30 Days (Lost Love Trilogy #1) - Belle Brooks Page 0,40

your contact number? Fill out this form and sign here,” he says miserably.

Once I’ve completed the formalities, I’m informed a call will be made to arrange delivery when the luggage has been located. Every part of me wants to tear Barry a new one, but I manage to stay calm long enough to exit the airport with only my carry-on flung over my shoulder.

“Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Marcus taunts.

“Shut up.”

“Looks like we need to go shopping before we check in.” Glancing at a gold watch secured around his wrist, he announces, “Plenty of time.”

“It’s after eight p.m. Nothing will be open.”

“We’re in Sydney … Anything can be opened.”

A black car pulls up to the curb. A shiny silver badge on its boot glints in the light—Porsche Cayenne SUV. Huh. I bet Dad would have loved this one.

Marcus, on the other hand, stares at this particular vehicle like he’s being shown his first-born child for the very first time. I guess this is just another thing we don’t have in common. My dad, would have fallen head over heels in love with this gorgeous car.

He strokes a single finger over the black bonnet, and the smile he’s displaying says, “I’ve missed you.”

“Good evening, Mr Klein, Miss McMillian. Sorry for the delay.” A young, solid man stands in front of me dressed in a tailored black suit.

“It’s okay, Grady,” Marcus replies, facing him before passing over his carry-on and wheeling his suitcase towards him. Grady takes the handle into his freehand.

“We were delayed ourselves. Miss McMillian’s luggage has been misplaced in transit.” He smiles, and I wish to wipe that toothy grin from his face. “We’ll need to go to The Strand Arcade for some essentials. Please organise this immediately.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.” He puts Marcus’s luggage in the boot.

Grady takes two large strides before opening the back door closest to the footpath, his golden-brown eyes looking at me with kindness. “Miss McMillian,” he says before sliding the strap of my carry-on from my shoulder and placing it over his. “May I assist you?”

“Please.”

“In you go. Watch your head.”

Once I’m seated, I glance out the driver’s side window and see the two of them talking. Why can’t I read lips? I’m unable to make out a single word they’re saying, but Marcus seems completely relaxed in this man’s presence. Are they friends?

“You ready?” Marcus mutters as he enters the car, pulling the seatbelt over his chest.

“Yes.”

“Let’s shop.” The corners of his lips arch; he’s pleased. He must love shopping.

Thirty minutes later, we stop in front of what appears to be an old heritage building—a rustic brown brick, maybe five stories high. It’s in darkness apart from a few window lights that highlight clothing displays on the ground floor.

“It’s closed,” I say, irritated. Men! They never listen.

“So it seems.”

“No, it doesn’t seem … It is.”

“We’ll see,” Marcus states smugly just before Grady opens the door.

“Miss McMillian.” Grady’s light blond hair rustles with the breeze as he holds out his hand for me.

“Thank you.”

“Let’s go,” Marcus interrupts excitedly, wrapping his fingers around mine and leading me towards the building.

What do you know that I don’t? The building is bloody lifeless. There are no people anywhere inside or outside. Okay, Mr Magician, why are we here?

Stopping about a metre from what I assume is a closed, locked, and deadbolted door, Marcus shifts to face me. “Before we go in, there are a few things we must discuss.”

“Um. In case you haven’t noticed, the centre is closed.”

“Thank you for your observation, but if you could just stay quiet for a moment, I need to run through a few points with you.”

“Okay. But just so you know, I’d like to point out you’re insane and these shops are shut.” This man is delusional and impossible.

“Point noted.” He smiles and his beautiful white teeth sparkle under multiple city lights. “The company will be paying for the items you’ll need. You’re not to look at price tags. You’re to get what will be required and respectable for work, and for evenings. I’ll help, but only if you’d like.”

“My uniforms are in my suitcase, and I doubt this closed”—I emphasise the word closed—“shopping outlet would stock them. I’m sure the office here has my size in uniforms so—”

“We do not carry excess stock in our Sydney office. Besides, sometimes it pays to be discreet. We’ll get you some business attire.”

I shake my head.

“The second thing is, I’ve never done this for anyone, ever. I just want you to