Hot Asset (21 Wall Street #1)(19)

“And once you realized I wasn’t alone?”

Her cheeks color, just a bit—so subtle I wouldn’t notice if I hadn’t been watching her so closely. “I thought she might be a source. Someone who could prove helpful to my case.”

I grin and call her bluff. “Bullshit. You thought she was my girlfriend.”

“Actually, no,” she says calmly. “I figured you and she were trying not to be seen together.”

“Why the hell would I want that?”

She shrugs. “Perhaps she’s involved with someone else.”

“Jesus Christ,” I snap. “It’s bad enough you accuse me of being a criminal, now I’m stealing other men’s women?”

“You forget I’ve been spending an entire week researching every facet of your life. The women you’re romantically connected to take up an entire legal pad.”

“But none of them is married!” I explode. I may be a son of a bitch, but I’ve got morals. I don’t take what’s not mine.

“So she’s not a girlfriend, nor a source.”

“No,” I growl. “She’s a friend, and she’s got nothing to do with your BS case, so leave her the hell out of it.”

“A friend,” Lara says, her voice skeptical. “When she looks like that, and you look like that . . .” She breaks off, her eyes widening in horror as she realizes what she’s said.

I don’t bother to hide my grin as I lace my fingers behind my head and lean back in my chair. “I look like what, Ms. McKenzie?”

This time her blush is unmistakable. She uncrosses her legs, then crosses them again, and I grin wider.

“I’ve got to say, seeing you uncomfortable is the most gratifying thing I’ve seen in days.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

I lift my eyebrows. “You’re practically twitching.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re killing your orchid,” she snaps.

“Nice evasion, but some of us can manage the job and the flower.”

I mean it flippantly, but I regret it as soon as I say it, because if her cheeks were flushed before, now they’re white.

Shit. I’m an ass.

“Ms. McKenzie—”

“Save it,” she snaps, holding up a hand. “You know, I think we’d better save this meeting for another time.”

“Look, I’m sorry about the flower comment—”

“It’s not that,” she says too quickly. “I just don’t have anything to take notes on.”

“Horseshit. I hurt your feelings—”

“Please stop,” she says, standing. “That’s what I’ve been trying to make clear to you since the beginning. None of this is about feelings. It’s business. I’m on your calendar for next Thursday. If you can fit me in sooner, I’d appreciate it. I’m sure we both want to get this wrapped up—”

A knock at the door interrupts her.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice rough with irritation.

Kate pokes her head in, ignoring Lara altogether. “Mr. Bradley, Vanessa Lewis is here to see you.”

Lara whirls around, eyes wide and shocked.

It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for, and though I force a cocky grin, it feels hollow. I want to win this, obviously, to have the allegations disproven and my name cleared. But my winning means Lara losing. For the first time since this all started, the idea doesn’t fill me with victory.

“Vanessa Lewis is your attorney,” Lara says, her voice stunned.

It’s not just us on Wall Street who know Vanessa’s reputation for only taking clients she believes to be innocent. The SEC knows it, too.

I turn my attention back to Kate. “Send Ms. Lewis in. Ms. McKenzie was just leaving.”

“I was,” Lara says, lifting her chin, confidence restored as she turns on her heel and walks toward the door. When she’s shoulder to shoulder with Kate, she stops. “By the way, he’s overwatering it. Congratulations, it should be dead in no time.”

Kate gives a startled look toward the orchid, then an assessing look after Lara, who doesn’t turn back as she heads down the hall. “Is it weird that I might like her?” Kate asks.

No, I think.

What’s weird is that I know I like her.





10

LARA

Week 2: Wednesday Morning

“Lara, hi!” Steve Ennis looks up from his desk, blinking in surprise to see me standing in his doorway. “Thought you were at Wolfe today.”

“I’m headed there next. I just needed to pick up a couple things from my desk.” And was hoping to catch you.

I keep telling myself I’m paranoid, but I’m fairly certain my boss is avoiding me. I’ve sent him three e-mails in as many days, and he hasn’t replied to any. Nor has he returned my two voice mails.

“You got a minute?” I ask when he doesn’t invite me in.

“Sure. Sure, come on in,” he says, closing the folder he was perusing. “Shut the door.”

The difference between Steve’s office and Ian’s is almost comical. Both are fancy but generic office settings, but one’s from lack of budget, the other from lack of caring.