Blackmailing Mr. Bossman (Billionaire Heists #2) - Anna Hackett Page 0,4

I got to my desk, I was sucked into work and meetings. The upside of being undercover was I was getting a second paycheck, at least.

I didn’t see Erica, and I also didn’t see Kensington.

Bummer. I really wouldn’t mind another look at him.

My head was still humming with thoughts of Nexus. They were getting ready to make their move on Kensington. I could feel it growing like a thunderstorm.

What the hell did they have on him?

It didn’t matter. My priority was seeing this through and getting Jake Knox back home safely.

Finally, the office started to empty out and my stomach grumbled. I rose. Time to head home. My feet were killing me, and I had a desperate need for some chocolate.

In the elevator, I checked my phone. I had a missed call from my mom, and I also had several texts from my sisters.

I’m not cooking tonight.

That was from Juniper.

It’s your turn, Juno. You can’t weasel out.

That was Briar.

I’m tired. And I dumped Jason today. He’s a twatwaffle.

Instantly, Briar morphed into loving, supportive sister.

Juno xxx. He is a twatwaffle, and a pisswizard. Never liked him.

I know. You made that very obvious, Bri.

I tapped in a message.

Juno, sorry about Jason. Need I remind you two that you live with me, rent-free, and the only expectation I have is that you cook dinner?

I sucked in the kitchen and I often worked odd hours. Having the twins cook was a huge help.

Fine. I’ll make some pasta.

I could almost hear Juno’s dramatic sigh all the way across Manhattan.

By the time I made it to the subway, my feet were really killing me. When I got on the train, I squished in with everyone else heading home, and knew there was no way I’d nab a seat. I promised myself I’d soak my feet when I got home.

I got off at 28th Street Station and took a convoluted path home. I didn’t think Nexus were watching me, but there was no way I was leading them to my apartment. Satisfied that I wasn’t being followed, I gave into my growing chocolate craving, and stopped at the small convenience store near my building. Neon signs flashed in the window, for beer, an ATM, and the lotto.

“Hey, Mr. Cavonis,” I called out.

“Aspen,” the older man replied from behind the counter. “How you been?”

“Busy.”

“Haven’t seen those sisters of yours for a while.”

“Lucky you.”

He laughed.

Navigating the cramped store, I grabbed an armful of different chocolates. I had a secret addiction to Belgian, Swiss, and some of the artisanal French chocolate, but I could rarely afford the good stuff. I usually ordered myself a box of truffles online for my birthday.

I dumped my selection of Hershey’s, Snickers, 3 Musketeers, and Twix bars on the counter.

Mr. Cavonis’ bushy eyebrows rose. “You having a party?”

“Nope. Wait a second—” I raced back for some Reese’s bars.

The door jangled. I’d just grabbed some more chocolates when I heard Mr. Cavonis gasp.

I spun. A man in jeans and a gray hoodie stood at the counter, holding a knife up. “Empty the register! I want all your money.”

Mr. Cavonis was frozen. I edged closer.

“Move, old man,” the thief yelled. “Now!”

The newcomer was probably late twenties, white skin with freckles, and a few wisps of brown hair sticking out from under the hood. He was shaking a little, and there were beads of perspiration on his upper lip. I quietly dropped the candy bars back into their display box.

“Oh, my God.” I injected panic into my voice, moving closer.

He spun to face me, the switchblade aimed my way. “Stop moving!”

His pupils were dilated. High on something. “Please don’t hurt me.” There, that was a pretty good impression of a terrified woman.

He looked away. Yes, that’s right. Just dismiss me as a hysterical woman.

“Give me the cash!”

I hiked my tight skirt up to my thighs, and moved. I landed a hard chop to the man’s arm. The knife hit the linoleum, and the thief yelped. I gave a hard front kick to his belly, my sharp heel digging into his gut.

Huh, they did come in handy after all. Who knew?

With a cry, the man flew backward into a display of cookies, sending packets spilling everywhere.

I grabbed some zip ties out of my handbag. A good investigator never left home without them. My Glock 43 was also tucked in there. I had a concealed-carry permit, and I tried to get to the firing range at least once a month, but I only pulled the weapon out if I really,