The Specialist (Norcross #3) - Anna Hackett Page 0,23

whisper yelled, “No. She’ll know we’re together.”

“Thanks, Gina.” He ended the call. “We are together.”

“God, office gossip won’t be a wildfire, it’ll be a nuclear explosion.” Harlow threw her hands in the air.

He drank his coffee, then bit into the bagel. He chewed and swallowed. “It’ll be fine.”

She glared at him.

Easton quickly finished his breakfast. As they headed to the elevator, he saw her looking around his place. She peered into the formal living area that he rarely used and her eyes widened.

“Oh, my God. Your views.” Large windows framed the Bay.

“They’re better from my bedroom upstairs.”

She stepped into the elevator. “Please tell me you didn’t just say that.” She nervously played with the strap of her handbag. “No more talk of bedrooms. We need to meet my father.”

She was quiet on the drive to her place. Easton studied the lines of worry bracketing her mouth.

“Relax. We’ll get this sorted.” Vander would find out what the hell was going on.

She made an unhappy noise.

Easton found a parking space a few streets away from her building.

“You don’t have to come up,” she said.

He got out of the car and shot her a look across the hood of the Aston.

She sniffed. “Bossy.”

When they stepped out on her floor, there was no sign of Charles Carlson. Harlow let them into her place. She plugged her cell phone in to charge, and then disappeared into her bedroom.

When she came back, she paced across her living area, while Easton took a seat on the couch. She kept glancing at her watch. Her father was late.

“I like your place,” Easton said. There were lots of pops of color. Her personality was stamped on the apartment.

“My apartment would fit into your kitchen.” She shrugged a shoulder. “My dream is my own slice of San Francisco. I’d love an old Victorian or Edwardian place to renovate and flip.” She looked at her watch. “I’m going to take a quick shower and change. Can you let my dad in when he rings up?”

“Sure.” Easton watched her disappear again, and spent the next few minutes not thinking about her naked in the shower, water sluicing down—

He cursed under his breath and readjusted himself.

When she’d talked about renovating a house, her face had lit up. And now her savings account was zero, thanks to her father.

She was quicker than he’d expected. She wore a fitted, black dress with a thin metallic belt at her waist. She held a small, gray jacket in her hands. Her golden hair was pulled back in a messy twist.

“He’s not here?”

Easton rose and shook his head.

Her face fell. Then she marched to her phone and stabbed at it.

“Dad, I…” She made a noise of frustration. “It went straight to his voicemail. Dad, where are you?” She slammed the phone down on the counter. “What if something happened to him? What if—?”

“Hey.” Easton cupped her shoulders. “Let’s not start second-guessing. Let’s wait until we hear from him.”

She nodded.

“You’re not alone, Harlow.”

Her gaze met his, and it was drowning in misery.

“I’m right here,” he murmured.

“I don’t think he’s coming. We’d better get to work before I cry or have a meltdown.”

Easton lifted her jacket, and she turned and slipped into it. The damn thing hugged her body and accentuated her curves.

He wanted to back her into her bedroom, and take the damn jacket and dress off her.

“I’m ready.” She lifted her chin. “Dad will call soon. I’m sure of it.”

Sitting at her desk, Harlow tried to focus. When they’d reached the office, Easton had gone straight into meetings, and she had a stack of messages and emails to deal with.

Between those and worrying about her dad, she had no time to wonder if people were looking at her and Easton funny.

She’d slept with Easton.

Okay, not slept slept, but she’d spent the night wrapped up in his arms. She hadn’t stirred once during the night. She’d slept like a rock.

She blew out a breath and checked her phone. Nothing from her dad.

Where was he?

A sick feeling was growing in her stomach. She’d left her father another voicemail, and several text messages.

“Hi, Harlow.”

The female voice made her spin in her chair and whack her hand against her desk.

Ow. She pulled it to her chest and saw Saxon Buchanan and a beautiful, petite woman with a mass of dark hair set in loose curls.

Gia Norcross. Easton’s sister.

“Hi, Gia. Saxon.”

The tall, handsome man kept an arm around his fiancée. “I called Easton,” Saxon said. “He’s expecting us.”

Just then, Easton’s door opened. His