“I love you, Dad, but I’m so angry at you right now.” She turned to face him. “I can’t believe you’ve dragged us all into this.”

“I’m sorry.

She grabbed his arms. “You need to stay safe, as well.”

He pulled her close and hugged her.

“Well, well, well.”

The masculine, accented voice made Harlow jerk back.

Her gaze fell on the man standing nearby. He looked about forty, and was wearing a dark-blue, woolen coat. He had a sharp face, with pale-blue eyes, and well-cut, blond hair. There was a faint smile on his thin lips. Everything about him was sharp—chin, nose, his clothes. He was flanked by two guards in suits—one burly, and one short and wiry.

“Charles, where have you been hiding this beauty?” He had a French accent.

Her father stepped in front of her. “She’s not a part of this, Armand.”

Armand. This was the guy her father was in debt to. She lifted her chin.

The man smiled at her. “She looks like she has more spirit than you, Carlson. I’m going to assume she’s your daughter and not your girlfriend. She has your eyes.”

“From what I hear,” Harlow said. “You’re a criminal and an asshole.”

Her dad made a choked noise.

Nerves winged through her, but she was sick of feeling helpless and afraid.

“I’ve never been charged with a crime,” Antoine drawled.

She rolled her eyes. “Right. You just do shady deals. Suck people into ventures that lose money. And you threatened my father and family.”

Antoine held up his gloved hands. “I’m simply a businessman, Ms. Carlson.” His voice iced over and he looked at her dad. “And when people don’t pay me my money, I get very, very unhappy.”

A shiver ran down her spine. Antoine managed a perfect combination of creepy and charming, with a dash of sleaze.

“Lovely,” she said. “I see you have a winning personality, as well.”

Antoine stepped closer. His cologne hit her and she wondered briefly how a bad guy could smell so good. He moved even closer, invading her personal space, and Harlow stiffened. She held herself still, even when she wanted to step away.

The man might smell all right, but he creeped her out.

“You are quite delicious,” he murmured. “What’s your name?”

Ew. “You’re a creep.”

“Your name?” he repeated.

His two bodyguards stepped forward. The small, wiry one swept his suit coat open and flashed her a glance of the holstered gun at his hip. Her pulse spiked. He shot her a grin that wasn’t quite…normal.

“Let me teach her a lesson, Antoine.”

“Quiet, Hugo.” Antoine raised a brow.

“Harlow,” she spat.

“Harlow. Lovely.”

“Still a creep.”

He stared at her intently for a long moment, then broke into laughter. “I like you, Harlow.”

“I’m sorry I can’t say the same.”