Exposed by Fate (Serve #2)(38)

She squeezed his hand. “I would.”

His gaze slammed into hers and held. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

The air in the cab felt thin, hard to inhale. “What about you?” Oliver brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand. “When are you meeting with Conrad Sterns?”

“Friday,” she managed. “We’re doing an in-house consultation.”

She swore his grip tightened at the words in-house, but his neutral expression made her wonder if she’d imaged it. “What’s your game plan?”

How could he expect her to concentrate when his tongue kept licking out to taste the pulse at her wrist? “Um…concealed luxury. Well-hidden flash. Modern bachelor meets overindulged celebrity.”

Oliver hummed in his throat. “It’s perfect. Can I make a suggestion?” He waited for her nod. “Giant phallic symbols everywhere. He’ll love them, and he won’t know why.”

She laughed breathily. “Are you saying Mr. Sterns is overcompensating for something?”

“It doesn’t matter. You won’t be finding out, Eliza.”

Surprised by the intensity ringing in his voice, she drew her hand away. If he traced her sensitive skin with that skilled mouth a second longer while sounding so possessive, she’d combust.

Oliver watched her pull away with, his expression once again unreadable. “I thought of something else ironic.”

“Shoot.”

He turned to look out the window. “I’ve brought along one girl who doesn’t want what I’m offering to help convince another girl with the same problem.”

Eliza stared at Oliver, wondering if he’d started speaking in a different language. Or thought she was someone else. Doesn’t want what I’m offering. What did he mean? “I don’t under—”

The cab jolted to a stop. With mechanical movements, Oliver drew a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to the cab driver. “Keep the change.”

She had no option but to exit the cab curbside and wait for Oliver to follow. Her earlier question was still flickering in her head, but Oliver’s stiff posture dissuaded her from asking it. He took her hand and led her toward the warehouse. Several men milled outside reading the day’s New York Post, probably waiting for their shifts to start. Other men exited looking weary, very likely having driven a cab for twelve straight hours. She and Oliver walked through a set of double-doors and into a massive garage. Yellow cabs were parked in rows extending all the way toward the back. An orange-vested man directed traffic in and out, cabs coming in or leaving. Oliver scanned the huge space for a moment, then tugged her along the perimeter toward the offices visible from the floor. A woman with a clipboard and a headset stood blocking the entrance, but she nodded and stepped aside when Oliver mentioned an Italian-sounding man’s name. It brought them into a hallway with offices on either side, which led them to a cafeteria-style room. Tables and chairs were arranged around the room in no particular pattern, all of them occupied.

Eliza watched as Oliver made eye-contact with a burly, mustached man sitting in a group. He nodded toward a table in the corner where a girl sat alone, eating an apple and reading a book. Even from this distance, Eliza could see it was T.S. Elliot. Definitely Frankie. Eliza tightened her fingers around Oliver’s hand to reassure him as they walked toward the girl. As if she had some kind of sensor, both of her unusally light-colored eyes flashed up to watch them approach, but she didn’t lower the book.

“It would appear you’re in the wrong place, folks,” Frankie said with an accent that made Eliza think of the Mets. Or Marisa Tomei. “You’re a good fifteen blocks from Bergdorf’s.”

“So this isn’t going to be easy,” Oliver muttered for Eliza’s ears alone. They stopped at the edge of her table. Still, Frankie didn’t lower the book. It might count the first time in history Eliza witnessed a girl completely ignore Oliver. “Actually, we’re here to see you, Frankie. I’m Oliver Preston from the Adele Preston Scholarship Fund.”

Her mouth paused in the act of chewing the apple. Without missing a beat, she gave the mustached man her middle finger. “Last time I tell you anything, Joe.”

“Hear ’em out, would ya?” The man called back, shifting on his bench. “I’m sick of your scrawny ass sitting around the place, reading books and making us all look bad. Go do something.”

Frankie’s cheeks turned red, and she let the book drop to the table. Now that Eliza had a full view of the other girl’s face, she realized how pretty Frankie was underneath the baseball cap and grease-smudged face. After a moment wherein she looked to be deliberating with herself, Frankie crossed her arms. “Looks like I don’t have a choice. Have a seat, if you don’t mind your clothes getting dirty.”

They exchanged a look and sat. “I’m confused, Ms. De Luca,” Oliver started. “Why did you apply for the scholarship if you don’t want it?”

She popped a piece of gum into her mouth and shrugged. “I just wanted to know I could do it.”

Oliver nodded as if that were the most obvious answer in the world. “How do you intend to pay for Columbia Business School without the scholarship? Why turn it down?”

“I’m going to do it on my own.” She picked up her half-eaten apple and tossed it into a brown paper bag. “I don’t need some rich guy telling me I’m worthy and handing me a wad of cash. The diploma will only be worth a damn to me if I didn’t take any handouts along the way.”