IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(16)

I waved a hand. “I trust you can find a way. You’re a miracle worker; that’s why you’re my assistant.”

She rolled her eyes. She was one of the few people in my life who refused to be intimidated by me, and she got away with it because she was damn good at her job. “Yes, sir. Anything else?”

I opened my mouth, then hesitated. I’d been about to ask her if she’d seen Conor leave the conference room. If he’d seemed okay. But that would be absurd. Instead, I tapped my fingers against the polished table for a moment, thinking. Finally I told her, “Find out what you can about Conor Newell’s businesses.”

Deb seemed surprised by the request. “Sir?”

Her expression indicated she suspected my interest might be personal. She was wrong. This was completely business related. “Leverage, Deb,” I reminded her. “Always know more about your opponent than they know about you.”

She lifted her eyebrows in mock innocence. “So does that mean you’d like me to open a file on Conor Newell’s personal situation as well? Request one of our PIs do a deeper dive into his life?”

When I hesitated, she smirked, adding, “Leverage, Mr. Grange.”

I scowled at her. “Five minutes and I want everyone back in here. I’m tired of wasting time.”

She waited until she’d left the conference room to laugh. But I could still hear her. If she wasn’t so good at her job, I’d have fired her ages ago. The problem was she was damn perceptive, a trait that had served me very well in the past during a few dicey, high-stakes negotiations.

I just didn’t like when she turned her power of perception on me. I made a note to bump up her annual bonus. She deserved it for having to put up with me on a daily basis.

While she gathered the others, I took my seat at the table and pulled out my phone. I frowned. Nothing from NotSam. Something uncomfortable tightened in my chest.

I opened the text app, just to make sure. Still nothing. Then three little dots appeared on the screen. I grinned, anticipation blooming. I imagined him somewhere nearby, hovering over his phone, typing out a message to his stranger.

To me.

The thought gave me pause, and for the briefest moment I wondered if I should tell him I was the man he’d been texting. I wondered if it was wrong to keep my identity from him.

But what if I told him and he stopped texting me, or worse, accused me of some kind of corporate espionage? Or what if this was some kind of intentional scheme on Conor’s part to manipulate me? Did I want him to know he’d been found out?

As much as I didn’t think he was the type to do something so underhanded and malicious, I couldn’t rule it out. For now, I thought it was best to continue the subterfuge.

And if I was being honest with myself, I was enjoying it. What harm could a little text flirting be in the grand scheme of things?

The three dots disappeared from the screen. No message appeared. I waited. Nothing. Was he regretting having accepted my dinner invitation this evening? I frowned. I didn’t like how that made me feel.

With a grunt I flipped over to the browser and called up the article I’d read earlier about Conor Newell. I scoured the page with fresh eyes. This time I was reading it with the knowledge Conor was my NotSam. He lived in Asheville, NC, which was just as well, I supposed. It wasn’t like I was in the market for a relationship. And if, after the negotiations for the technology were completed, I revealed I was the man he’d been sexting and we wound up in bed together for a night of celebration, well then… so much the better, right?

My jaw ticked. What else could I discover about him before the meeting resumed? There was an article in his dinky hometown paper written on the fourth anniversary of his game shop opening. It seemed Broad River Board Games was a popular addition to the downtown Asheville scene. The article went on and on about how charming it was and how it attracted visitors from all over the region.

Conor had graduated from Western Carolina University where his mom held tenure. Majored in Business Entrepreneurship which had included an exchange trip to Peru for a semester. Before that, he’d graduated from the local public schools in Asheville and had been the founder of a Dungeons and Dragons club there.

Complete geek. It was kind of adorable, and it made me realize even more how out of his depth he was in the meeting. He hadn’t been joking when he’d said he had reason to be nervous.

There was no mention of his father in the article, and all I knew about Dr. Newell’s late husband from other research was that he’d been older and died a few years back from natural causes. He’d also been a professor in the science department at WCU before his death. I wondered what Conor’s life had been like as an only child of two older, academic parents.

My phone buzzed with a text and I immediately swiped to my messages.

NotSam: I have dinner plans, but… can we… I mean, can I text you after?





I felt my cheeks stretch. I liked the idea of having dinner with him knowing that as soon as he left me he would be racing back to his hotel to be with his anonymous lover.

Wells: I think I may be able to arrange that. I have my own plans this evening but I’ll text you when I’m free.





He sent me back a smiley face emoji that made me snort out loud.

Unfortunately, it was at that moment that I realized that I was no longer alone. I glanced up. A tall, good-looking man stood in the doorway to the conference room. He was a little older than I was, wore a thousand-dollar suit, and had clearly caught the ridiculous grin on my face from texting with NotSam.