Hot Asset (21 Wall Street #1)(14)

“Exactly,” I mutter, both relieved and annoyed that she’s getting a read on the situation so quickly.

In addition to Sabrina Cross knowing me like the back of her hand, courtesy of our long history, she also just knows people. Sabrina’s a fixer. She’s the person you call when you need help with . . . well, anything. Need a fake girlfriend? Call Sabrina. Someone to blackmail your wife so your wife will stop blackmailing you? Sabrina. Someone to sweet-talk a judge, put a rush on your passport, or get your delinquent kid into that prestigious school? Sabrina knows someone who knows someone who can help. For a price.

In my case, the price is friendship. Besides Dave, she’s the one person who’s as much a part of my new life as she was my old life. Sabrina’s the only person who’s ever really known both sides of me—the foster kid from Philly and the Wall Street hotshot.

Sabrina’s been there through it all.

And for the love of God, please don’t turn this into some grand romantic story. Aside from an awkward make-out session in freshman year of high school, which we both declared almost unbearably gross, it’s never been like that between us.

Sabrina’s one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen, and yet there’s not a lick of sexual chemistry between us. I love her like a sister. Hell, she even looks like my sister. We’ve got the same dark hair, blue eyes, olive skin, and shitty, shitty pasts.

Although, while my upbringing was somewhere between dismal and frustrating, hers was downright unbearable. Drug-addict mom, barely there dad, shithead brother. Made my foster parents and their blatant indifference seem kind.

“So let’s hear it,” Sabrina says, pushing her soggy Caesar salad around her plate. “You only drag me to this tourist trap with crappy food when you need to ask me for something and you don’t want Wall Street to know about it.”

I nod in thanks as the waiter brings another drink. He doesn’t ask if my barely touched burger is okay, probably because he knows how overcooked it is, how stale the bun is, and doesn’t want to deal with it. I don’t mind. It’s a liquid-lunch kind of day anyway.

“I need Vanessa Lewis.”

Sabrina lets out a long breath. “Damn. You don’t ask for favors often, but when you do, they’re whoppers. If you think I’m exclusive with the clientele I take on, Vanessa’s even more exclusive.”

“Why do you think I called you? I’ve called her office; she won’t give me the time of day, and I need her to. She’s the best damn defense attorney in the city. If she got Ray Iris off charges of that Ponzi scheme, she can get me out of bogus insider-trading accusations.”

Sabrina swirls her wine. “She only takes on clients she believes to be innocent. She likes to win, but only when she believes it’s truly justice.”

“Which is what this would be,” says a newcomer.

Sabrina and I both glance up to see Matt Cannon plop down on her other side.

“How the hell did you find us?” I ask.

“Please,” he says, reaching over, picking up Sabrina’s fork, and taking a bite of her salad. “You always come here when you’re in a mood. God only knows why.” He points the fork at the salad. “That is disgusting.” He washes it down with a sip of her wine.

“By all means,” she purrs in a dangerous voice that generally means die. “What’s mine is yours.”

“Really?” he asks, turning toward her, his gaze dropping to her cleavage.

“Go ahead. Try it,” she says. “I’ve been in a castration sort of mood lately.”

I wince. “Can you two kids pretend to get along, just until the end of this meal?”

Matt jerks his chin toward my plate. “What’s that?”

Wordlessly, I hand him the plate.

“Are we aware of the SEC agent at ten o’clock?” Matt asks, taking a bite of the burger without looking toward Lara’s table.

“Yes. We’re ignoring her,” Sabrina says.

I nod in agreement, though, truth be told, it’s taking every ounce of willpower not to glance her way. I refuse to give her the satisfaction, even if I’m starved for a look. Interaction. Anything.

It’s been three days since we went toe to toe in the conference room with only a Starbucks Frappuccino between us. A day and a half since the guys told me to steer clear of her.

And I’ve been aware of every damn minute.

Partially because it goes against my nature to sit on my hands and bide my time, but also because the sheer challenge of her makes me feel alive.

“Ian wants Vanessa Lewis,” Sabrina says, filling Matt in on our conversation.

Matt nods. “As he should. But I told him you couldn’t get her.”

I roll my eyes. He told me no such thing, but I know what he’s up to. A bull with a red cape waved in its face has more restraint than Sabrina when Matt issues a challenge. They’re two of my best friends, but their relationship with each other is contentious on a good day.

“It’s Vanessa Lewis,” Sabrina says in exasperation. “Her schedule’s booked up for years—”

“Isn’t that why everyone pays you the big bucks?” Matt asks, pulling her napkin off her lap and using it to wipe ketchup from his bottom lip. “Because you’re supposed to be the best at getting people what they want? Get Vanessa for Ian.”