their money,he said.

But he wasn’t the one who had to deal with them—he was blacked out by the time they came to the door, so it was Mom and me. She’d wanted me to go to my room, but I was in my early teens, too big for her to boss. With trembling hands, she gave them the secret money from the soup can, with promises to bring more later on.

Is Lizzie in money trouble? It would make sense, considering her credit report. And if so, why blow off the bonus?

They become aware of me half a block down. Or at least that’s when they show me they see me.

I smile as I approach them. “Evening,” I say.

They’re both looking at me hard.

I show them my hands. I come in peace. “You have business with Ms. Cooper?” I ask.

“You a cop?”

“Just a friend of hers,” I say.

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