Moonlighter (The Company, #1)(97)
“You’re not Duff,” she says, leaning against the door frame. She’s wearing yoga pants and a pink maternity T-shirt that says “Loading…” on the belly, with a half-filled status bar running beneath the word.
“I’m not Duff,” I agree with a smile. Her hair is in a messy bun with a pencil holding it together, and I just want to take her in my arms and kiss her.
Which I will, just as soon as she gives me the chance.
“Really, Eric? Don’t you have better things to do than hang around in the hallway in place of my body man?”
“Not at all,” I tell her. “This is the highest use of my time. I can rehab while I look after you. And those are the only two things I enjoy, so…” I shrug.
Her eyes narrow. “It won’t work.”
“What won’t?” I rise from the floor and casually stretch my right quad.
“This little game you’re playing. I’m not going to invite you inside. And then, you know…” She clears her throat.
“Invite me inside?” I clarify in a sultry voice.
“Eric!”
“That’s okay,” I say mildly. “I wasn’t expecting you to.”
“I’m working.”
“You and me both, honey. Let me know when you order that food, so I can intercept the delivery man for you and make sure he didn’t short your order. I take my work very seriously.”
“You’re teasing me.” She tries to cross her arms over that giant, wonderful belly.
“Not at all. Now go and order one of everything and I’ll get back to strengthening my muscles and keeping the bad guys away.”
She gives me one more grumpy look and then shuts the door.
I chuckle.
“I heard that!” she says from the other side of the door.
“Must not be working very hard, then.” She doesn’t reply. I’ve worked my way up to my hip flexors when the door opens again. “Back so soon? Did you miss me?”
“I placed my order. It will be here in thirty minutes.”
“Good to know.” I lift my T-shirt over my head and toss it onto the chair.
Her eyes widen, and then stray down my torso. “Is there a problem with the heating system out here?”
“No problem. I’m just more comfortable this way. Go back to work now, okay?” I bend down and pick up the dumbbell I’ve stashed against the wall, beginning a set of curls. “I’m not afraid to fight dirty, you know.”
“I don’t have the first idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then you’ll soon find out. Run along. You’re interrupting the concentration of the security personnel.”
Alex swallows. Then she closes the door and disappears. But I swear it’s not even ten minutes later when that door opens again. “Eric?”
“You do miss me! Just admit it.” I’m on my fourth set of curls.
“I have a problem. I need to go downtown.”
That gets my attention. I set down the weight and grab my shirt. “What kind of problem?”
She waves me inside, where I follow her into the kitchen. She turns on the kitchen faucet, which is what paranoid people do if they are worried about bugs. I’m sure my brother taught her that trick. “Earlier today, I pushed through a contract with a Thai manufacturer who will supply my next shipment of motherboards.”
“Right,” I agree. “The other half of your double order.”
“Well, that manufacturer’s representative just called to say they will be unable to fulfill the contract. Then he said he would like to explain why, but it has to be in person. And would I meet him downtown near his hotel?”
“So you said yes?” I don’t like the sound of this at all. A random nighttime meetup?
“The whole thing is weird, but I really need to know why he’d bail on me. I really liked these guys. Maybe I can still change his mind.”
“Does this sound creepy to you?” I ask.
“Well, it’s weird. But he wants to meet me at The Dutch in SOHO. There’s nothing creepy about that. Nothing bad ever happens at a cute bistro…”
“So you want to go?”
“Of course. Let me just change. Would you warn the doorman that my dinner order is going to show up without me? It’s prepaid. Thanks.” She’s gone again.
I pull out my phone and connect to The Company’s personal security dispatch. “Hey, this is Eric Bayer. Who’ve I got tonight?”
“Your old man,” my father says into my ear. “Got a problem at the Engels place?”
“I’m really not sure.”
35
Alex
“Can’t I sit up front?” I ask Eric as he opens the rear door.
“No. The back is safer,” he says. “It’s standard operating procedure, Alex. You know this.”
He’s right, and The Company makes my father sit in back, too. So I slide into my seat. But still, I feel the need to resist Eric’s little game. “I don’t like being guarded. It’s infantilizing.”
“Uh huh.” He snickers. “Does the quarterback feel infantilized by the offensive line?”