Defending Hearts. Rebecca Crowley

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      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2017 by Rebecca Crowley

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      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

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      LYRICAL PRESS Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: September 2017

      eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0264-8

      eISBN-10: 1-5161-0264-9

      First Print Edition: September 2017

      ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0265-5

      ISBN-10: 1-5161-0265-7

      Printed in the United States of America

      Chapter 1

      Kate hissed a curse as the pen rolled down the slanted cover of the three-ring binder and onto the floor. She ducked under the desk to catch it and grimaced at the array of too-personal objects stored in the footwell: a half-full bottle of aftershave, scuffed leather Oxfords, and a nail clipper with a rusted hinge.

      She snatched up the pen, blew off the dust it gathered on its journey and righted herself in her chair, wrinkling her nose as she stifled a sneeze. If her boss was going to insist that VIP client meetings were held in his office, he could at least vacuum occasionally.

      Not that he had any interest in this account, having pointedly informed her most soccer players are football rejects. She wasn’t super excited about selling private-security services to an athlete who played a sport she’d never watched, either, but she didn’t exactly have a long line of potential clients knocking on her door. She thought of her monthly sales target, the fees for her niece’s after-school tutor, the hundred dollars her mom blew on online poker last month. Then she opened the binder to the first page—a printout of the logo for Atlanta Skyline, the local Championship Soccer League team.

      She rolled her eyes. If Lorraine spent less time fighting with the antiquated printer in order to fill these binders with grainy copies of websites and focused on the actual content of the client’s request, maybe these briefs would be done more than three minutes before the VIPs arrived.

      She sighed and flipped to the next page.

      A Wikipedia article about soccer.

      “For God’s sake, what the actual—”

      A rap on the door had Kate swallowing the expletive and bolting to her feet, wobbling momentarily on her high heels.

      The door opened just wide enough to admit Lorraine’s teased hair.

      “Clients here to see you,” she announced before shoving the door open the rest of the way and ducking back into the hall. With a sinking feeling Kate realized Lorraine hadn’t given her the clients’ names, nor had she gotten that far in the binder, but it was too late. The two men crossed the threshold and stood uncertainly before her, glancing around the shabby office. One was in his late forties with graying, ash-blond hair and hipster glasses. The other was younger, taller, and appeared even less thrilled to be there.

      “I’m Kate Mitchell.” She stuck her hand out to the older of the two, assuming he’d be the one paying the bills. “Thanks for coming in.”

      “Roland Carlsson,” he replied. “And this is Oz Terim.”

      “Nice to meet you, Oz.” She brightened her smile as she extended her hand, committing the unusual name to memory. Its owner offered no reply, regarding her coolly through remarkably large, remarkably dark eyes.

      She gestured for them to sit and did the same, noting the way they both inspected the fraying cushions before lowering themselves into the rickety chairs.

      She picked up her pen and hastily scribbled their names on the back of the logo page, including a phonetic Cher-eem for Oz’s last name. Then she folded her hands on the desk. “What can I help you with today?”

      Roland СКАЧАТЬ