Page 46 of Angel

“Are you saying I’m not already?”

“Not even close.”

I sigh because he’s probably not wrong there. It’s like an open house wherever I am for any masked man to enter my bedroom through an open window. I suppose I love that and make it easy for them, but not since, well, not since the stalker decided it was an easy route in.

“What would it involve?”

I shift in my seat because it’s suddenly very hot in here.

“In public, we act as any other couple out for the night. In private, we go about our business. There are many rooms here and you are welcome to occupy the one, or ones of your choice. We cohabit this place and subsequently you secure my protection both inside and outside of it. We can share meals or you could schedule yours earlier. You are welcome to invite your friends around. I will stay out of sight in my den when they are here.”

“Friends.” I almost laugh out loud.

“I have one friend, Jason. She lives a normal life with her twins, and my life would horrify her. If we meet, we do it at her house or in a coffee shop. There will be no friends visiting.”

“Your family then.”

“Possibly, but again I prefer to visit them.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “I’m not particularly proud of my life here, if I’m honest.”

“But you possess everything most people would dream about. Why aren’t you proud of that? Your success is measured in the houses you own and in the car that drives you. You can be very proud of what you’ve achieved.”

“Can I?”

I sigh. “I achieved wealth, not happiness, Jason and some would consider me poor for that.”

He says nothing and I appreciate that. I don’t want his sympathy. I want his help, which brings me to the topic that most interests me.

“You said you could help me find my father’s killer.”

He nods, his gaze burning, and he stands, reaching for my glass and moving to the bar.

“One more shot and then coffee. We will discuss your request over them.”

I wait while he fixes the drinks, admiring his strong body, obviously due to working out.

In a suit, Jason Prince is devastatingly handsome. Dressed in sweatpants and a vest, he is soul destroying. His muscles flex as he moves, every single one of them. His dark hair is messy, his eyes as sharp as his jawline. Like a panther prowling around his lair, he moves in one fluid moment, missing nothing, taking everything in his stride.

He hands me a single shot of bourbon and takes his seat before me. Raising the glass to me and saying huskily, “To secrets shared.”

“To my secret shared.” I remind him and he grins, an act that completely transforms his face.

I can’t stop staring at him. He gets better the more I do and I swallow hard because it appears that Jason Prince is everything I ever wished for, if there was such a thing as a wish fairy.

We drain the glasses and he jerks his head toward the door.

“Come, I’ll fix us both a strong coffee and you can tell me your story.”

“My story?”

I shiver. “I wish it was a mere story and not a factual account of my miserable life.”

He says nothing and merely stands, expecting me to follow him.

We head toward a huge kitchen where one wall of glass looks over the city. It has every gadget known to man and a huge island in the center of the room. I thought the studio penthouse was grand, but this one blows it out of the running. It appears that when you’re a billionaire, you move up a few notches in the cutting out stakes.