Liar Liar

But I don’t think he brought me here to get me into bed. I mean, it’s hardly like he fist-pumped the air when we passed in the hallway earlier. He looked more annoyed than delighted. And he didn’t behave like a man desperate to get into my panties when I walked into his office. At least, not until the end of our heated exchange.

Something tells me he didn’t bring me to Monaco to screw.

But did he bring me here to screw me over?

The sweet man I met in March? I say no.

The demanding business mogul from this afternoon? I really don’t know.

13

Remy

Róisín Ryan. Rose Ryan.

The same person.

But more importantly, no relation to me.

Let me go back to the beginning. To that night. I’d initiated an investigation into Róisín for some time after the reading of my father’s will. He’d left her a bequest, the kind sizeable enough to invite question. To invite investigation.

Who was this woman he left provision for? A bequest with strings, the knowledge of which is at my discretion until she comes into her inheritance at the age of thirty. It will leave her a wealthy woman, eventually, as well as involve her in Wolf Industry affairs. It’s only natural I jumped to conclusions; conclusions cemented when I discovered he’d also sent her money two years prior while he was still alive.

Gifting money was a little unorthodox for him. The women in his life, his mistresses, usually received much less liquid assets in exchange for fucking him. Art and property. Sometimes investments but never cash.

Everything about it felt off. To leave such a substantial amount to someone not family? Why? Who was she? A little investigation into one Róisín Ryan revealed a girl who graduated from a no-name college and was waiting tables in a strip club.

There were only two ways my mind could go. She was either fucking him or was the result of his fucking. And back before I’d met her, I feared it was the latter. A long-lost sister could certainly complicate things for me and for Wolf Industries. The board had already suffered the shock of finding Emile’s so-called playboy son installed at the helm. A drawn-out court case and subsequent power struggle could return us to a position of precariousness. Harming our investors’ confidence so soon again could, quite simply, be disastrous.

But as she is not the daughter of Emile, she has no claim to that other than the provision made for her in his will. Her shares in the company, once she inherits them, won’t be enough to harm us in any way. And as she is not the blood daughter of Emile, she’s no sister to me. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

Which leaves the second hypothesis: she’s someone he’d fucked.

After she’d sped out of my office, I’d spread the photographs out on my desk, along with the information gathered by a private investigator in the States, now even less convinced. Though capricious by nature, Emile had a definite type; early thirties, sophisticated, someone adept at the game, someone who knew not to make waves. A young girl from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t seem like his MO. My opinion was only strengthened now that she was no longer just a name, a collection of images and intrusive facts. As Róisín, she was too young, too unpredictable, and too blonde, or so I thought at that point. As Rose, she was too good for him to have ever laid his hands on.

She isn’t to inherit as the result of a casual weekend fuck.

And if I’m right, the question must be asked: then why is she?

* * *

‘I still say she might’ve been a little holiday strange.’ Rhett stares down at me, his face upside down as his tall form blocks out the light from above.

‘Because San Francisco is the kind of place Emile would’ve chosen for a vacation.’ Despite being thirty minutes into our workout, I’m still pissed at the way he’d interrupted earlier. Angry and biding my time for a little retribution from the cock-blocking imbécile.

‘So, he was in town, on business, and decided to treat himself.’

‘It’s a blessing I don’t pay you to think,’ I grunt, tightening my hands on the barbell above my chest.

‘I’m just the idiot hired muscle now?’

‘Delicacy has never been one of your strong points.’

‘Don’t pout, boss man. If you didn’t want anyone to walk in, you should’ve locked the door.’

‘Most people knock as a courtesy.’

‘I’m not most people, though, am I? Besides, the door bitch wasn’t at her desk, so I snuck in.’

‘Maybe I should be paying Madame Bisset to protect me. And Paulette is my executive assistant, not a door bitch.’

‘Assistant, bitch, dragon.’ He makes a weighing motion with his hands. ‘She could start her own company. Gargoyles R Us. But you’d have to be sure to tell her you don’t want to be protected from girls with willing mouths.’