| BOOK ONE | THE LONDON CRIME KING | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL |
2020 Fiction Award winner for The Best Protagonist, The Best Supporting Character, The Best Friendship and The Best Plot.
2020 Choice Award winner for The Best Series.
A Wattpad Exc...
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I have a love-hate relationship with window shopping. Immersing oneself in the plethora of high-end clothing lines thrills the fashionista in me, but unaffordability leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Designer shoes are my kryptonite. Peep-toe stilettos and lace-up high heels are close favourites. Batignolles triumph, though. Whenever I hit retail stores, I touch them with covetous fingertips. I even tried a pair on once, the iconic, red-bottomed shoes that can be admired but never bought, and promised myself that if I won the lottery, I would purchase such fine-crafted footwear.
Purpled, red or blue, I pondered, flicking through the rails of sale-priced formalwear. I have fluctuated between the puff sleeve mini dress and the satin wrap dress for ten minutes. Thanks to insignificant funds, I can only buy one, not two, and the shoes are a definite no unless I break into savings, which is a terrible idea. I should spend the awarded compensation money wisely.
I am unemployed and expected to spend thriftily, so the red satin dress, which looked expensive yet had the discounted price of ten quid, went into the basket.
"What about this?" Chloe held the black high-rise skirt to her waist as she marvelled at her reflection in the standing mirror. "It's only eight pounds." Before I could complement the look, she tossed it in the basket alongside lingerie and strapless bras. "I need to eat. Happy hour?"
Paid purchases in hand, we strolled through the shopping centre, searching for a restaurant. Tapas Revolution happened. Fritura mixta, Patatas Bravas, Bruschetta de Pollo, Paella Valenciana and sparkling sangria served in a glass flute.
Chloe chewed cooked chicken. "So, the coffee shop encounter flunked."
I dipped the bread in sherry balsamic. "Going to Club 11 also flunked."
"What's phase three?" she asked, and I jerked one shoulder. "Oh, come on, Hon. You can't give up that easily."
"Chloe, I have quite literally stalked this man for months, and it's gotten me nowhere. I executed the coffee trick. I caught his eye in the club. Each time, he sent me packing. He's not interested. If I continue to pester, he will file a restraining order against me."
"Well, what did he say to you inside the cleaning cupboard?"
"Not much," I half-lied, reliving the moment his hands toured my thighs and his lips teased the side of my neck. "He berated me for sneaking into the club and told me to leave."
She refilled our glasses with sparkling sangria. "It's Thursday."
I am aware.
"Which means it is Friday tomorrow."
Yes, I am aware.
"Which means Liam will be at the coffee shop in the morning."
"Chloe," I said, and she smiled impishly. "Get to the point."
"You can't chuck the towel in." She forked green beans and red peppers around the plate. "If you cannot convince Liam to hire you, how do you plan to uncover the truth behind Kathy's disappearance? I know. You can stay in bed all day and wait for the phone to ring, or you can sit by the front door in the hope she comes home. Maybe you can go back to the police station and inveigle the detectives to launch a missing person case."
