Page 4 of Return Billionaire to Sender

I gasp, pulse racing.

How did he know?

And then I smile, because I can’t help myself. “Bingo,” I whisper fervently.

And then I think, did I just say “bingo” to Malcolm Blackberg? But it was just incredibly perceptive of him. And sweet, too.

I stand, clutching my bag. “Thank you, you’re very kind,” I blurt.

He just regards me and my neck all fierce and scowly, and somebody behind him sniffs, and he turns and goes.

Leaving me shaking in my worn brown loafers, awash in his powerful masculine energy.

Only too late do I realize that I just blew my chance to speak with him. I try to catch up, but the elevator doors close quickly. Ilook for the button, but there’s just a blank pad.

“That’s not a public elevator, miss.” It’s the bushy-bearded security guard again. He gestures toward a different set of elevators.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Second floor.”

I nod.

2

Malcolm

In Medieval London,they put heads on pikes as a warning to people who might venture across the bridge. Beware. Watch your step. Figure out the customs and follow them.

Or else.

The heads sometimes belonged to criminals, though sometimes they were simply unlucky members of the unwashed rabble in the wrong place at the wrong time—such was the system of the day.

At any rate, heads on pikes. As signage, you really can’t do better than heads on pikes, can you? When you have heads on pikes, there is no need for words. There is no need to spell out even a single word. Beware, for example. There would be no need to spell out such a thing when there are heads on pikes in the vicinity. It’s a perfect communication, really, suggesting to all who come to stay out of people’s ways. And by people, I mean me.

“You’re very kind,” my assistant Tedechoes dryly as the doors shut.

“So very kind.” Lynette says. “Wrong building, Riding Hood.”

I look down at my phone, spinning through messages, feeling unsettled.

Kaufenmeier joins us on four, and the elevator continues.

“So very, very kind,” Lynette says again. She’s one of my lawyers, one of my best, but still. I give her a dark look because I heard her the first time around. The smirk disappears from her face.

“What’s going on?” Kaufenmeier asks.

“Mal had to rescue a damsel in distress,” says Ted. “A little gray bird flew into him and dropped all of her feathers.”

“And Mal helps pick them up, and she goes, ‘You’re very kind,’” Lynette says.“Didn’t recognize him, I guess.”

“Very kind,” Kaufenmeier says, also finding it amusing. “Kindlike the big bad wolf, maybe.”

“Kind like the scorpion while he’s getting his turtle ride,” Lynette adds with a quirk of her brow, managing to make her reference to the fable sound utterly filthy.

“Do I not pay a small fortune for guards to keep the public out of the lobby?” I grumble. “How about somebody checks on what their policy is for letting people roam around down there without a clear purpose.”

“Get right on it,” Ted says.

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