Rania Algafari never asked to be different, and when she escaped the war in Syria and moved to the UK, her only goal was to live her life in peace. Get up, go to work, avoid talking to the dead - that sort of thing.
But not everyone dies quietly, an...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"I hear you got an earbashing last night," I said to RJ as he sat at the breakfast bar, eating a bowl of Rice Krispies. The antithesis of the CEO of a 300-million-pound-turnover company, which was what he'd be in an hour once he'd put his suit on.
He blew out a long breath. "That woman's like Leanan Sidhe."
"Leanne who?"
"Leanan Sidhe. A beautiful Irish vampire who seduces a man, ruins him body and soul, then leaves him so depressed he dies a slow and painful death."
"Aren't you being a tad dramatic?"
"Man, she snapped every time she talked to me, but all I could think of was those pink lips wrapped around my cock."
I roared with laughter. "Good luck with that one, buddy."
"I like a challenge."
"A challenge is climbing Mount Everest or learning to skydive. Going after a woman scorned is more like suicide."
"Tell me everything you know about her."
***
RJ moved his first meeting so I could brief him on Shannon, and when I left, he was heading for his computer. Was the way to a woman's heart through her Facebook profile? Or in RJ's case, through her banking details, her medical records, and cached versions of her online dating history?
I shook my head, chuckling to myself. The irony was that if Shannon had just sucked his cock last night, he'd have been bored with her by morning.
While my best friend took cyberstalking to insane levels, I headed off to visit Davinder Singh in his office. His assistant had cleared half an hour for me in his schedule, and had been at pains to point out how grateful I should be. What did she want? Flowers and chocolates for doing her damn job?
Still, I smiled and muttered the appropriate platitudes as she ushered me into a conference room that must have been decorated by a colour-blind toddler—all orange and purple and weird angles. The mission statement written in block capitals on the opposite wall read, WE STRIVE TO BUILD LIGHT AND HAPPINESS INTO THE LIVES OF OUR CUSTOMERS.
With fish-shaped lampshades and tables suspended from the ceiling? Okay then.
Davinder kept me waiting for five minutes before making an appearance. A thin man in an ill-fitting suit, he had a limp handshake that probably matched his dick. I knew he was in his early forties, but he looked ten years younger and that probably led to him getting steamrollered in the boardroom.
"Mr. Lawson, I take it?"
"Call me Will."
"Will. How can I help you today? My personal assistant mentioned something about Weston Corp? I haven't worked there for years."
"I've got a few questions about one of your ex-colleagues. Arthur Brady."
