NORA
I slam the car door shut and slump back against the leather seat, my arms crossed. Today I'm facing my father and whatever ugly truth he's been hiding about Rachel Gregory. I need answers, not more games.
"Drive," I tell the driver.
He doesn't move.
I lean forward, gripping the headrest. "Hello? Earth to driver? Please drive."
He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror, looking genuinely sorry. "Apologies, ma'am. I've got orders from the boss. I can't move until he gives the word."
Of f*****g course.
Before I can unload a string of creative curses, the opposite door opens. Marcellus slides in, bringing a soft wave of that cologne that smells illegal.
I nearly let out a moan.
He's in an olive green polo that hugs his shoulders and chest like it was tailored by the devil himself,
