A Lot like Love (FBI/US Attorney #2)(47)
“Fine,” he grumbled. “I finally get some dirt on you, Ms. Perfect, for the first time in thirty-three years, and it’s wasted.” He grinned. “Good thing that trip to Amanda Carroll’s was worth it, or I’d be pretty pissed about this.”
Jordan made a face. Way too much information. “I’m hardly perfect. I’m just a lot better at not getting caught than you.” She took in their surroundings. “Maybe I should’ve given you a few pointers.”
Kyle nodded approvingly. “Nice one.”
“I have months and months worth of this material,” Jordan said. “I figure I better get it in while . . . it’s still fresh in my head.”
Whoa. She needed to be careful—she’d almost slipped there.
“You were about to say something else.” Kyle eyed her suspiciously.
Truly, she was the worst secret-agent-accomplice-type person ever.
BUT ON THURSDAY, Jordan’s brief respite of normality came to an end.
At the store, they had a pickup party for their club members, and the place was packed with customers. Robert and Andrea, the two sales associates, had a steady stream of people at the register, while Martin and Jordan worked behind the bar and around the room, pouring and telling people about the additional wines they’d opened for the night. When they finally closed the shop at nine thirty, a half hour after the usual time, Jordan was exhausted but satisfied. Sales from the tasting had been good—not surprisingly, one of the best times to sell wine to people was after they’d already drunk a few glasses of it.
They were organizing the store—Martin cleaning up, Jordan organizing the sales receipts, and Andrea drying glasses as Robert washed—when Jordan heard her cell phone ringing. She walked into the back room to grab it.
“Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” Nick demanded when she answered. “I’ve been trying to reach you all night.”
“I had sixty people in the store until just a few minutes ago. I didn’t hear it ringing and couldn’t have answered it even if I had.”
“I’m in my car, two minutes from the store. When I get there, you and I are going to have a talk about your lack of vigilance with your cell phone.”
“No—wait.” Jordan shut the door so the others couldn’t hear. “Look, Nick, I’m beat. We had a pickup party tonight, I’ve got three employees in the store, and I don’t have the energy to do the whole pretending-to-be-dating thing in front of them. Plus, you sound like you’re raring to go over this, and as much as I normally enjoy being lectured after a long day of work, I’m wondering if we could just save that for another time. As in, you know, never.”
Nick didn’t say anything at first. When he finally answered, his voice had a note of suspicion to it. “What’s a pickup party? Sounds sketchy. And it definitely sounds like something my girlfriend shouldn’t be attending.”
“It’s a party where club members pick up their wine. Not people.”
He sounded somewhat appeased. “Hmm. Just as long as no one’s putting their keys in a fishbowl or anything.”
Jordan smiled. “How 1970s of you. I think it’s wrist watches now, not keys.”
“I don’t even want to know how you know that.” Nick paused. “Seriously, how do you know that?”
“I saw it on Oprah.” Jordan took a seat at her desk. “What’s the emergency, anyway? I assume there is one, if you were trying to reach me all night.”
“Someone’s been following me all day.”
She turned serious. “Do you think we’re in trouble?”
“No, I actually think this is a good sign,” Nick said. “Eckhart’s investigator must be getting desperate, not having been able to dig up any dirt on me. But since he’s watching, we need to make sure everything looks on the up-and-up.”
“And that means . . . ?”
“That you and I are going on another date. The weekend starts tomorrow. With as much as Nick Stanton likes you, he’d want to see you again. Soon.”
“Nick Stanton doesn’t play the usual relationship games. I think I like this guy. Hold on a second and I’ll see what I can do.” Jordan checked the calendar on her phone. “How about lunch on Sunday? I usually take a half-hour break once Martin gets in.”
Nick sounded insulted. “You’re trying to push me off to a Sunday day date? That’s the lowliest of all weekend dates—where you slot the scrubs who barely beat out doing laundry. I want a Friday or Saturday night date. Period.”
The Great Oz had spoken.
“Sorry, but this Friday I’m having dinner with my father. And as you already know, on Saturday I have plans with my friends,” Jordan said. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I could bump you up to Sunday evening, after the store closes.”
“There’s a man who’s been watching my every move for the last eight hours, Jordan. He’s going to wonder what’s going on when Nick Stanton, who supposedly has a girlfriend and a regular life, sits at home alone on a Friday and Saturday night. The FBI didn’t magically produce friends for me as part of this cover. Other than my fake house and my fake office, there aren’t too many places I can go because I can’t risk anyone recognizing me. You are the part of this assignment that makes everything look normal. So it’s either dinner with your father on Friday, or Saturday with your friends. You pick.”