The apartment was very white, except for the blonde wood floors. She’d spent time adding her stamp on the place. A colorful rug in a swirl of jewel tones covered the floor, and she’d added a ton of matching throw pillows on the couch. A funky, metal mirror rested on one wall, while a gorgeous, black-and-white print of the Eiffel Tower hung above the couch.

Easton strode to her kitchen and she heard water running. He returned and held out a glass.

“Here.”

She sipped the water. As he sat beside her, the couch dipped.

She felt the weight of his gaze on her. Then she looked down and her muscles froze.

The asshole had ripped her dress. The neckline gaped open, and she was currently giving her boss a perfect view of her favorite red bra. It was made of gossamer-like lace, so her nipple was front and center.

Before she could move, he reached out and flicked her coat over her chest.

“Thanks.” She drained the water and set the glass on the coffee table. Her hands were shaking.

“You know that guy?”

“What?” She looked up. “No. I figure he was just a garden-variety, asshole mugger, right?”

But tension snuck in like a thief. Daddy’s fucked, and so are you.

She shivered. She had no idea what that meant. It had to be just some criminal’s ramblings. It had to. She really wanted it to be that.

Easton’s far-too-perceptive gaze zeroed in on her face. “You sure?”

She tossed her tumbled hair back. “Yes. I’m okay.”

He reached out and nudged her coat aside a little. “The bastard hurt you. You’ve got bruises forming on your shoulder already.”

“I bruise easily.” She touched her cheekbone where he’d elbowed her and knew she’d probably get another one there.

As Easton’s fingers brushed her skin, she sucked in a breath. Her skin tingled.

“I really am okay,” she said quietly. “Thanks to you.”

He touched her chin.

“This is your chance to say I told you so,” she added.

“I told you so.” There was no heat in his words. “You should report this to the police.”

“What are they going to do? He didn’t take anything, and I didn’t really get a good look at his face.”

Easton’s jaw worked. “I know you’re not telling me the entire truth.”

“I am.”

“You aren’t. I will find out what’s going on with you.”

She rose. Her knees were wobbly, but she locked them. “I’ll be fine. You should go now. Go home and do more work, or sip expensive cognac, whatever it is you rich men do.”

He shook his head, his lips quirking. The man had yummy lips—the bottom one full, sensual.

“This isn’t over.”

Crap. Harlow hurried to the door. “Thanks again, Easton.”

“You sure you’re okay alone?” He stopped in the doorway.