Page 4 of Golden Touch
Or maybe he’s so highly trained he doesn’t need weapons. There’s plenty of muscle on him. And Jennie was right—he’s just my type. Myformertype, that is. I’m done with men, for obvious reasons.
The guy looks up suddenly, as if he can sense me watching from behind the glass.
Thoseeyes, though. I know those eyes. Who is this guy?
Quickly, I step away from the window. I can’t let Razor’s evil minion get a good look at me. Even if this dude is carted off to jail, my ex will just send another one in his place.
I’m so screwed.
Two minutes go by before there’s a soft knock on the door. “Ma’am?”
I open it to find a thirtyish policeman standing there. He’s handsome in a cleancut way that many women would find attractive. If I were one of them, my life would frankly be easier.
“Thank you for getting here so quickly.”
“We, uh, got a disagreement on our hands,” the officer says. “Your trespasser claims that he’s expected today. And I’m inclined to agree with him.”
“Why?” I demand, an edge of hysteria in my voice. “I’m not expecting anyone new today.”
“Well, I checked his ID, and his name is on the door.” He grins. “And he gave me this business card for you.”
The officer hands me a creamy ivory business card with embossed lettering. It saysNASH M. GILTMAKER.Chief Operating Officer, BrewCo Industries.
“What?” I gasp. My heart starts pounding again. “That’s impossible.”
But maybe it’s not. I think I’ve made a horrible mistake.
Did I just call the cops on Lyle Giltmaker’sson? Holy…
“Omigod, I’m going to be fired.”
The cop actually chuckles. “He’s wondering who you are.”
“I work here,” I sputter. “For his father. Since last spring! And I’ve never seen him before in my life. There’s a photo of Lyle’s son on the desk in the office, and it looks nothing like that guy!”
The cop’s eyes crinkle. “Lyle Giltmaker has two sons. Is it Mitch in the picture?”
I shrug in an exaggerated way. “How the hell should I know? Some guy in a hockey jersey. Lyle’s daughter said Nash was arriving tomorrow.”
“Huh. Well, I think you guys got your signals crossed. And Mitch Giltmaker is the professional hockey player,” the cop says evenly. “Everybody knows that.”
“Not everybody,” I say through clenched teeth. My mind is spinning. “Apparently, the Giltmaker boys look nothing alike?”
The cop shrugs. “Look, I googled Nash Giltmaker on my phone as a failsafe and found this.” He holds up his phone for me to see the results of a Google search.
When I see the photo, I practically grab the phone out of the cop’s hands. “Thisis Nash Giltmaker?” Ihaveseen him before. But only once, and it didn’t end well.
Oh. My. God. This is getting more embarrassing by the minute.
The cop takes his phone back with a shrug. “Maybe take a closer look next time before you panic?”
“He wasn’t supposed to arrive today,” I gasp. This can’t be happening. “And he had a helmet and glasses on, and he let himself in at eight in the morning. I was here all alone!”
“Simple misunderstanding,” the officer says. “But it’s not me you need to apologize to, yeah?” He pushes the door open wider, and I look outside.
There’s Nash Giltmaker, leaning against a patrol car. He’s talking to another cop and rubbing his wrists, probably where the handcuffs bit into his skin. He’s facing away from me, but I can tell from the set of his shoulders that he’s angry.
Honestly, I didn’t know people could actually glower with their whole body. But here we are. And all that tension in that muscular body is weirdly appealing.
