ANDRÉ LUNA’S VOICE CAME THROUGH the small cell phone’s speaker. “Miss Amherst, there’s been a change in plans.”

I glanced at Shade, but he wouldn’t look at me. “What kind of change?”

“For your safety, we are not going to bring you back to Miami at present,” Luna stated matter-of-factly. “You will be going north with Shade to a secure location for up to one week while my firm neutralizes a situation down here, then Shade will bring you back.”

What the hell? “What situation? Is this related to that Cara bitch?”

“It’s imperative that you do not use your cell phone or contact anyone to let them know where you are,” Luna continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “I’ll be in touch with your father and stepmother to make them aware of the situation.”

My heart started to pound, and my breath came shorter. “I asked, what situation?” I couldn’t spend a week alone with Shade.

Luna paused.

His mouth a tight line, Shade didn’t say a damn word.

“One of you better tell me what the hell is going on, or I’m calling my father right now and telling him you’re holding me against my will.” Not that he would give a damn, if he even took the call.

Shade exhaled and shook his head, but it was André who answered. “You gave Cara Vincenzo your name.”

“What?” Incredulous, I looked at Shade. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Cara is married to Antonio Vincenzo.” With the lines between his eyebrows creased deep, Shade glanced at me. “The Vincenzo family,” he said, emphasizing the name.

Dread mixed with panic into a thick soup in my throat I couldn’t breathe around. “I don’t know what the hell that means.” And at this point, I didn’t care. I needed to go home, not to some remote location with Mr. Surly-as-Fuck bodyguard who smelled like heaven and smiled like the devil. A few hours in his presence and I was already addicted. A whole week of him and I would overdose.

“Vincenzo’s connected,” Shade bit out, changing lanes.

“Mafia,” André explained.

My mouth dropped and I forgot about being isolated with Mr. Bodyguard for a hot second. “Are you kidding me?” This wasn’t happening. “You fucked some mafia bitch, and now she’s what? Psycho jealous because I told her my damn name?”

“Not her, her husband.” Shade exited the highway. “And he’s not jealous. He’s thorough.”

“What does that mean?” I demanded.

“Careful,” André warned Shade before addressing me. “Miss Amherst, we’re just doing our job and being cautious. This should blow over shortly, and we’ll get you home as soon as possible. In the meantime, you’ll be safe with Shade.”

Safe with Shade? Was he out of his mind? “You’ve known me since I was twelve, André. Call me Summer, damn it,” I snapped, losing the battle against not panicking. “I’m not questioning my safety. I’ve been gone for almost a year. I don’t want to go wherever the hell you’re forcing me to go. I want to go home. Why can’t you have someone posted outside my penthouse?” I glanced at Shade. “Why can’t you just take me home and stay there? She doesn’t know where I live.”

“My first priority is your safety,” André answered. “Until I know that this potential threat isn’t more complicated than what a single one of my men posted at your place can handle, I’m unwilling to take the risk for you or my team. This is the plan for now. I’ll keep Shade updated, and he can inform you of any changes. In the meantime, give him your phone to power down. Shade, I’ll be in touch. Protocol.”

“Copy.” Shade hung up. Then holding his hand out, he glanced at me. “Give me your phone.”

“No.” I wasn’t giving him my one lifeline out of this. “I need to talk to my father.” Not that Leo Amherst would give a shit about any of this unless it affected his bottom line. He hadn’t even bothered to call me on the day I got out of rehab, let alone the months leading up to it.

Shade’s jaw ticked, and he reached behind our seats. Rummaging in the same bag he’d pulled the sweatshirt out of earlier, he came away with another cell phone. Dropping it in my lap, he pulled onto the highway going north. “Use that to call Amherst.” He held his hand out again. “Give me your phone. Now, Summer.”

“I take it back.” I didn’t want him calling me by my name. “Don’t call me Summer.” Not like that. Not like he hated me. “In fact, don’t call me anything.” Dumping Shade’s stupid phone in the center console because there was no way I was calling my father when he hadn’t so much as sent me a single text, I dug my cell out of my pocket. “Just don’t talk to me at all.” Slapping the damn phone into Shade’s ridiculously large hand, I crossed my arms and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up. As I turned toward the window, his stupid spicy scent got stronger, and I hated him.

I hated how I had no choice.

But I really hated the look he’d given me when he’d said my name. Which was idiotic. I didn’t even know him. What the hell did I care what he thought of me? I didn’t, was the short answer—and should’ve been the only answer.

But he felt like the only real person I’d met in years. Shit, maybe forever.

He didn’t dance around feelings like the stupid counselors at rehab. He didn’t speak softly to me like my stepmom, like she was half afraid of me, half treating me like a child. He didn’t even speak to me like André Luna did, like he had to, like he was only putting up with me because my father was a paying client. And my father? Fuck him. Leo Amherst didn’t give a damn about anyone except himself. I’d never had a real conversation with him. He was more concerned about making money and screwing aspiring musicians barely older than me.

No one ever really talked to me.

Not normally.

Hell, maybe it was because I never really bothered to talk to anyone either.

Whatever.

Talking was overrated. I just wanted to get back to my penthouse, sleep in my own bed, and figure out what the hell my next step was. Because as much I used to crave the never-ending party that accompanied the life I grew up in, I was over it.

I didn’t even want a line of coke. I just wanted my bed.

And something that felt real.

Something more than a stupid purpose. More than that idiotic dream I’d had as a kid of picking up a guitar and amazing my dad with some kind of hidden talent. One that made him look at me how he looked at every new act he discovered and love me like he seemed to love them.

How fucking cliché.

The poor little rich girl wanting to impress her daddy.