WHERE DARKNESS LIVES

After reviewing the payroll and dealing with the linen service that had forgotten to bring their laundered tablecloths and napkins, she had been forced to soothe one of the waiters who had been insulted by the bartender and locate the key to the back freezer that had been lost.

At last she was able to settle in a chair to audition the Were who had traveled thousands of miles just to perform at her club.

Unfortunately, she struggled to concentrate.

It wasn’t that Jian wasn’t spectacular. He nearly set the stage on fire with his lean, muscular body that moved with a fluid grace that was amazing even by Were standards.

But tapping a finger on the arm of her chair, she realized she felt ... weird, unsettled.

She told herself that she was merely impatient to return home to Luc. He was bound to be finished with his golf match by now and waiting for her return.

Hopefully naked in her bed.

What woman wouldn’t be anxious to be done with work?

Counting down the minutes until she could politely bring the audition to a close, Sophia was startled when she caught a familiar scent.

Turning her head, she watched the crimson-haired imp dressed in a silver mesh shirt and black spandex cross the room to take the chair beside her, setting a leather briefcase at his feet.

“Mmm,” he moaned, his gaze drinking in the sight of the near-naked Were dancing on the stage. “Tasty.”

“Troy.” Sophia gave a lift of her brows. “Don’t you have your own business to run?”

“Yes, but the view isn’t nearly so nice.”

She reached to grab his chin, turning his fascinated attention in her direction.

“If you want to ogle the talent, you’re supposed to pay a cover charge.”

He pouted. “Is that any way to treat your bestest friend?”

“The last time I came to your coffee shop you charged me an arm and a leg for a cappuccino the size of a thimble,” she reminded him in dry tones.

“But I sprinkled it with my special fairy dust.”

“Special fairy dust, my ass,” she scoffed. “It was cinnamon.”

A smile twitched at the edges of his mouth. “Maybe.”

“I assume you have a reason for being here beyond trying to sneak a peek?”

The smile faded, leaving the handsome face unexpectedly somber.

“I think we should talk.”

“Uh-oh.” Sophia frowned. “I seem to be getting that a lot lately.”

“A lot of what?”

“Nothing.” Trying to shrug off her persistent unease and the sudden certainty she wasn’t going to like what Troy had to say, Sophia rose to her feet. “Let’s go to my office.”

With a thumbs-up toward Jian, she led the towering imp into her office, closing the door behind them.

Troy strolled to inspect her enviable collection of Fabergé eggs.

“Nice.”

Sophia moved to the wet bar behind her desk. “Something to drink? Water? Brandy?” She pointed toward the sleek silver cappuccino machine. “A ten-dollar cappuccino with fairy dust?”

“No need.” Troy took the seat opposite her desk, opening his leather briefcase to pull out a small flask. “I always carry my own.”

“You came prepared,” she murmured, noting the stack of manila folders in the case. “Should I be worried?”

He took a swig from the flask. “I’m not sure.”

Shit.

She sat in the chair behind her desk, her heart lodged in her throat.

“Troy?”

He replaced the flask, regarding her with a guarded gaze. “When you asked me to find you a bodyguard I went through my usual contacts to locate one.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not usually.”

She tucked her hands beneath the desk, unwilling to let the imp see her clenching them.

“What’s different this time?”

The imp paused, as if considering the wisdom of confessing whatever it was that had brought him to the club. Sophia forced herself to keep her mouth shut.

What not? If he tried to leave she was quite prepared to beat the truth out of him.

At last he squared his shoulders and took the plunge. “After it was obvious that you were enjoying more than just Luc’s professional services, I decided to double-check the background information I was given.”

“And?”

“And it’s bogus.”

A cold ball of dread lodged in the pit of her stomach. “What’s bogus?”

“Everything.”

“Be a little more specific, Troy.”

He reached into his briefcase, pulling out the top file and tossed it onto her desk.

“The references he listed on his résumé,” he said. “His address. His social security number. None of it’s real.”

Squashing the urge to toss the folder across the room, Sophia instead lifted her hand and flipped it open, scanning the documents inside.

“He lied,” she said at last.

“Yes.”

With a jerky motion, Sophia was on her feet, crossing to stare out the newly replaced window.

What the hell?

The documents that Troy had produced clearly revealed that the Miami addresses were fake, along with Luc’s supposed references.

But why?

It wasn’t as if she was freaking Katy Perry. Becoming her bodyguard wasn’t some fantastic position that a man would lie to acquire.