Page 1011 of One More Kiss

“I must admit, though, you seem awfully young to be in charge of the company like this,” Abercrombie observed.

“Magical powers don’t discriminate on the basis of age,” I said, working to keep my tone professional. “I came into my talents early.”

What I didn’t mention was that my family had done everything possible to keep me out of the Magic-Users Registry. It had worked, too, until a rather spectacular blowout my junior year of college ended with a magical display on my part—one that left a fraternity house decimated, a frat-brother-turned-rapist comatose for almost two weeks, and me, featured on the front page of national newspapers.

“I remember,” Abercrombie murmured.

I reached over and tapped a few keys on my laptop, sending a standard contract to the printer in my private office. “Then you know I have the kind of power you might need if your shipment was indeed stolen through magical means.”

“I also know that you might have something of a short temper,” he countered. “Because of that—and in order to ensure you have as much assistance as possible—I’m going to assign one of my own team members to work with you.”

I opened my mouth to protest, and he held up one hand to forestall any comment. “He’s a supernatural himself—a shifter—and a local, someone I hired for my security team when I first opened an office in Dallas. His inclusion is my only stipulation, so I hope you understand I won’t back down on it.”

I stifled an irritated sigh. My notoriety was a double-edged sword. It meant going into the family business had been just about my only job option when the University of Texas had expelled me over the fraternity incident—and also that everyone walking into our office knew exactly who I was. I hadn’t been able to simply sink back into obscurity. When I solved cases, they tended to hit the news, whether they were newsworthy or not in their own right.

It also meant that clients like Benedict Abercrombie assumed I was a loose cannon.

Not that he was wrong, exactly.

“If you’ll follow me into my office, I’ll give you a copy of our contract to look over.” My cousin Sandra was out on maternity leave, and we hadn’t bothered to get a replacement secretary while she was gone. Normally, I wouldn’t have been in the front office at all.

Abercrombie’s expensive, dark gray suit and black dress shoes reeked of money, and I tried to see my small, inner office through his eyes. The battered, old mahogany desk had belonged to my grandmother, and the building itself had been a bank sometime in the late 1800s. We might not have a lot of money, but what we did have was Old Texas.

We had been here for seven generations, and I

Mismatched file cabinets lined one wall, and the door to the old bank vault took up the entire wall behind me. Planting my desk directly in front of it meant that anyone who wanted to get to the magical items we kept locked inside would have to go through me first.

That was one good thing about my reputation—it kept most of the looky-loos at bay.

If only it had kept Benedict Abercrombie at bay, too.

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