by Carter Blake
But I can’t complain about Barcelona.
As we step off the plane, the heat washes over me like I’m sinking into a much-needed bath. It was warm in France, but there’s nothing quite like sunbathing in Spain. I all but ran down the steps to the car that’s waiting for us.
Needless to say, I’m more than eager to see where Griffin will take me next.
So far, he’s yet to disappoint.
Griffin carries both of our bags down the stairs. Eagle following close behind.
“Thanks again, Eagle.”
“Ah, any time Gryphon—anything for a beautiful señorita,” Eagle smiles, and winks at me from over Griffin’s shoulder.
I can’t help but smile back at his hopeful grin.
Griffin looks back at me and rolls his eyes. He knows something I don’t, but that’s not surprising. He likes the mystery and this game of his of keeping me in the dark.
But that’s okay. Griffin can think he knows me, and I’ll play along—for now. But sooner or later, he’ll realize I’m not daddy’s helpless little princess.
I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he does.
We wave goodbye to Eagle and get in the Mercedes waiting at the end of the runway. The air conditioning blasts us, and it provides instant relief.
When the airfield is but a distant blip in the rearview mirror, Griffin looks at me briefly.
“So, love, how attached are you to…well, you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how would you feel about a little makeover?” he asks, looking at me again whilst trying to keep his eyes on the road.
I lift a hand to my hair, stroking the long dark locks as though it were my pet.
“What’s got to change about me?”
“Nothing, love. You’re perfect. But you’re a von Knopf. Where we’re going, people tend to remember the faces of billionaire heiresses and if that gets out,” Griffin laughs and shakes his head. “I’m going to be running out of fancy flats to keep you in.”
I suppose he has a point. There were reporters everywhere at my party, and I wouldn’t be surprised if someone recognized me from Twitter or Instagram eventually.
I look at my hair, holding them between my fingers.
“Sure, I’m sick of these split ends anyway.”
Griffin chuckles to himself and puts his foot down. We cruise through the sun-drenched Barcelona streets well beyond the posted speed limit.
I wonder which one of these apartments is his. Instead, he parks in an underground parking lot and walks me through the streets.
“You’re in luck, I called in a favor with an old friend of mine from London. He’s agreed to fit you in for all the styling you need,” Griffin tells me.
I look at him quizzically.
Who could he have found in Barcelona who cuts hair?
But then I begin to see the salon he’s walking towards, and I’m reassured. It’s sleek, white and clean, with barely any women inside. But we push the door open and a man walks out to meet us.
“Ah, Griffin, it’s good to see you. Is this her?” he asks, and looks me up and down.
I was joking about my split ends before—I’m sure I don’t have any—but this stranger looks at me, and I wonder what he sees.
“This is her. Kalista, meet George. George Northwood,” Griffin turns to look at me and smiles.
“Careful, love, you’ll catch flies,” he says, and I close my mouth.
It’s not often I meet people who leave me a bit star struck, but George Northwood is one of the biggest names in hair and fashion.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I say, extending my hand.
The next few hours fly by. I sit in the chair and let them do whatever they want to me—the stylists cut my hair from mid-back to breasts, and they’ve curled it into bouncy, beach waves. The color has been changed—intensified—to a rich chocolate brown that has tones of auburn.
I run my fingers through the waves, and despite the fruity smell of products in the room, it smells soft, fresh, and clean.
They even brought a makeup artist in.
“What do you think, Kali?” Griffin asks over my shoulder.
I watch his eyes study my new hair in the mirror. It’s apparent that he’s a fan, but how couldn’t he be?
“I think it’s a start,” I say, grinning. “If I really am going to change my look and become unrecognizable, then cutting my hair is only the beginning.”
Griffin smirks and raises an eyebrow to signal his curiosity.
“And, what’s the next step?”
“Shopping. Obviously,” I say with an angelic smile.
Griffin takes my hand and lifts me up out of the chair, smiling over at George.
“Obviously. How could I have forgotten?”
Griff and George step off to the side and have a hushed conversation. I try to listen as best I can, but their gift for discretion is better than mine for eavesdropping.
We walk back into the sunlight and the heat. Even with my jacket in the car, I still wish I was wearing less clothes—fuck, I wish Griffin was wearing less, too. I can’t wait to get Griffin by the pool, sun-soaked and shirtless.
Maybe I’ll even push him in.
“So, señorita, where to first? Gucci, Chanel, Givenchy?” he lists off names, but I know exactly what I want.
“Let’s start with shoes. Louboutin’s.”
I smile up at him. “Then we can work our way up from there.”
Griffin pauses for a moment, mentally doing the math about how much this little trip will cost. But then he smiles.
“Well, love, we best get a move on then.”
Oh, good.
I like a man with expensive tastes.
We travel from boutique to boutique over the next several hours. I’m living the life every shopaholic dreams of.
“Now, this is a damn fine collection, love, but I think you’re forgetting something,” Griffin says as we leave a shop that I just picked up a lovely Gucci dress from.
Given everything I’ve bought—or rather Griff has bought for me—I don’t think that anything else can fit into the trunk of his Mercedes.
He scoops up my elbow, leading me down the hall of the shopping center.
“I am?”
“Yes.” Griffin smirks. “I know what you’re thinking—when you’re around me, you won’t be needing any knickers. And it’s true, you won’t. But let’s not get you arrested for public indecency whilst we’re on the beach.”
A rush of embarrassment rises through me—how could I forget a bathing suit?
“And here I thought you’d love the chance to get me on a nude beach, Griffin.”
“Oh, I would. When we’re on my private beach, you can be as nude and natural as you like. But the police will still lock you up for indecency. No matter how decent your beautiful little body is.”
We walk through the doors to Victoria’s Secret, and pause in front of a row of negligées. Griffin looks at me, his eyes running up and down my body. I can feel him undressing me or at least mentally stripping me down to my underwear. Perhaps I should let him catch a glimpse of the real thing.
“These aren’t bikinis.”
“Correct. Your power of observation is as amazing as ever. But these are just as needed. And besides, they offer bikinis here as well. Two birds, one stone.”
Griffin looks away from me to the dark-haired, petite shop assistant who approaches us.
“Take my friend here to the dressing rooms. I’ll be through in a moment.”
He smiles at her, and I watch the assistant’s heart melt into a puddle on the floor. I don’t blame her. I almost did the same the first time Griffin flashed those dark eyes at me—not that I’d admit that to him either.
I let her lead me through, standing under the spotlights whilst Griffin chooses my lingerie. I wonder what he’ll pick out for me.
Something sexy, black and with straps? Or maybe he wants to see me in lace? Maybe pink or som
e other pastel combination?
Maybe both.
I hope it’s both.
It feels like I’ve been waiting for hours when Griffin finally walks into the changing room.
“Here you go, love.”
He begins to hand me the lingerie, but then stops just out of reach. “One condition though—you have to model every set for me.”
I laugh and close the curtain behind me. Through the tiny crack at the side, I watch Griffin take his seat and patiently wait—shamelessly flirting with the attendant in Spanish.
She’s clearly besotted with him.
I evaluate the sets of lingerie and bikinis laid out before me. Griffin has good taste—and a varied one, too. But I know which one I’ll start with.
When I’m dressed, I slip on the Louboutin’s he bought me earlier, and I step into the middle of the changing room. Griffin stops mid-sentence and turns to look at me. The attendant’s cheeks blush brilliant pink as the pair of them rake their eyes over my body.
Griffin, in particular, is enjoying the sight—based on the growing bulge in his pants—of the lacy black lingerie, suspender belt, and stockings that barely cover my body.
“Well, let’s stick wings on you and throw you down the runway, Kali,” Griffin says with a playful smirk.
He stands, subtly shifting his pants so that I don’t notice how he’s beginning to strain at the front of his jeans, and wanders around me. Admiring me from all angles.
I admit that I like the attention from him.
Griffin stands behind me, and I stare at him in the mirror. I’m challenging him to say something—waiting to hear his verdict. He smiles at me, leaning down slightly so he can murmur in my ear and set the hairs on the back my neck on end.
“You know what, love? You’ll do.”
Chapter 10
Griffin
I twist the knob slowly, easing the door open on its slightly squeaking hinges. It falls open the barest inch under my touch, light from the hall cutting a slice out of the darkness beyond.
The sliver of illumination falls onto Kalista where she lies on the bed, her eyes closed, newly darkened hair cascading across the pillow behind her.
At the disturbance, her breathing hitches ever so slightly, her body sensing the change in the room. Her mouth opens, an unspoken question on her lips that draws my eyes directly to them. It’s only a second before the rise and fall of her chest normalizes, though.
Definitely asleep.
I pull the door quietly shut again, smiling to myself at the thought of her prone form.
Despite what the movies show us, most people aren’t attractive when sleeping. There are drawbacks to that level of comfort.
Kalista, on the other hand, looks every bit the fairy tale princess.
It takes all my willpower not to go in and steal a kiss. Her lips, like the rest of her, seem to draw me like a magnet. I stand for a moment, imagining the way my hands could slide across her, the things I could do to her exquisite body.
Instead, I let my hand fall from the doorknob and turn away, walking quickly down the hall and back towards the front door.
We’ve situated ourselves in an upper level pied-a-terre. Shortly after arriving, Kalista found her bed and drifted off. After the day we’ve had, I was more than tempted to join her.
Even more so now.
I groan slightly as I head out the door, images of her sprawled across the bed heavy in my mind.
Duty calls though. I force my thoughts back to business as I descend in the elevator, making a mental checklist of the things I need to do.
Two minutes and I’m on the street outside, striding quickly along the sidewalk.
The bar at the end of the block shines brightly out at me, looking especially inviting in the late evening gloom.
I make a beeline for it, feet slapping against the cement.
The moment I walk through the door, I’m assailed by the heavy odors present in bars the world over. Thick, cloying smells wash over me in a wave—stale cigarettes, whisky, a faint undertone of desperation.
It’s almost comforting, really.
No matter where you go, the local watering hole always feels just like any other.
I take a deep breath of the lingering scents as I make my way inside, my eyes roving quickly across the space.
I spot my table immediately, its residence sticking out in the crowd.
I raise a hand in greeting as their eyes find me, walking through the fog of intoxicated people.
“You’re late,” Janus says, eyeing me speculatively.
“Sorry,” I scurried, taking my seat. “It’s been a long day.”
He pushes a drink in my direction, dark beer glistening in the glass.
“Tell me about it.”
Janus, better known as “Janus the Jackal,” is an expert forger…among other things. Smuggling and disguises, he runs the gamut of the underground, which naturally makes him one hell of an ally.
I nod in thanks as I pick up my glass, the tangy liquid burning a path down my throat.
“Well, what’s all the fuss then?” the man to my left asks.
I turn towards him, The Leviathan, first class hacker. I don’t think there’s a firewall in creation that this guy can’t scale. Moreover, he makes it look damn easy.
“I need some information,” I tell him.
The three of us are old friends. We’re members of the Gentlemen Brotherhood and each one of us have our own specialty. Together, we’re quite the force to be reckoned with.
“What is it?” Leviathan asks, leaning forward onto his elbows.
“I need to know if there’s any chatter online about an attempted kidnapping.”
He raises an eyebrow in question.
“Kalista von Knopf. Yes. That one was almost abducted. I need to know if anyone’s talking about it.”
“Looking for anything specific?”
“Outside of an admission of guilt?” I joke. “Not really. I’ll take anything you can give me. Try to get a lock on who did it, but any leads will help.”
“Consider it done.”
I turn my attention back to Janus, who sits with an expectant grin on his face.
“Yes?” he asks.
“I’m gonna need documents, papers, and ID. Von Knopf is a bit too recognizable.”
He nods once. “Got it.”
“Thanks.” I say, draining the last of my beer.
“Anything else?” Leviathan asks mischievously.
“Nothing, for now.”
“Okay good. So, while we’re here, let’s set something up for Marrakesh.”
Marrakesh is a big job we’ve had in the works for a while now. We could work out the details right now, but as it happens, we’re short a member.
“Right, let’s rendezvous again when we have everyone.”
We talk in hushed voices, arranging a meeting for the near future. By the time we’ve finished, we’ve each ordered and drained another beer.
As I stand to leave, I’m feeling the subtle effects of the drinks.
“Alright, sounds good,” I announce, pulling my jacket from the back of the chair where I left it. “Let me know when you have the papers and that info Janus.”
I nod towards Leviathan.
“Sure.”
“No problem,” Janus pipes up.
“Okay, until next time.”
I give a small salute, turning to head for the door.
All in all, not a bad meeting. If I can get Kalista her new documentation and get at least one lead on the kidnapping, we should be okay.
I step back into the crisp night air, now feeling confident about this whole mess.
With the Gentlemen Brotherhood on it, this should be a cakewalk.
The combination of beer and a situation well in hand wash over me as I begin to walk back towards the pied-a-terre.
By the time I’ve gone a few feet, I’m whistling.
Chapter 11
Kalista
My e
yes slowly flutter open, raking across my surroundings with the confusion that comes from waking in a new space. For a moment, I feel completely unsure of where I am.
Even in the darkened room, I know that this isn’t home.
I sit up quickly, the blankets pooling around my stomach as I do.
After a moment of rubbing my sleep-hazed eyes, the events of the past day finally come storming back to me.
Right. The kidnapping.
I sigh as I remember my predicament, turning to climb down from the bed.
While I’ve slept, the sun has set fully, clothing the room in complete darkness. I stumble forward through it, feeling the walls for a light switch.
I’m rewarded with the bright glow of a bulb a moment later, wincing at its intensity.
“Griffin?” I call out, wondering if he also managed to fall asleep.
No response. I walk to the door, pulling it quickly open.
“Griffin?” I repeat, more loudly this time.
Nothing.
I step from the room, walking slowly down the hall, my nightgown swishing around me as I go.
The pied-a-terre is much larger than the one in the French Riviera, and I inspect it more thoroughly as I walk. I glance through each doorway, looking for signs of Griffin.
After I’ve checked every room, it’s obvious that he’s left.
I walk back to the living room, wondering at where he could be.
For a brief second, I feel slightly concerned.
Being alone after a kidnapping attempt?
Not the best feeling.
I look cautiously around the room, imagining eyes on me as I turn.
Oh, stop it.
I’ve literally just finished walking through the entire place. I’m alone here—nothing to worry about.
As the idea finally sinks in, I begin to smile.
I’m alone here.
I practically skip from the room, ideas lighting up in my head as I go.
What better way to kill time than with a little snooping?
I make my way to Griffin’s bedroom, a mischievous grin pulling at my lips. Being a von Knopf, my personal business has always been, well, less than personal. It’s a pain to be in the public eye, even to the extent that I am.
