Desperate Girls (Wolfe Security #1)(41)

The elevator slid open, and he strode down her hallway, passing several women with yoga mats tucked under their arms. One of them definitely gave him the once-over.

“When?” he asked.

“Seven o’clock.”

Erik halted outside her apartment. “That’s in forty minutes.”

No answer.

He let himself inside with his key and saw Hayes standing in the kitchen on the phone.

Brynn emerged from her bedroom with a waft of perfume, and Erik stopped cold.

Short black dress. Tall black heels. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in shiny, coppery waves. She smiled and strode up to him.

“Hey, you’re here.” She slipped her phone into a little black purse. “This mean we can go soon?”

He couldn’t speak. Go soon? Was she serious?

She gazed up at him, all innocence. She’d done that smoky thing with her eyes again and something with her mouth, too.

“We’re not going anywhere,” he told her. “I need to know more about this event. Is it a private club?”

“Some golf club.” She rolled her eyes. “The client invited us. Very exclusive, so security shouldn’t be an issue. It’s a gated club within a gated community.”

“Who’s the client?”

She tucked her purse under her arm. “Potential client. We’re hoping to close him tonight.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Reggie and me.”

“Not Ross?”

“No.”

Erik studied her face as his mind raced with logistical issues. She looked perfectly composed. The stammering, wide-eyed woman from this morning was long gone.

“Who’s the client?” he asked again.

“Daniel Sheffield.”

Erik stared down at her. “Danny Sheffield. First baseman for the Rangers?”

She nodded.

And it all snapped into focus. The last-minute dinner, the dress, Ross not going. Erik tried to rein in his temper—not just about the plan but also about the fact that Brynn seemed on board with it.

“Forty minutes isn’t happening.”

“But—”

“Not happening, Brynn. I need to run his record, check out this club, get people in place—”

“Run his record ?” She fisted a hand on her hip. “He’s our client.”

“I thought you haven’t closed him yet?”

“Whatever. We will close him. If I can get there in time to help Reggie negotiate.” She glanced at her watch. “We need to get moving. I can give you his record on the way. In case you haven’t heard, he was recently arrested for punching a tabloid photographer outside a nightclub, and he’s about to fire his lawyer and hire us, if Reggie and I can convince him over dinner.”

“Tell him seven thirty.”

“Seven thirty! He and his agent are already over there, having drinks in the clubhouse.”

“It’s the best I can do, Brynn. Take it or leave it.”





BRYNN’S LATENESS had just the effect she’d anticipated. As the ma?tre d’ led her to the table, Brynn noted that Reggie looked pissed off while Danny Sheffield and his agent looked well on their way to being toasted.

“So glad you could join us,” Reggie said, standing up.

Danny didn’t bother, just smiled up at her and pulled out the chair beside him.

“You must be Brynn,” he drawled. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Brynn smiled and took the empty chair next to Reggie, who managed not to react to her snubbing the client. He made introductions, praising Brynn’s record and calling her the firm’s “heavy hitter.”

The conversation started flowing, along with the wine. Brynn darted her gaze across the room a few times and noticed that Erik and Hayes had somehow melted into the shadows without attracting attention. It probably helped that many of the club’s members looked like they’d been tossing back Scotches since they came off the golf course.

It was a typical Reggie-led client dinner with a celebrity athlete. Brynn laughed at Danny Sheffield’s jokes, feigned interest in his stories, and pretended to be impressed as he dropped a bunch of names she’d never heard. She demolished her medium-rare filet and carefully nursed the glass of merlot the waiter kept topping off. When the plates were cleared and the second bottle of wine was emptied, Reggie rested his elbows on the table and got down to business.

“You know why we’re here, Danny. Our firm would like to offer you representation.”

The ballplayer leaned back in his leather chair, which was more of a throne. The decor in this room had obviously been selected with male egos in mind.

Danny smiled smugly. “I’ve already got representation.”

It was all so canned, and Brynn wanted to roll her eyes. Instead, she leaned forward.

“For your business affairs, you’ve made the right choice,” she said. “Fischer and Evans is definitely the right firm for you on that front. But for criminal defense work? They’re not a good bet.”

“Is that right?” he said, soaking up the sales pitch.

“That’s right.”

“I been with them for years.” He shrugged. “I trust them. What can I say? Takes time to build that.”