said. “See what she has to say.”
Harlow slumped. “Everyone’s getting involved in this—”
Easton touched her jaw. “Hey. Keeping you safe is the most important thing.”
Her phone vibrated, then rang.
She gasped. “It’s my mom.” She felt a wild rush of relief. “Maybe Dad went up to see her. Hi, Mom.”
“Harlow?”
Her mother sounded distraught. “Mom?”
“Harlow, I can’t track down your father. He missed his doctor’s appointment this morning, and the medical center called me. He isn’t answering his phone.”
No. Harlow’s throat tightened. “Mom, try not to worry. He must have gotten caught up with something.”
“Harlow, he’s been upset for weeks. He always calls me at breakfast time when I’m away. He didn’t today.”
Harlow closed her eyes. “Okay. Relax. I’ll find him. You just enjoy your retreat.”
“Thank you, Harlow. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Call me when you find him.”
“I will,” Harlow replied woodenly. She looked at Easton. “My mom. Dad missed an appointment and she can’t get in touch with him.”
Easton cupped her face. “Don’t worry.”
“Easton—” All she could do was worry.
“I’ll find him.” His voice was laced with promise. “For you, I’ll find him.”
Chapter Nine
Harlow couldn’t believe she was in a swanky bar, sipping martinis in the middle of the afternoon.
“I should be at the office.”
“No, you shouldn’t.” Gia sipped her drink. “You’re stressed and worried. Besides, Easton isn’t there.”
No. He was out with Saxon, looking for Harlow’s dad.
“My life is a mess.”
“Oh, honey.” Gia squeezed her hand. “It’s going to be okay. Drink up.”
Harlow sipped her drink. She was on her second one. She turned her head and looked at the stone-faced man sitting with them. Her bodyguard.
Easton had commanded Gia to stay with Harlow until someone from Norcross Security had arrived at the office. That someone had been Rome Nash. Big and muscular, with delicious dark skin and a square jaw, Rome was a man of few words.
The handsome man had given Gia a look. “No trouble.”
“Who me?” Gia had winked, then demanded Rome take them to the bar at ONE65, the six-story, French venue. The bodyguard hadn’t been thrilled about it.
“I once dragged Rome into a coffee shop confrontation,” Gia said. “He still hasn’t forgiven me.”
Rome’s amazing green eyes flicked to Harlow. “I’m here to protect you. I’m not rescuing any babies.”
Harlow raised a brow and looked at Gia. “Sounds like there’s a story.”
“There sure is, and ignore Mr. Grumpy Pants. He’d totally save a baby.”
A brunette entered the bar and rushed over to them. “Sorry I’m late. I was finishing up with a new exhibition.”
The woman wore a sleek, pink dress, her long brown hair framing her pretty face.
“Harlow, this is Haven. My best friend and my brother Rhys’ best decision.”
With a smile, Haven sat and shook Harlow’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Sorry to hear about your dad and everything.”
“Thanks.”
“I had my own problems a little while ago.” Haven ordered a martini, then launched into a story about a missing $100-million-dollar painting, a toxic ex, nasty bad guys, and trying to avoid falling in love with Rhys Norcross.
Gia swirled her drink. “Haven failed miserably on that last one. She was so busy swearing off men after her ex, she was totally blind to the fact that my brother had his eye on her.”
Haven smiled. “And then he kind of steamrolled me with his bossy, alpha-male hotness.”
Harlow made a sound. “Norcross men are good at that.”
“Rhys also kept me safe, rescued me, and loves me more than anyone ever has before.”
Harlow could practically see hearts in Haven’s pretty eyes. Harlow definitely wasn’t going anywhere near the L word.
“I’m so worried about my dad.”
Rome leaned closer. “Easton and the others will find him. Vander can find anyone.”
Harlow nodded. She wanted to believe that.
The women chatted about work—Gia owned a successful PR firm, and Haven was the curator at the Hutton Museum, which Easton’s company owned.
Glancing around the bar, Harlow spotted a woman with a fabulous pair of Jimmy Choos on. As she watched, the woman stopped talking midsentence, her mouth dropping open.
Harlow turned her head to follow the woman’s gaze, and her heart did a crazy dance against her ribs.
Easton, Vander, Rhys, and Saxon were walking across the bar.
She didn’t blame the woman for being rendered speechless.
They sure were an assault on the senses. Saxon—tall and elegant, with a gold gleam to his hair, and a blue shirt that set off his golden skin.
Rhys Norcross had his jacket off and slung over one shoulder. The top buttons of his white shirt were open,