'You look a little old to be schlepping flowers.'
'I used to have my own mortgage finance business.'
The man gave him a knowing look. 'Oh.'
'So can you just call up and tell her I'm here? If she doesn't want them, no sweat.'
The man hesitated but then picked up the phone. 'Ms. Mallory. It's Carl at concierge. Look, I got a flower delivery for you here.' He paused. 'Uh, I don't know. Hang on a sec.' He looked at Sean. 'Who are they from?'
Sean riffled in his shirt pocket and consulted a blank piece of paper. 'A Greg Dawson.'
Carl repeated this into the phone. 'Right, okay, you're the boss.'
He hung up and looked at Sean. 'Your lucky day. She's in Unit 756. Elevator's over there.'
'Super. Hope she's a good tipper.'
'You're a good looking guy, so if you're really lucky she might tip you something else.'
Sean feigned puzzlement before saying, 'What, are you saying she's a babe?'
'Let me put it this way, friend, when she saunters across the lobby I feel like I'm in a Playboy fantasy. Only reason I keep this crummy job.'
Sean rode the glass elevator up, staring out at an incredible view of the coastline. Cassandra must've been waiting by the door because it opened only a second after he knocked. She was barefoot and wearing a terrycloth robe that stopped mid-thigh. Her hair was damp; she might have gone for a swim or taken a shower.
'Flowers?' she said.
'Right, from a Mr. Dawson.'
'I have to say I'm surprised.'
Sean gave her the once-over. 'Ma'am, you strike me as someone who gets lots of flowers from gentlemen.'
She flashed him a smile. 'You're sweet.'
'Just need you to sign here.' He held out his pad and a pen. While she signed, he opened the box. Inside were twelve long-stem roses that he'd bought from a street vendor for four bucks.
She held one and smelled it. 'They're beautiful.'
'You have a vase to put them in? Good to get water on them right away.'
She glanced up at him and her smile deepened. As she ran her gaze over his lean six-foot-two-inch frame and handsome face, she said in a throaty voice that made Sean feel suddenly unclean, 'What's your name?'
'Sean.'
'I haven't seen you around before, Sean.'
'I haven't been around before. My loss, I guess.'
'Why don't you bring the flowers in while I look for a vase?'
As she turned she managed to slide her breasts across his forearm. It was done so well that Sean could only conclude the lady had perfected the motion over the years. He followed her in and closed the door behind them, the lock automatically clicking into place.
The condo was a luxury one and Sean noted details of great expense everywhere. The lady also had good taste in art, furniture, and oriental rugs. She reached the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and bent over. The view this presented to Sean actually made him blush. A pair of tiny black panties had replaced the white thong, but the rest was all Cassandra.
Still bent over she turned, obviously to make sure he was watching. As her gaze followed his she feigned being startled. 'Oh, I'm sorry.'
He managed a grin. 'I'm not. The female body is beautiful, why hide it?'
She smiled back. 'I like your attitude.'
She took so long retrieving the vase he could have identified her dead body by her butt cheeks alone. She finally straightened up and turned to him.
And stopped smiling.
She stared at his camera screen, at the shot of Greg Dawson handing her the envelope.
'What is this? Who the hell are you?'
Sean sat down on one of the barstools set next to the granite kitchen counter.
'Where did you get that picture?' she said accusingly.
'First go get some clothes on. Your striptease act is wearing kind of thin on me.'
She scowled at him. 'Why the hell shouldn't I just call the police?'
In answer he held up the camera again. 'Because then this fab shot of you and Greggie boy will get sent to DHS. And unless you can explain to them why a man who runs the company that's competing with Tuck Dutton's firm is handing you an envelope at a nice cozy lunch at his house, Science Matters can kiss that fat contract goodbye. Am I right or am I right, Cassandra? Now go get some clothes on!'
She stalked off to change. When she came back she was covered up in a mauve-colored velour warm-up suit.
He nodded at her approvingly. 'Much better. Now I can actually treat you like an adult.' He sat down on the sofa in the living room that had impressive water views. She sat across from him and tucked her bare feet under her.
'So I take it the flowers weren't from Greg?' she said with attitude.
'Nope. His blowing you off at lunch was entirely legit. Maybe he's used to chicks like you and knows better.'
'So who exactly are you and what do you want?' she said. 'Because the sooner you get out of here the better.'
'One ground rule, you're not asking the questions, I am.'
'Why-'
He held up the photo and she quickly closed her mouth.
'I know about you and Tuck Dutton.'
She rolled her eyes. 'Is that what this is about? Please.'
'You were having an affair with him.'
'Prove it.'
'I actually don't have to. I can leave that to the FBI.'
'FBI? What the hell are you talking about?'
'Tuck's wife was murdered and his oldest daughter kidnapped. You telling me you didn't know that?'
'Of course I knew about it. It's been in all the papers. His sister is the First Lady.'
'You like screwing the First Brother-in-law?'
'Go to hell.'
'That's something you should be worried about, actually.'
'What is that supposed to mean exactly?' she said in a false bored tone.
'It means exactly that the oldest motivation in the book for a philandering husband to bump off his wife is so he can marry the mistress.'
'It wasn't like that with me and Tuck.'
'So what was it like? You can either tell me or the FBI. And the agent running the case isn't nearly as nice as I am.'
'He was attracted to me.'
'Yeah, that I know. But if you did the little bend and hold you just pulled with me, I can hardly blame the guy. Well, I can blame him, actually, because he's obviously a weak little bastard. So why'd you come to work for him when I'm sure you got better offers elsewhere from bigger companies?'
'You seem to know a lot about me.'
'I've always been a curious guy. You were saying?'
'He said he'd be really good to me if we got the contract.'
'So not just salary, a piece of the equity?'
'Something like that.'
'I'm not interested in 'something like that.' I want facts.'
'Twenty percent of the contract profit,' she said hastily. 'Over and above my salary and bonus.'
'But then you did get a better offer, although it was after you signed with Tuck.'
