On the way back to South Hill Villa, Nathan Hoey's hands controlled the steering wheel while his eyes darted to the rearview mirror from time to time.
He always suspected that the man sitting behind him was an impostor posing as the boss.
Although he had only worked for the big boss for four or five years, less time than Assistant Richardson, he had never seen Owen Moreland so flamboyant and meticulously tender as he had been that night.
Even though... Owen Moreland's face had remained serious throughout the evening, even somewhat aloof, the tone of his voice and the words he spoke were incredibly gentle and considerate.
"Are you comfortable sitting like that?"
"Move a bit to that side; don't sit directly in front of the air conditioner. You can't catch a cold right now."
"Put on the jacket."
Amelia Clarke smelled the mature male scent and faint aroma of tobacco and alcohol on the suit jacket, a fragrance distinctly belonging to Owen Moreland that made her heart secretly race.
