Suddenly One Summer (FBI/US Attorney #6)(32)

Her expression softened a bit. “If it makes you feel better, I benefit from this, too. My firm has made a commitment to take on a certain number of pro bono cases each year. And your sister’s case seems like a worthy cause to me.”

When she said it like that, Ford almost believed that was all this was—a high-priced lawyer needing to do a little charity work for PR reasons. But his instincts said that there was more than met the eye when it came to the woman sitting across from him.

Still, he tabled that issue for now, since he was up against the clock here. “So, I struck out with phase one in my search for Peter Sutter.”

She leaned back in her chair. “And phase one was . . . ?”

“Social media searches. I’d thought maybe I’d find the guy on Facebook or Twitter, but no such luck. Which brings me to phase two of my search . . . but phase two is more complicated and will take me longer to explain. And you have a Mr. Ulrich waiting.”

“I do. But I think my Monday schedule is a little better.” She turned toward her computer, as if about to check her calendar.

“Monday?” He laughed at the ridiculousness of that. “You live ten feet from me, Victoria. I’m not making an appointment to see you next week when we can easily talk this weekend.”

“Who said I’m even around this weekend?”

“Well, are you?” When she didn’t immediately respond, he smiled, knowing he had her. “Remember, the hair dryer doesn’t lie.”

“I suppose I could stop by your place tonight, after work.” She paused, her lips curving up at the corners. “That is, if I can squeeze my way in between the cavalcade.”

“Couldn’t resist getting that in one more time, could you?” He stood up. “You know, you are going to be so disappointed when I turn out not to fit into whatever ‘womanizing player’ box you’ve put me in.”

“I haven’t put you in any box.” When he gave her a look, she cheekily made a small square with her fingers. “Okay. Maybe a little one.”

* * *

SITTING AT HER desk, Victoria leaned to the side and watched as Ford strode down the hallway to the exit.

Of course he would show up, unannounced, at her office. The man clearly had no sense of boundaries. Not to mention, he was entirely too confident with his little I’m-not-making-an-appointment-to-see-you edict. And also just generally irritating.

Great ass, though.

Broad shoulders, too. Lean hips. A bit of a swagger in his step that made a woman think—

“So? Did I hear you’re meeting him tonight?”

Startled by the voice, Victoria jumped and quickly righted herself in her desk chair. She looked at Will, who grinned knowingly from the doorway.

“It’s not like that,” she said, cutting him off at the pass.

“Hmm, isn’t somebody quick with the denial. I was simply wondering if I should block off an hour for your meeting tonight. Or do you need more time to conduct your business with the ruggedly Adonic man who sleeps ten feet from you?”

She threw up her hands in frustration. “Why does everyone feel the need to keep pointing that out? I’m well aware of where the man sleeps.”

“I bet you are.” Will’s tone was sly as he left her office.

Clearly, she needed to start being more Badass Boss–like in their relationship, if she was actually paying to be mocked like this. “And I don’t think ‘Adonic’ is actually a word,” she called out, determined to at least get the last word in.

Five seconds later, Will e-mailed her the link to Merriam-Webster.com.

Damn, that man was good.

Eleven

SHORTLY BEFORE SEVEN o’clock, Victoria knocked on Ford’s front door. She’d run late with her deposition that afternoon, and then had stopped at her condo to drop off her briefcase. While there, she’d debated whether to change out of her suit and heels, and then had thought better of it. Yes, it was a Friday evening, but after her conversation with Will, she felt it was important to underscore that this was a work meeting. She would simply pop into Ford’s place for a few minutes, get the lowdown on the search for Peter Sutter, and then be on her way.

To her surprise, however, it wasn’t Ford who greeted her.

Instead, a thirtysomething man with a shock of spiky, jet-black hair and dressed in a T-shirt and workout shorts answered the door. One of the guys who’d been with Ford that night at The Violet Hour, if memory served.

His eyes widened when he saw her. “Wow. I picked the wrong building to live in. And I just said that out loud, didn’t I? Shit.”

“Said what out loud?” Victoria asked, deadpan.

It took him a moment, and then he grinned. “Ooh . . . you’re funny, too.” He held out his hand faux earnestly. “Hi, I’m Tucker. Will you marry me?”

“Don’t you think it’s time you retired that lame line? You’ve been using that since college,” said a man from behind him.

“It’s not lame, it shows off my wry sense of humor and makes a good icebreaker.” Tucker turned back to Victoria for agreement. “Right? Good icebreaker?”

Before she could answer, a second man, holding a bottled beer, appeared in the doorway—the guy in the hipster hat whom Audrey had been eyeing at The Violet Hour.

“Hello, Ford’s new neighbor,” he cheerfully greeted her, extending his hand. “I’m Charlie. We hear you’re a divorce lawyer or something.” He cocked his head. “Huh. Have we met before? You look familiar.”