Page 7 of Golden Touch
The screen says LEILA.
I answer immediately. “Hey! Where’ve you been? You won’t believe the morning I’ve had.”
There’s an awkward chuckle, and it’s not my sister’s. “Nash? This is Matteo Rossi.”
Hmm. Matteo is an old friend of my sister’s. “Matteo? What’s up?”
“Not Leila,” he says with a chuckle. “Don’t panic, but I had to bring her to the hospital after she fainted this morning. They’re fussing over her now, but she’s already improving. I just thought you’d want to know.”
“Thehospital? Oh hell. I’ll be right there.” I end the call and pocket my phone. “I have to go,” I tell Livia. “We’ll pick up this conversation later.”
“Don’t hurry back,” she says, turning the page of her ledger.She doesn’t look up, and her straight spine is a study in feline haughtiness.
If I weren’t so annoyed, I’d probably find it funny. “Whatever you say, pussycat.”
I can feel the heat of her glare as I take my leave.
CHAPTER 4
LIVIA
The moment Nash leaves the office, I throw down my pencil and cradle my head in my hands.
How much bad luck can one woman have? Serious question. I can’tbelieveI called the cops on Lyle Giltmaker’s son. If I hadn’t panicked, I might have noticed that he looks a little like Lyle—with the same thick brown hair, and the same cheekbones.
I also might have noticed that he wasthatguy. The one from the bar. The one I flirted with for three hours last fall.
Fuck me. What are the odds?
Okay, now that I think about it, they’re not so remote. It was a holiday weekend, a time when wayward sons come home to see their parents. And I was at Speakeasy—a property partly owned by the Giltmakers. Too bad I never let the man get close enough to introduce himself.
Now that seems like a mistake.
I let out a little moan of stupidity. And, fine, lust. The night we never met was, bizarrely enough, one of my happiest memories from the past year. And Nash Giltmaker really isexactlymy type. Which is why I ultimately decided not to let myself get sucked into his bad boy aura.
That night was a fun time, though. A unicorn night. I was outwith my cousin. She’s married with a small child, so our nights out together are rare.
Furthermore, when you’re on the run from your violent ex, hanging out in bars is something you just can’t do whenever you feel like it. I can’t take the chance that one of his guys will spot me and tattle.
Or worse. They might slip something into my drink and I’d wake up back at Razor’s place, handcuffed to a piece of furniture. Just like the first time I tried to run away.
So I’m very careful. That’s why my night out last November was a special treat. I’d risked it because I knew that the Valkyries Motorcycle Club was having their biggest bash of the year that night. It’s a Sunday-after-Thanksgiving tradition. First they take a long ride during the daytime, while the roads are still clear of snow. Then they follow it up with a big bonfire and a barbecue.
It was one night when I knewexactlywhere Razor and all his evil friends would be, so I didn’t have to worry. Going to Speakeasy with Jennie was a safe choice.
Safe, and fun. But not smart.
That night, Jennie was a little late joining me, so I’d waited at the bar, my coat draped over the back of the stool beside mine. I nursed a beer and enjoyed being out in the world and feeling mostly unafraid.
Then I spottedhimacross the bar—broad shoulders, impressive ink where his biceps bulged from his T-shirt, and a hot smile that was beaming my way.
Just my catnip, damn it. So I’d flirted a little. I’d held his gaze a little too long. It didn’t take much.
A minute or two later, the bartender—a cute, slender man with an Aussie accent—slid a beer across the bar to me. “Me mate over there wants to shout you a drink. And he nicked my phone to spin a tune for you.”
“And you let him, did you?” I’d laughed, and the bartender had shrugged.
Looking back, the encounter makes even more sense. Nash’sfamily is a part owner of that bar. Of course the bartender handed over his playlist.
