Hot Asset (21 Wall Street #1)(13)

And today, for the first time in days, he’s without his guard-dog assistant.

Now’s my chance.

“Dad, I gotta run. Talk soon, okay?”

“Keep me updated on the case.”

“Will do.”

I hang up the phone and tuck it in my purse, quickening my pace so I don’t lose sight of Ian. A little stalker-ish, I know, but I am an investigator. Sometimes we get downright gumshoe for the sake of the job.

Ian crosses yet another street, heading toward the Hudson waterfront, which is . . . odd. The place is a hotbed for tourists and parents pushing strollers, not Wall Street elite. I’d have expected him to duck into one of the FiDi hot spots for martinis and caviar.

I don’t have to follow him long. He walks into a cheesy-looking restaurant called Vincedi’s that looks like its next New York health inspection rating will be questionable at best.

Definitely the type of place you’d meet with someone you didn’t want to be seen with.

I give it a couple of minutes, then enter the restaurant.

“Just one?” the chipper hostess asks, holding up a vinyl menu.

I nod and follow her to the table, keeping an eye out for Ian and hoping I spot him before he spots me.

The restaurant’s bigger than I realized, so it’s not until I’ve been seated, alternating between scanning the room and feigning interest in their “gourmet burgers,” that I spot him.

My stomach drops out.

As expected, he’s meeting someone. But from the looks of it, his interest in her has nothing to do with J-Conn.

Ian’s table is a corner booth, and he’s whispering into the ear of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. The red dress is fitted to her perfect figure and is low-cut enough to show off impressive boobs without being yikes. Her hair’s long and black, her makeup flawless. She’s hardly the type of woman to be hidden away in a crappy, off-the-beaten-path restaurant, which makes me wonder if she’s married.

Why else would they be meeting so far away from the other beautiful people of Wall Street?

Then it hits me: I’m spying on Ian Bradley having a tryst.

I close my eyes in dismayed humiliation. Someone kill me now.

When I open my eyes, my stomach doesn’t just drop, it turns into a freaking roller coaster.

He’s looking right at me, eyebrows lifted in challenge.

For one of the first times in my professional career, I feel completely unsure of what to do. There’s no way I can play it off as a coincidence—judging from the food I’ve seen go by my table, this place sucks. And it’s not even cheap, so I truly have no reason to be here other than spying on him, which his smirk tells me he knows.

Is it possible to spontaneously combust from embarrassment?

I sneak a glance at the door, wondering if I can somehow escape with my dignity intact. When I look back again, Ian’s smile widens, and I realize that’s exactly what he’s hoping for: me to make a humiliated retreat.

Fat chance.

Without breaking eye contact, I shove aside my embarrassment, greet the waiter who comes over to my table, and order a Diet Coke and a turkey burger. Then I pull out a notepad and pencil from my purse and sit back in my seat, as though prepared to write down Ian’s every move.

I won’t learn a damn thing from across the room, but I can tell by the way his smile dims and jaw tenses that my unexpected fortitude pisses him off.

For the moment, that’s good enough for me.





7

IAN

Week 1: Friday, Lunchtime

“So that’s her,” Sabrina Cross says casually, taking a sip of her Chardonnay and unabashedly craning her neck to see Lara McKenzie watching us from across the restaurant.

“That’s her,” I say, finishing the rest of my Negroni. Apparently my idea of meeting my oldest friend at a diner-type place with mediocre food so we wouldn’t see anyone we knew didn’t account for the possibility of being stalked by the SEC. Go figure.

“She’s pretty.”

“Shut up.”

Sabrina laughs. “So you’ve already noticed she’s pretty.”

And this is the pain-in-the-ass part of remaining friends with someone who’s known you since you were eight.

Sabrina digs through the breadbasket on our table. “She’s very bold. She’s still watching us.”

“Yes, I know.” I can feel it. Somehow Lara McKenzie’s gaze has more effect on my body than any other woman’s physical touch. I’ve been in a constant state of want since our first meeting, with no relief in sight—I can’t have her, and I don’t want any of the women I can have.

I don’t know what the hell the woman is doing to me, but I don’t like it.

“She looks annoyed,” Sabrina says, taking a bite of bread.

“She probably is. I’ve been avoiding her.” Not that it’s been easy. Staying away from her’s been damn hard, but Matt and Kennedy are right—I’d be an idiot to tangle with the SEC before getting a lawyer on my side.

“I thought you said you were supposed to cooperate,” Sabrina says.

“You go talk to her,” I say, pointing a finger in Lara’s direction. “You’ll learn real quick she’s not the cooperative type.”

“Meaning she didn’t fall all over herself when you flashed your smile,” Sabrina says knowingly.