Reckless (Benson Security 1)

Megan dumped her hobo bag on an armchair wide enough for two people and sauntered past the baby grand piano to look out the windows. “On a scale of one to Kardashian, where do you sit?”

“Trust you to compare me to the Kardashians. As I was saying—crass. Let’s just say I’m comfortable and leave it at that.”

“Comfortable?” Megan burst out laughing.

“She’s a trust fund baby.” Elle threw herself into the middle of one of the large, soft sofas and propped her pastel blue Doc Martins on the glass coffee table in front of her. “Her family own TayFor Pharmaceuticals. Her father still holds the majority share and is on the board. Her brother is the current CEO. Rachel is the wild child, believe it or not, because she didn’t go into the family business.” She cocked an eyebrow at Rachel. “I’m still trying to figure out why you didn’t?” When she got no response from Rachel she carried on. “Her estimated worth is round about the six-hundred million mark.”

Megan felt her jaw drop. “I should have let you buy your own carrots.” She curled up in the big armchair and stared out into the darkness at the blinking lights of Central London.

“Get your feet off my table.” Rachel pointed at Elle.

For a second Megan thought Elle would argue, instead she plopped her feet onto the white shag rug.

“Why are you working for my cousin if you’re so rich?” Megan asked.

Rachel gave her a look that said she thought Megan’s IQ had taken another dip. “Do you expect me to spend my life drinking tea and discussing Harry’s love life?”

“Why would you discuss my cousin’s love life? I thought you hated his wife.”

“Not Harry your cousin. I’m talking about the prince. William’s brother.” Rachel let out a sigh. “Grandson of the Queen. That Harry.”

“You know Prince Harry?” It was a good job Megan wasn’t the type of person to feel easily intimidated because this conversation would have caused some serious inferiority issues.

Rachel shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Uh, no, Rachel, we don’t all know Prince Harry personally.” Megan thought about it for a second. “But some of us aren’t against being introduced to the guy.” She batted her eyelashes and gave Rachel her best pleading look.

It didn’t work. “I’ll make sure to schedule an introduction for the first of never,” Rachel said. “Now tell me why you’re here and what you want.”

Megan wasn’t quite ready for that conversation just yet. She was done dealing with disappointment for the day. If Rachel was going to kick them out on their ears, she’d rather it was delayed. “Do you have a pool?” she asked, because it seemed like exactly the kind of thing Rachel’s apartment should have.

“Of course. It’s upstairs.” Rachel sauntered towards them. She was dressed in white silk yoga pants with a matching cropped top. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail on top of her head and her feet were bare.

“Great,” Megan said. “Then, do you have a spare room? I’m looking for an alternative place to stay in case I get kicked out of the office.” She let Rachel gape for a beat. “Don’t panic, I was joking.” Still… “But if you ever want someone to look after the place for a few days while you’re away, keep me in mind.”

Rachel’s expression was easy to read—it said Megan was the last person she’d let loose alone in her home. In fact, from the way she was standing, arms folded in the middle of her living room, she was being pretty clear about not wanting her there at any time.

“What do you want?” Rachel said.

“Believe it or not, we’re here to ask for help.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Trust me,” Megan said. “Neither do I.” She pointed at Julia who’d scurried over to the seat furthest from everyone. In this case it was the piano stool. “It was her idea. She said you have connections that we could tap into.”

“Connections like?” Rachel cocked one perfectly groomed eyebrow, which made Megan wonder if she had staff on hand to keep her looking like that.

“Do you have a stylist? A staff of spa people? A live in chef?”

“Do you have ADHD? That would explain why you can’t focus for more than ten seconds at a time. Read my lips—what connections are you talking about?”

“Your pharmaceutical connections of course,” Elle said as she rummaged around in the kitchen area. She came up with a bottle of white wine and four glasses.

“Help yourself,” Rachel said sarcastically.

It washed right over Elle, who said thanks then started pouring the wine.

“Why do you need access to my family’s company?” Rachel asked Megan.