Page 36 of The Rebel Billionaire

Smartgirl.

I went after her attacker. I was on him, had a grip on his neck with one hand, when I heard herscream.

If it had been a job, I might've handled it differently. But Charlie wasn't a job. I called her name. No answer. Her attacker struggled beneath me, grunting and kicking. I called Charlie's name again. Still noanswer.

"Goddammit," I'd shouted, pissed at the asshole trying to get away and at Charlie for disappearing. I didn't have any restraints in my tux, no way to secure the attacker and still go afterCharlie.

"Goddammit," I repeated under mybreath.

I should have been calm. Deliberate.Calculating.

An hour before, I'd been at a benefit ball in a Buckhead mansion, had made small talk, disappeared, disabled the security system, hacked into the owner's computer, downloaded his protected files, andstrolledout.

My heart rate had never risen above normal. Now, it raced in mychest.

I let go of the attacker and surged to my feet, striding across the yard to where I'd seen Charlie go down. I almost tripped in a hole in the grass when I saw her whiteshirt.

All white. No blood. That was agoodsign.

She said my name, her voice weak and shaking. I needed to get her in the house and figure out how badly she wasinjured.

I got her inside, cleared the house, and went to work on her face. At the sight of her smooth skin scraped raw, I wanted to find the asshole who'd jumped her and beat the shit outofhim.

Why the fuck would someone be afterCharlie?

Her eyes cleared gradually, shock from the attack wearing off as she took in the sight of me inmytux.

At the look on her face, I wanted to strip her naked and take her to bed, but that would have to wait tilllater.

"Why are you dressed like that?" sheasked.

I thought about messing with her, telling her I'd been at the party for fun, but I found myself saying, "I hadajob."

"What kindofjob?"

"Maître d’?" I said, unable to resist teasing her just alittle.

She didn't buy it, raising one eyebrow and waiting patiently for the truth. I shrugged oneshoulder.

"A confidential kindofjob."

"A confidential job for a client who required you to wear a tux?" sheprobed.

"Exactly. Almost all of my work is confidential,"Isaid.

"You sound like the Sinclairs," she said. "They never tell any of the goodstuff."

"Same line of work, but I freelance. Still, same principles. You don't get a lot of repeat clients if you talk aboutthejob."

"I get that. Is itdangerous?"

"Sometimes. Tonight, not as dangerous as yourwalkhome."

"Iguessnot."

Keeping my voice carefully neutral, I asked, "Any idea whoitwas?"

"I don't know for sure," she said slowly. "I couldn't see them in the dark. But there's been some stuffgoingon. . ."