Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Someone sank onto the sofa beside her. “Cool place, right?”
Naomi looked up to see the guy who’d entered the studio only moments ago. Average height and wide-shouldered, he had a scruffy appearance, but it seemed deliberate. Gel kept his ash-blond hair in an unkempt clump. His short beard was wiry and uneven. Wrinkles graced his clothes, but they were designer and otherwise high-quality.
His smile was friendly, but it didn’t fully reach his brown eyes. They were fixed on her, a little glazed over with a sleazy, objectifying lust.
Naomi handled the moment the same way she handled any guy who did that. She pasted a haughty, disinterested look on her face and gave a superior sniff designed to fracture his friendly act. And it worked—his smile faltered, and a hardness slid into his eyes.
“Right,” she agreed before turning her attention back to the portfolio, essentially dismissing him.
He cleared his throat. “This your first time getting a tattoo?” he asked, all ease and pleasantness, except for the note of irritation in his voice.
Without looking up, she gave a slight shake of her head. “No.”
“What should I expect?”
“Pain.”
A snicker popped out of him. “At least you’re honest. You know, I feel like I’ve seen you before, but I can’t think where. It was recently.” He made a speculative sound and then, moments later, clicked his fingers. “An imp. I saw you with an imp. Tobe something.”
Her scalp prickled, and her inner demon tensed. Because there’d been something probing in his words.
So, what, he wanted information of some kind about Tobe?
Naomi telepathically reached out to Khloë. Take a photo of this dude and text it to me. I want to know who he is.
The imp’s psyche brushed hers. Give me two minutes and I’ll have that info for you.
“I only recognized Tobe because I bought a painting from him years ago,” the guy added.
“Hmm.”
“How is he doing?”
Naomi slowly turned a page. “Fine, as far as I know.”
“He’s an interesting fellow who lives an interesting life. But then, most imps do. Say . . . have you ever met any of the ghost artists he works with?”
Unease crawled its way up her spine. She kept her voice casual as she replied, “Nope.”
“Ah. You two aren’t close friends, then?” He drew out the word “friends” a little, and it seemed like a prompt—an attempt to have her correct him on her connection to Tobe.
He knew they were anchors, she thought. It made her wonder what else he knew but didn’t want to reveal, intent on appearing to know little about Tobe. She met his gaze. “Look, if you have some interest in dating him, I suggest you—”
“Oh no,” he interrupted, his eyes widening. “I’m a straight male with a mate and kids.”
The “mate and kids” part was a clear lie, but she chose not to call him on it. “There are people who wouldn’t let that hold them back.”
“I suppose you’re right. But no, I have no interest in him that way.” His oh-so-friendly smile returned. “I was considering whether to contact him about acquiring more artwork, that’s all. But then it struck me that I could go straight to the source instead—it often works out cheaper.”
“Can’t help you with that.” She returned her attention to the portfolio.
“He’s never mentioned any names?”
“Nope.”
“That’s a shame.”
Just then, Khloë’s mind touched hers. My dad recognized the dude. His name is Daniel Phillips. He’s a PI.
Hmm, interesting. Send me that photo. I want to show it to Tobe.
Way ahead of you on that—I did it about five seconds ago.
Naomi shot the imp a look.
Khloë lifted her shoulders, all innocence. What? I’m bored and nosy—it’s a bad combination in an imp if you expect to keep them out of your business. You know this already.
Naomi rolled her eyes. The sound of footfalls approaching made her look to the side.
Reaching the sofa, Harper smiled. “Sorry about the wait, Naomi. Come take a seat.”
Gladly. Naomi returned the portfolio to the table and, not even sparing the PI a glance, stood upright.
Abruptly, Tobe’s psyche crashed into hers, humming with anger. A fucking PI approached you?
Yes, though he didn’t identify himself as one, Naomi replied as she started following Harper to her station.
What the hell did he say?
He acted like he’d recognized me from having once seen me with you, but I’m pretty sure he knew we were anchors. He said he met you years ago when buying a painting from you, and then he asked me if I’d met any of your ghost artists. He wanted names, claiming he’d rather buy a painting from ‘the source’. Obviously, I pled ignorance.
There was a pause. I’m thinking that he might have been hired by Stefan. If Phillips found out that you’re my anchor, he might have thought I shared personal details with you about my connections. Do you think he suspected you of being one of the artists?