Fur Factor by Christine Warren Page B

sneakers tightly Christine Warren
    Fur Factor
    48
    and tested the fit. A little loose, but the socks would keep her from feeling like she wore clown shoes. “Okay,” she announced, sliding to the floor. “I’m ready.” Graham grinned. “Great. I just need to let the staff know where we’re going, and we can leave. Come on.”
    He took her hand and tugged her toward the door. Missy followed, trying to pretend she had a choice.
    She hadn’t gotten a chance to look at anything much the night before, seeing that she’d made the trip to his house and up to his bedroom face down over his shoulder in the pitch dark, but now she got a chance to look around. The old townhouse had the elegant sort of grace that nineteenth century architecture naturally seemed to impart.
    The dark woodwork gleamed with the richness of age, and the soothing, earth-toned décor had a masculine and comfortable feel to it. It wasn’t the type of place she would have pictured Graham living in, but maybe he had sides she hadn’t seen yet. The only sides he’d been interested in showing her so far were protuberant and demanding.
    Expecting to be led out the front and around to the entrance of Vircolac next door, she was surprised when he made a left turn into a large study and walked up to a well-stocked section of built-in bookshelves. He reached out and pressed a button, then took hold of the shelving and pulled it toward them to reveal a well-lit and entirely un-dusty hallway.
    “It’s not quite like I always imagined a secret passageway,” she said.
    Graham smiled. “I could add some cobwebs and dirt, if you want.” He put his hand on the small of her back and ushered her in ahead of him. “It’s not really secret, though. My staff and I use it when we need to go back and forth between the buildings.
    Saves time. And it keeps us dry when the weather’s bad.” The short corridor was papered and lit like a regular interior hallway and ended at a handsome, six-panel door. They stepped through into another hallway and turned right, emerging from behind a grand staircase into the front hall of the club.
    It looked like Missy’s image of the foyer of a grand, London townhouse for some rich aristocrat. It had that look of age and wealth and power seemingly oozing from its wainscoted walls. The décor seemed more like someone’s home, rather than a club, but she imagined there weren’t a lot of people’s homes that experienced this much activity before six a.m.
    She could hear the sound of voices and the tapping of footsteps beyond the open doors that lined the hall, and uniformed staff paced back and forth fetching and carrying in their crisp, tuxedo-looking outfits. Several of them greeted Graham and gave her some curious stares as their boss led her toward the front of the building and one of the few closed doors in the hall. Missy tried to ignore the glances and busied herself taking in the club she’d been wanting to get a look at.
    “I just need to talk to my assistant for a sec,” he explained when he paused outside the door with his hand on the polished, brass knob. “Plus, she made my introducing you to her a condition of lending you her shoes.” Christine Warren
    Fur Factor
    49
    Missy raised her eyebrows at that, but allowed Graham to usher her into the room in front of him. They stepped into his office, which Missy identified from the filing cabinets, note boards and desks inside. One of them was covered in papers, but unoccupied. The other looked neat and organized and sported a casually dressed woman sitting behind it, her long, brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. The woman looked up when they entered and smiled. She looked to Graham first, but when her blue eyes fastened on Missy, they did so with evident curiosity.
    “Good morning!” she said, bouncing up from her chair and hurriedly crossing in front of the desk to stand before the couple. “I’m so happy to meet you, Luna. I was so excited when Graham told me