“I’m fine.”
Emily’s brows pulled together, disappointment settling quietly in her chest.
“Emily, if you really want to look into someone, you could always ask Anthony for help.” Her assistant’s voice was careful, almost hesitant.
Anthony pretty much had a small army of geniuses at his beck and call. If he wanted to find someone, it wouldn’t matter if they were dead or alive—he’d dig them up one way or another.
“Anthony…” Just picturing his cold, unreadable face made Emily’s heart skip a beat. “Forget it. I’d rather not risk my life.”
Honestly, Anthony was even scarier than her grandma.
…
The sports car came to a smooth stop. Anthony walked over to the passenger side, opened the door, and scooped Charlotte up like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He carried her straight through the living room into the bedroom and gently set her down on the bed.
Charlotte watched as Anthony rolled up his sleeves and disappeared into the bathroom. When he came back, he was carrying a basin of warm water, which he set down by her feet.
“I added something to help you relax. Soak your feet for a while.”
He knelt and, without a word, took off her shoes and socks, then guided her chilly feet into the water and started massaging them.
Charlotte’s brows pinched in discomfort. She didn’t mind being close to him, but this was… a whole new level. She just wasn’t used to being taken care of like this.
“Sit still.” Anthony’s tone left no room for argument, but his hands were gentle and strong as he kept working. “We need to talk.”
Talk?
Charlotte sat up a little straighter. With that look on his face, it was obvious he was about to confront her about something.
“Do you need money?”
So Kenneth really had told him everything.
Charlotte glanced up at him, lips pressed together, and answered, “Yeah. I’m short.”
Simple. Honest.


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