“Uh-oh,” Theresa remarked as she maneuvered a bowl of chips around her husband’s shoulders to place on the end table. “I’m pretty sure Marcus used to tell his mom the same thing about me.”
Marcus snaked an arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her into his lap. He pressed a kiss to her mouth and pulled away, smacking his lips. “Mmm...sweet. Raspberries?”
“Berry cider. Jordie brought them for me. They’re deeee-licious.” She kissed him again. “See?”
“Uh-huh.” Craning his neck past Theresa, he mouthed to Jordan, “Alcohol content?”
Jordan shrugged. “Four? Five?”
“Nine,” Theresa exclaimed.
Marcus’s eyes rounded in surprise. “Nine?! How many ciders have you had, woman?”
“One.” She held up an index finger and climbed out of her husband’s lap to stand upright. “I’m not drunk. I’m sipping it slowly. I’m not a child, Marcus.” Turning to Jordan, she added, “If you get tired of hanging here with these Neanderthals, join me in the kitchen. We’ll talk about your Cameron.”
His mood plummeted deeper. “She’s not my Cameron.”
Theresa winked. “Sure, Jordie. Not yet. But she will be.”
“She was—once. I’ll never make that mistake again.”
“Really?” The lilt in Theresa’s tone left no doubt he’d piqued her interest. “Oh, now, I want to know all the juicy details.” She maneuvered behind him, gripped the handles of his chair and leaned over him, enveloping in her flowery fragrance again. “Marcus, I’m kidnapping your business partner. We’ve got stuff to talk about.” Marcus glared at her, but she silenced any argument he might make on Jordan’s behalf with the added comment, “Since my money’s in this venture, too, I’ve got a right to know what we’re up against.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” he argued. “It was a long time ago.”
“Uh-huh. As old as yesterday.”
To Jordan’s disappointment, Marcus got up from the chair. “Good luck,” he muttered before rejoining his buddies around the television.
Jordan glanced up into Theresa’s smug expression. “Was that last comment by your husband for you or for me?”
“Oh, you, honey. Definitely you.” She cackled as she pushed him forward. “Your Cameron’s ability to sink her teeth into something that interests her’s got nothing on me. Let’s go.”
LATE FRIDAY MORNING, while he drowned in spreadsheets before an afternoon meeting with Susan, Rachel slipped into his office with a steaming cup of coffee. As she placed the mug on his desk with a thunk, she whispered. “Michaela wants to see you in her office. Now.”
He glanced up, and she pressed a finger to her lips. What was with the cloak and dagger routine? “The blind wolf bays at the moon.”
She blinked. “Huh? What are you talking about?”
Damned if he knew. “What are you talking about? I thought this was some kind of spy game you and Michaela cooked up with cryptic messages. I was just playing along.”
“No spy game or cryptic messages.” Cocking her head to one side and staring out the window, she seemed to reconsider for a minute. “Well, not really. But we do want to keep Susan out of the loop right now.”
Now, he studied her. “Why?”
“You’ll see. Come on. Leave the coffee. You’ll want it when you come back.”
Back from where? He still had no idea what was going on.
She straightened, hurried to the door, then waited. When he still didn’t move, she jerked her head and widened her eyes. “Come on,” she said through gritted teeth.
“What’s the rush?”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” She stamped her foot. “Susan’s out of the office, and her dragon lady assistant is in the lunchroom. Now’s the best time for us to talk without anyone noticing.”
“Noticing what?”
“That we’re talking.”
His head spun. How could he get off this ride? “Rachel, I—”
“Sssh! Talk on the way. Come on.” She waved a hand with frenetic motion. “Hurry up.”
“If we’re in such a rush, why didn’t Michaela come to me?”
“Because it’s already up on her computer, and her office is the farthest away from the lunchroom.”
Sure. That made as much sense as the rest of this conversation.
“Quit dawdling. Let’s go!”
First Theresa, now Rachel. What had gotten into the women he knew? “All right, all right.”
On a deep sigh, he followed Rachel out of the office and down the carpeted hallway to Michaela’s office several doors away. As soon as he was inside, Rachel shut the door, locked it, and turned to peek through the side window out into the hall.
Oh, sure. No spy games here.
If he expected a saner response from Michaela, he was doomed to disappointment. She stood up from behind her desk and used both hands to wave him over, her voice no louder than a rustle. “C’mere, c’mere. Quick!”
“What is going on with you two?”
“We found you a building.”
That got his attention. He pushed himself forward in double-time while Michaela swerved her monitor to give him a better view.
“It’s in Hell’s Kitchen. Corner unit, ground floor. Used to be a supermarket so it’s got lots of open space. Eleven thousand square feet, plus a huge parking lot.” She used a pencil to point out the open area of asphalt to the right of the building. “There’s also a garage across the street for your more...particular clients.”
Particular? No, more like private. Clients like he used to be: pro athletes, or maybe dancers, performers who might want to keep an injury under wraps from the press for as long as possible.
He stared at the photos on her monitor with a practiced eye. Good space. Plenty of windows. All on the ground floor, which gave him a comfort he hadn’t felt at the other property. The Loughlin place had two stories with the offices upstairs, meaning, in case of any emergency, he could be stuck up there with no way out—a scenario he’d learned to keep in mind and prepare for in everything he did: choosing a job, a place to live, or even a hotel room.
“This looks terrific,” he said. “Do
