Love Irresistibly (FBI/US Attorney #4)(32)

That was her project for this week. Next week, she would have to oversee the company’s yearly anti-harassment and discrimination training, which was mandatory for all staff at Sterling’s eight Chicago restaurants. After that, it would be something else—there was always something else. Not that she was complaining.

Well, not mostly, anyway.

Shortly after four o’clock that afternoon, Ford called to check in on her. “You’re still planning on making it to the game tomorrow, right?”

Brooke balanced the phone against her shoulder, so she could talk while signing off on the expense reports that Lindsey had prepared for her. “I should be good to go. I’m trying to wrap everything up tonight so that I only need to work on Sunday this weekend.”

“Do you want to meet for lunch before the game?” he asked.

“Yes. But not at Murphy’s,” she said. “I got two beers dumped on me last time we went there before a game.”

“All part of the experience.”

“She who giveth the skybox tickets gets to picketh the restaurant.”

Ford grumbled at that. “Fine. But not Southport Grocery,” he said, referring to a cute brunch spot a few blocks from Wrigley Field, one she’d dragged him to on several occasions.

“Come on. They do awesome egg-white omelettes.”

“Remember that best-friend straw you pulled, the one with the penis attached? That straw does not do brunch before the Cubs/Sox game.”

Lindsey stuck her head into Brooke’s office, interrupting the debate. “You have a visitor. A Mr. Cade Morgan.”

That was a surprise. Brooke had been expecting a phone call, not a personal visit. They hadn’t spoken since their non-date last Friday, although Cade had crossed her mind a time or two. That kiss had been good—really good—but realistically, it wasn’t as if things were going anywhere between them. Like her, he obviously had issues with relationships, given the things he’d told her the other night about his so-called “emotional unavailability.”

“Send him in,” she told Lindsey, before turning back to her conversation with Ford. “I have to run. I’ve got a business meeting to get to.” Technically, that wasn’t even a lie. She and Cade did have a professional relationship. Mostly. “I’ll e-mail you later about lunch tomorrow.”

She hung up the phone, then caught herself checking her hair in the window’s reflection before remembering—oh, right—she wasn’t trying to impress Cade.

“Here you go, Mr. Morgan,” she heard Lindsey say, followed by a familiar rich, masculine voice thanking her secretary. Cade strolled into Brooke’s office a half second later, looking dashing and handsome as ever in his gray three-piece suit.

Oh, Lord.

She’d always had a weakness for three-piece suits.

From the doorway, Lindsey smiled at Brooke. “If you need anything, Brooke, just let me know.” Behind Cade’s back, she silently mouthed one word: Wow.

“Thank you, Lindsey.” Yes, fine, the man was hot. Brooke stood up from her desk, thinking it would be best to keep the door shut. She assumed Cade was there to talk about Sterling’s hacker, which she’d been keeping on the down-low.

As soon as she shut the door, Cade flashed her that thousand-watt smile. “Ms. Parker. How good of you to see me.”

She so was going to regret kissing him, she could already tell. Clearly, he felt that momentary indiscretion gave him leave to look her over, right there in her office, with a very bold, very familiar gaze.

“Mr. Morgan,” she said, emphasizing with her tone that they needed to keep this professional. “I assume you have some information for me?”

He eased back against her bookshelf, making himself right at home. “I have that name you were looking for. Eric Hieber.”

Eric Hieber. Brooke rubbed her hands together eagerly. Ooh, she so was going to fire his computer-hacking, homophobic ass.

As soon as she figured out who in the heck he was.

“Eric Hieber . . . that’s not ringing any bells,” she mused to herself, passing by Cade to look up the name on her computer.

“He’s a waiter at Reilly’s on Grand,” Cade told her. “Twenty-four years old, no priors, been with Sterling for two years. Good friends with Darrell Williams, one of the tech support guys here in the corporate office, who let it slip about a month ago that he’d been bombarded with work doing a software rollout that, among other things, temporarily switched everyone in corporate over to a default password. Hieber insists that Williams has no idea that he’d hacked into the company’s database. He claimed at first that the whole thing was just a joke, although, when pressed, he admitted that he waited on Ian Sterling and a male guest at Reilly’s about five weeks ago, observed that the two men were openly affectionate with each other, and said he was shocked that, quote, ‘A cool dude like Ian Sterling was into that homo crap.’”

When he’d finished, Brooke stared at him in amazement. “How do you know all this?”

“The Secret Service picked up Hieber this morning. I’m told he started crying during questioning when they mentioned the words ‘federal charges’ and ‘bank fraud.’”

Brooke was still trying to catch up. “Hold on. Does that mean your office is taking on the case?”