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harder if he truly wanted to do Frances proud. ‘I’m sorry if that’s the impression I’ve given you. It’s been a…difficult day.’

Her face softened.

‘And, no, you do not need to make me any financial recompense. I would refuse it if it were offered. So please save yourself the bother and me the offence. Frances gave me everything I needed while she was alive.’

He didn’t need any handouts from the likes of Callie Nicholls! Frances had saved both him and his mother. She’d given him a top-notch education that he’d forever be grateful for. But more than that she’d given him her love and support. Nothing could replace that. Nothing.

Her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. ‘I see. Well… It was a…pleasure to meet you, Mr Perry.’

Her inflection told him she meant the exact opposite.

Without another word she turned and stalked out onto the busy downtown street, head held high and with a sway to her hips that, despite his fiercest efforts, had male appreciation heating his blood.

The moment she was out of sight he threw himself down onto one of the foyer’s strategically placed sofas, raking both hands back through his hair. That could’ve gone better…

His phone rang, jolting him back into the present. It was the new intern he’d recently taken on. Christopher used a wheelchair, and worked remotely from his home in Ohio. Owen talked him through a coding issue, channelling some much-needed patience.

No sooner had he ended the call, however, than his phone rang again. He didn’t recognise the number, and hesitated to answer it, but eventually he pressed it to his ear and barked a curt, ‘Hello?’

‘I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr Perry, especially so soon after having met with you, but you did tell me to call if I should need any assistance…’

Callie Nicholls!

Darling Owen, help her in whatever fashion she needs.

‘And I meant it. How can I help?’

‘My hotel room has been burgled. Naturally, I’d prefer not to stay here now. I’ve just spoken to Mr Dunkley and he said you have a key to Frances’s apartment. I mean, he has one too, but it’s currently still with the cleaning company he hired. And while he’s expecting them to drop it off this afternoon…’

Her words petered out, as if she’d run out of energy, and a sudden wave of compassion threaded through him.

He deliberately hardened his heart. Concern was reasonable, but instinct warned him against anything more benevolent or generous.

‘I’ll be right there.’

CHAPTER TWO

CALLIE LEAPT OUT of the armchair in her hotel’s misleadingly respectable foyer, unable to sit still for another moment. As much as she hated to admit it, Owen Perry had been right. This hotel was a disaster. Beyond its shabby-grand foyer, with its chintz armchairs and ostentatious chandelier, the rooms were poky and plain. And, while Callie had never considered herself a stickler, they weren’t scrupulously clean either.

She could make do with poky quarters and a bit of dust—she’d once lived in student digs, for heaven’s sake—but the appalling lack of security was scandalous. She should’ve done more research before booking…read some reviews, made some comparisons.

She huffed out a laugh. Yeah, right. She’d been knocked so far sideways on receiving the registered letter notifying her of her grandmother’s death that it was extraordinary she’d managed to arrange flights and accommodation in the first place.

Her pulse skittered. She had a grandmother.

Correction—she’d had a grandmother.

She folded her arms tight. And now she’d not only lost her grandmother, but every darn thing she’d brought with her to New York bar the clothes on her back and the handbag slung over her shoulder. Said handbag didn’t contain all that much either, as she’d heard all the usual horror stories about tourists having their bags snatched, yada-yada-yada, so she’d deliberately left most of her money and valuables in the safe in her room, thinking they’d be…well, safe!

Apparently she’d been wrong about that as well.

‘Callie?’

A warm and ridiculously comforting voice had her swinging around. Owen. While her sixth sense still told her he didn’t like her, the sympathy in his face and the concern alive in his eyes had her fighting the urge to throw herself into his rather capable-looking arms to sob her heart out and let him fix everything.

She rolled her shoulders. That was just the jet-lag talking. She wasn’t a sobber. And she never abdicated responsibility. Not any more.

Her initial instinct had warned her to stay on her guard around Owen, and she meant to listen to it. The man had obviously fleeced Frances out of as much money as he could while the poor woman had been alive. He couldn’t be trusted.

Her fingernails made half-moons in her palms. ‘That was quick. You’ve obviously mastered the flagging a cab thing better than me.’ Things inside her pulled tight. ‘So…would you like to gloat?’

His brows drew together and her words seemed suddenly small-minded and petty.

‘Gloat?’ he repeated.

‘You told me this hotel wasn’t up to scratch. And you’ve been proved right.’

His lips thinned as he glanced around the foyer—almost as if he was trying to pinpoint her robbers, though they’d be long gone.

‘I’d have rather been proved wrong.’ His gaze returned to hers with a sudden and startling sharpness. ‘You took offence when I suggested you should change hotels. Why?’

‘Because it wasn’t a suggestion—it was an instruction. It sounded patronising, and it implied that I couldn’t look after myself.’

He was silent for a moment, his lips pursed, as if he was replaying their earlier conversation in his mind. Eventually he nodded. ‘You’re right. It did. I apologise. I didn’t mean it to.’

Okay. Um…wow…

‘I’m glad you called. I’m the most logical person to help you as I’m the one who has a spare key to your grandmother’s apartment.’ He nodded, more to himself than her. ‘So, yes, I’m the logical person to escort you there.’

He’d used the word logical twice. Right…they were going to be logical, then.

She made a ‘logical’ decision not to ask why he was the keeper of the key—she wasn’t sure she wanted