Hot Asset (21 Wall Street #1)(74)

“Well, yeah. Had you asked, I’d’ve adopted ya, son. You weren’t much trouble.”

Son. Not boy. Son.

I’m glad I’m alone in my own office, because my eyes water a little. All this time, and all I had to do was ask.

I go still, my tears drying immediately.

“Dave.” My voice is a little rough, so I cough to clear it. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll get the TV there tomorrow.”

“’Kay.” He hangs up, and I smile, because apparently we’ve hit Dave’s max capacity for affection.

We have not, however, reached mine. Not yet.

I pick up the phone again.

Kate’s voice is clipped. “What?”

I blow out a breath. “Enough with the attitude, Henley. You should be happy. My orchid is almost dead, so you’re going to win the bet. Congratulations.”

“I didn’t want to win like this,” she grumbles.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I didn’t want to win because you died.”

“I didn’t die.”

“You’re acting like it. Dead on the inside.”

I roll my eyes. “Are you going to spout hyperbole all afternoon, or can you do something for me?”

“What?” she asks suspiciously.

I grin. “Can you book me a flight to DC?”

I practically hear her sit up a little straighter. “For when?”

“As soon as possible.”





38

LARA

One Day Later: Friday Night

“’Night, Lara. See you tomorrow.”

I glance up from the filing cabinet and wave goodbye to Greg, one of the other analysts. “Have a good night.”

I drop the rest of the files into their appropriate folders and head back to my desk.

My cubicle at the SEC was practically a mansion in comparison to the one I have here. The office lighting makes my hair look green, the coffee has a distinctly metallic taste, my desk smells like someone else’s curry, and my chair has never even heard the phrase ergonomically correct. But . . . I love it.

I love it because it’s in the FBI building.

I’ll confess I was terrified it’d be a letdown. But I knew from the second I stepped through the front doors that it was right.

Or at least the right direction of right.

I’m still learning my way around, still learning who’s who, what’s what, who’s helpful, and who will bite my head off when I ask a question. I almost love those interactions the most. I love telling myself that when I’m in that position of power, I’m going to be nice to the new kid.

And I am going to be in that position of power one day. I know it.

“Crap,” I mutter, glancing at the clock. I’m supposed to meet my parents for dinner in fifteen minutes. The restaurant’s nearby, but traffic is brutal.

Eventually I’ll embrace the DC Metro system, but for now, I can only afford to live forty-five minutes from work and not particularly near any of the lines. My dad lent me his old car, and even with the constant maintenance on the damn thing, it’s the easiest option.

I’m rushed for time, but I still take the long way to the elevator—the one that goes by the white-collar department. About half the agents are still in their offices. Agent Powers even lifts her hand in a friendly wave as I go by.

Someday. Someday one of these offices will be mine.

You see? I’m happy.

Well, I’m mostly happy.

A little sliver (okay, fine, a big sliver) misses Ian. A lot. I naively thought that it was just a proximity thing with him—that we had come together so fast, in such weird circumstances, that we’d gotten wrapped up in the idea of the romance rather than the romance itself.

Three weeks later?

I don’t know. Three weeks later, it still feels like what we had was real.

He’s called a couple of times, but I just . . . I can’t. Not yet.

It’s late enough in the evening that I have the building mostly to myself, so when I get off on my level of the parking garage, I’m able to do that awkward run/speed walk to my car without any witnesses.

Or not.

My footsteps slow as I approach my car. There’s a man leaning against it, casual-like, feet crossed at the ankles.

Every woman’s worst nightmare, right? Woman alone, dark parking lot, strange man.

Except he’s not a strange man.

He’s a familiar man in a really good suit. I hate to say it, but I miss Wall Street suits. The FBI does not give good suit.

Ian watches as I approach, arms crossed over his chest, bouquet of roses dangling from one hand.

“Ian?”

“She remembers my name. Good start.” He flicks the flowers up and glances down at them. “I wanted to bring an orchid, but rumor has it they don’t travel well. Kennedy and Matt assured me these are a solid substitute.”

I smile and take them. “Tell Kennedy and Matt I’m impressed. I’m a fan of the classics.”

“Thought you might be.” He studies me. “How are you?”

I take a deep breath. Let it out. “I’m . . . confused. What are you doing here?”

He smiles and straightens. “We’ll get to that. Tell me about your job first. Is it everything you dreamed of?”