I leaned back and kept my mouth shut, doing everything I could not to grin. After several seconds, he looked at me again. ‘The Lia Saifire is in the possession of a young Sidhe man. He has dark hair, two adorable dimples in his chubby little cheeks and he’s staying at the Astor Hotel in room number 907. Ta da!’ His brow creased. ‘Hold on. Where are we right now?’

‘We’re on the floor next to a coffee table.’

‘The floor where?’ Bob’s eyes narrowed. ‘Wait a minute. We’re in the Astor Hotel too! You bitch! You tricked me! That’s what you wanted to know all along!’

‘Oops.’

‘I hate you, Uh Integrity.’

‘Sorry, Bob,’ I said, obviously not sorry at all. ‘Knock knock.’

Bob sniffed loudly. ‘Who’s there? Bitch.’

‘Raoul.’

‘Raoul who?’

I gave him a serious look. ‘Raoul with the punches.’

‘I hate you!’ he howled.

‘Bye Bob. Go back and catch up on your sleep.’

He waved his fists in the air. ‘I’m going to pay you back, you know.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ I nudged him gently with the tip of my finger. ‘Go on. Off you go.’

He turned his back on me and folded his arms. ‘I’m not talking to you.’

‘I deserve that.’

‘You’re damn right you do.’ Without another glance at me, he leapt back into the letter opener. I only just managed to shield my eyes in time. ‘Sorry,’ I murmured again. ‘Needs must though.’

I returned the blade to its sheath and considered what he’d told me. I knew exactly who he was referring to. What didn’t make sense was why Byron had palmed off the jewel to one of his entourage rather than keeping it for himself. Unless it was a gift, of course. A pretty expensive gift, though.

I leaned back on my hands. It appeared I’d been attempting to seduce the wrong Sidhe. Oh well. It was a lady’s prerogative to change her mind. I pushed away the flicker of disappointment. From the blush I’d received from my new target in the bar yesterday, he’d be far easier to manage than Byron. I just needed to shift gears slightly.

I got to my feet and yanked down my dress. As I was about to pull on my shoes and leave, I heard the buzz of voices right outside the door. Shite. I grabbed the shoes, my bag and the letter opener and made a dash for the spare bedroom. Byron’s timing sucked.

Chapter Eight