Moonlighter (The Company, #1)(4)

“Um…” That useless non-word just sort of hangs over the gleaming conference table. I never say um. I’m an industry leader. I’m as comfortable at a lectern in front of a full auditorium as I am in my own living room. And I’ve been responding politely to small talk since I was a toddler.

But today? All I’ve got is um.

Carl Bayer chuckles. “Alex needs our help, or she wouldn’t be here right now,” he says, stepping in to smooth things over. “But Eric doesn’t know your story. I promised you complete discretion. So I needed to get both of you in a room before I said a word about it. How long has it been since you two saw each other? Twenty years?”

“Twenty-one,” I blurt out before I can think better of it. “Except…”

“…We saw each other in April,” he says smoothly. “But only for a split second.”

“Only for a split second,” I echo. “And I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t recognize Eric.”

“Really?” His brother Max laughs.

“Really,” I say with a sigh, hoping Eric believes me. And now I’m even more embarrassed, because when the two are side by side, the resemblance is obvious. I’ve known Max for a few years, since I hired him to handle my corporate security.

And I’d known in a vague way that Eric had become a professional athlete. But I didn’t anticipate seeing him at that Brooklyn Bruisers benefit in Florida.

“It was no big deal,” Eric says quietly.

I shoot him a grateful glance. I’ll have to find a moment to finally apologize. It’s not clear to me why he’s here, anyway. Unless he’s just a big fan of tacos and visiting his family while he’s on vacation?

“Sorry I’m late!”

We all turn at the sound of a female voice. Scout enters the room carrying a big box with a popular taco truck’s label on the side. “Hey Alex! I hope you’re hungry. I bought some of everything they had.”

My stomach growls at the first whiff of spicy pork. Lately I’m starving all the time. And the scent of cumin and chilis is almost more than I can bear.

“Excellent work, as always,” Max says.

Scout isn’t his assistant, though. She’s his lead investigator. “Here, Max. Make yourself useful.” She tosses him a stack of plates to distribute. “Alex, chicken, pork or steak?”

“Yes.”

Scout laughs. “Fair enough.” She pulls three wrapped tacos from the box and hands them over to me. “And Eric? Shame about game seven.”

He sighs. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

“See that, guys? Eric is pleasant and biddable. Everyone be more like Eric.”

“He’s pleasant to you maybe,” Max chuckles. “He ignores me.”

“So do I, though,” Scout says.

While the others continue to bicker and dole out the lunch, I take my plate and move around the table to sit next to Eric. “Hi,” I say lightly, giving him a friendly smile. As if it could make up for the obnoxious thing I said to him in April.

As if.

“Hi yourself,” he rumbles. Then he unwraps a taco and ignores me.

Ah, well. I guess three or four months isn’t enough time to get over a bruised ego. I was the host of a beautiful party on a beautiful beach. But I was distraught that night. I’d recently learned that I was pregnant, which should have been joyous news. Except—and this still shames me—I wasn’t sure who the father was.

That’s been settled now. But in April I was a total wreck. It was the first time in my life that I’d made such a serious error of judgment and planning. And instead of curling up in a ball like I’d wanted to, I’d had to smile my way through a black tie party for charity.

By the end of the night I was exhausted and brittle. And that’s when I came face to face with a certain gorgeous hockey player. We’d been accidentally trading stares earlier in the evening. Or, rather, I’d assumed it was accidental. Every time I looked up he was gazing at me. I thought it was awfully forward of him.

And then he approached.

”Hey, Alex. I’ve been waiting all night to speak to you.” He gave me a panty-melting smile. “I was hoping we could finally sit down together for a drink. Maybe go somewhere quieter?”

His approach was so familiar. So slick, or so I thought. In retrospect, it was just what you might say to someone who was supposed to remember that the two of you spent an entire month of your childhood together on the beach at Martha’s Vineyard.

But I didn’t understand. I thought he was a handsome stranger trying to get under my Dior gown. “Look, I’m flattered,” I’d said. “And I’m sure you’re really good company in private.” I even gave him a wink of understanding that now makes me want to die. “But I am not in the market tonight. I’m whatever the opposite of being in the market is.”

He’d opened his mouth to argue, but then shut it again. Twice. Then an expression I know too well overtook his rugged face.

Embarrassment. A guy like that doesn’t get shot down.

“Right,” he’d said eventually, letting out an awkward chuckle. “Never mind, then. Nice party. Thank you for doing all this for children’s charities.”

He’d given me a polite head bow, plunked his drink onto the tray of a passing waiter, and made his escape. He left the party so fast I could almost see contrails behind him.