A Lot like Love (FBI/US Attorney #2)(43)
Nick blinked, then laughed. And something pulled tight in his chest when he realized that was exactly what she’d intended. “I didn’t realize billionaire heiresses were allowed to say asshat.”
With a slight smile, she glanced at him sideways. “You don’t know a lot about billionaire heiresses, do you?”
“No.” Although he did know one in particular who looked awfully cute in her jeans and long-sleeve navy T-shirt that made her eyes seem impossibly more blue.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Nick looked away and cleared his throat. He shook off the feeling and changed the subject. “We need coffee.” He pointed to the high-tech espresso maker. “Think you can skip the homemade stuff and go for a Starbucks run? I have to get my new house keys from another agent who will be there at ten. I was thinking you could be the contact person for the drop-off.”
Jordan’s eyes widened. “Ooh, that sounds very cloak and daggerish. How will I know who to get the keys from? Some sort of secret code word?”
“Don’t worry. He’ll find you.”
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Jordan looked at Nick, and he gave her the same look right back.
“Are you expecting someone this morning?” he asked.
“No. Are you?”
Neither of them moved, and the doorbell rang again. Twice in quick succession.
“Whoever it is, it sounds like he or she isn’t going away.” Nick stood up and pulled his gun out of the harness at his calf. He tucked it into the back of his pants, where it was more accessible. “Stay close to me while I check this out.”
Jordan gestured to the gun as she followed Nick to the front door. “Take it easy there, cowboy. I don’t want you blowing a hole through some poor guy asking for donations for Greenpeace.”
“Door-to-door solicitations when it’s fifteen degrees outside?” Nick asked. “I don’t think so.”
The doorbell rang a third time.
Nick gestured to the door. “You have a library, a wine cellar, an espresso machine that looks like it could launch a space shuttle, and yet no peephole. Personal security isn’t a priority for you?”
“I have another security measure that works just fine,” Jordan retorted. “It’s called an alarm system.” Using the panel on the wall next to the door, she deactivated the security alarm before unlocking the deadbolt. She glanced over at Nick, who had moved to her side and stood behind the door.
He nodded.
Jordan opened the door and—
—Panicked.
Melinda stood on the doorstep, shivering. “Geez, took you long enough to answer. Let me in—it’s freezing out here.”
Before Jordan could say anything, Melinda brushed past her and stepped inside. As her friend unwrapped her scarf, Jordan peeked over her shoulder and saw Nick standing behind the door. He shrugged helplessly.
She leaned against the door, keeping it open so that she could block Melinda’s view of Nick. Hopefully, whatever the reason behind this untimely visit, they could keep things short and quick. Without her moving an inch from that spot.
“So here’s the question,” Melinda led in. “Who’s Tall, Dark, and Smoldering?”
Jordan gestured nonchalantly with her free hand, the one that didn’t have a death grip on her front door. “I’ll go with Gerard Butler in 300. Or that naked guy from the first Sex and the City movie.”
Melinda pointed. “Good answers. But neither is correct today.” She pulled a folded newspaper out of her oversized purse. “This just in from Anne Welch’s Scene and Heard column in the Sun-Times, the weekend roundup.” She read out loud from the paper. “ ‘Millionaire restaurateur Xander Eckhart’s annual charity fund-raiser at uber-swanky restaurant and nightclub Bordeaux raised over a hundred thousand dollars for Children’s Memorial Hospital and proved once again the place to be seen by Chicago’s social elite.’ ”
She held up her finger for emphasis as she read the next part. “ ‘Gorgeously attired in an amethyst-colored backless dress, wine entrepreneur Jordan Rhodes, daughter of billionaire Grey Rhodes and sister of the illustrious Kyle Rhodes, who made headlines worldwide five months ago when he . . .’” Melinda cleared her throat. “Well, I think we can skip over that part, Twitter, prison, et cetera, et cetera. Ah, here we go: ‘Ms. Rhodes attended the party with an unknown man who sources describe as tall, dark, and smoldering. Sources also say that the couple appeared quite close. Here’s hoping, for all our sakes, that this Rhodes twin is luckier in love than her brother.’ ”
Melinda refolded the paper and stared expectantly at Jordan. “So I repeat: who is ‘tall, dark, and smoldering’?”
Jordan swore to herself—potently vile, offensive curse words that undoubtedly were not in the vocabulary of most billionaire heiresses. She knew that Melinda would never, ever in a million years let this go until she had some answers. The jig was officially up.
She pushed the door closed, revealing Nick.
He grinned and held out his hand in introduction. “Nick Stanton.”
“Interesting.” Melinda’s eyes went wide as she slowly shook his hand. “Melinda Jackson.” Coming in at a flat five feet tall, she let her gaze travel up and up before she got to Nick’s face. She seemed to take particular note of his unshaven jaw and casually untucked dress shirt.