This Year's Black (Killer Style 2)

The influx of people marching onto the elevator put that awkward conversation out of its misery, which was a blessing. Until, that is, the crowd pushed Ryder farther and farther back so that she stood directly in front of him with only a bare minimum of space between their bodies. From that small distance, even a saint would have imagined how good her butt looked encased in a black pencil skirt.

They rode up to the executive level in wary silence. By the time they arrived, they were the only ones left in the elevator, and the taunting cinnamon scent of her perfume was seriously testing his patience. This attraction was just going to slow him down in this investigation, but damn if standing this close to her didn’t make taking it slow seem appealing. He shook himself. What had happened between them a few weeks ago didn’t matter. All that mattered was finding the embezzler and getting the books fixed before they had to open them to MultiCorp.

George might have foisted Ryder on him, but that didn’t mean Devin wouldn’t control every step of this investigation. He knew too well from personal experience that ceding control led only to very bad things.

They stepped out onto the fifteenth floor. The first ten floors of Dylan’s Department Store’s flagship store were for shopping. Floors eleven through fourteen were administration offices. The top floor was reserved for Dylan’s Department Store’s executives. It had been his home for the past ten years, and he’d do whatever it took to safeguard the store’s success. He wouldn’t fail at this, too.

Jane Anndra sat at her post at the main reception desk opposite the elevator. A veteran at Dylan’s Department Store, she knew everything and everyone. Introducing Ryder would be the fastest way to get this farce George had cooked up to the boiling point.

“So what’s on the agenda today, sir?” Ryder smiled at him, the picture of an eager new employee, and pulled a notepad and pen out of her oversize ebony Calvin Klein tote bag that matched her all-black ensemble.

“Let’s start with introductions. Jane, this is Ryder Falcon. She’s my new personal assistant.”

The receptionist was too much of a pro to show an overt reaction to his announcement, but he swore her eyebrow moved up a fraction of an inch. “And what exactly does that mean?”

He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. George insisted.”

“I’m sure he did.” Jane gave Ryder an up and down glance. “Speaking of Mr. Dylan, he is at a bit of a loss today. Sarah called in sick.” Jane narrowed her eyes at Ryder and tutted. “I’m assuming you’re going to need access to the employee improvement fund?”

The fund was a catchall for everything from new baby presents to wedding gifts, to you-did-a-great-job rewards. Since Ryder wasn’t pregnant, wasn’t married, and had just started here, none of it applied to her.

“For what?” he asked.

Jane used her pen as a pointer, leveling it at Ryder. “Her clothes.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Ryder sputtered as she smoothed her hands down her discount black skirt from several seasons ago.

“Your clothes are perfectly suitable, my dear.” Tactful but firm, Jane continued. “But they’re not really what one would expect on the fifteenth floor.”

The glimmer of an idea flickered in Devin’s periphery vision. George said he didn’t have any choice in working with Maltese Security, but that didn’t mean another agent couldn’t stand in as his assistant. Judging by the tension emanating from Ryder’s tight body, she hated the idea of a mandated makeover, hopefully enough to ask to be reassigned.

“Excellent idea, Jane.” He pressed the elevator’s down button. “If you need me, we’ll be in the luxury women’s department of the fifth floor.”

…

Twenty minutes and a pile of frighteningly bright dresses later, Ryder was ready to pull her Beretta in the middle of the poshest private shopping area in all of Harbor City. Sylvie and Drea would be in heaven at the idea of playing Barbie as part of an all-expenses-paid makeover, but Ryder dug in her heels and stared down the diminutive woman holding a fuchsia, cap sleeve dress from ESCADA. Used to her all-black wardrobe, the color blinded her, but not enough that she failed to notice the four-digit price tag. Kailer might be the stylist to all of the most famous shoppers at Dylan’s Department Store, but the woman was certifiable if she thought Ryder would be caught dead in that color.

“I don’t think so.” Just because she was pretending to be Devin’s assistant didn’t mean she lost all of her own power. She’d stood up to worse and won.

Not for the first time in the twenty minutes they’d been together in the roped-off private shopping area, Kailer huffed hard enough to send her thick auburn bangs fluttering upward. The stylist glanced over her shoulder at Devin, who was talking on the phone as he paced through the empty showroom. This area was open by appointment only—unless you were the number two at Dylan’s Department Store, and then it seemed you could torture people in there any time you wanted.

Not finding help from her distracted superior, Kailer turned back to Ryder and held up a cherry red dress. “Trust me, I’m a stylist. I dress people for a living. This one would be lovely with your skin tone. It’s a Burberry London, drape-front, mulberry silk dress. The design detail in the front helps to add interest. You’ll look perfect.”

Ryder crossed her arms. She wouldn’t be manipulated by anyone again. “I don’t want a new dress.”

Kailer’s bright blue eyes took on the weary hue of a woman for whom a three-martini lunch had become a foregone conclusion. “But Mr. Harris—”

“Can kiss my ass.”

A large shadow appeared, eliciting a delicious shiver up Ryder’s spine.

Devin cleared his throat. “Kailer, can you excuse us for a moment?”

“Of course.” The stylist hightailed it out of the roped-off, private shopping area faster than expected, considering her short legs.

“This is ridiculous.” Ryder rounded on him, hands on her hips and ready for a fight. “Being your Eliza Doolittle is not part of the job.”

He fingered the red silk dress hanging on the garment rack. “It is if you want to fit in and get people to answer your questions.”