The teenager leaned back in his chair with an audible thud, a sneer of disgust distorting his features. He stabbed the pinky finger and forefinger of his left hand at the screen. "She's wearing a suit," he accused.
"Er, that's only because we make her wear one in the office." Bob winked at Annie. "She's really one wild girl. She rides a motorbike to work and parties all night. Oh yeah, and she always comes to work hungover, don't you Annie?"
She blinked at him. The person he'd described sounded disgusting. It may be exactly what Dug-E wanted in an agent, but it was an outright lie.
"Annie?" Bob prompted, his face turning salmon pink when she didn't answer straight away.
"Yeah," she drawled. What the hell—she'd go along with his plan. For now. "I'm real...bad."
The relief on Bob's face was worth the effort, if nothing else. At least that dangerous reddish tinge subsided.
But Dug-E didn't look convinced. "What sort of bike?"
Uh-oh. Think, Annie, think. "A Ducati," she said on a breath, recalling a name from one of the bikes in the motorcycle shop she passed on her way to work.
It must have been the right one. Dug-E looked impressed. He grinned and nodded. "Fine," he crooned. "Real fine. How does she do?"
She? Do? Were they still talking about a bike? "Um, good. Rides like...the wind." Annie felt the men around her cringe. Well, it was the best she could come up with on short notice. "She's a beautiful piece of metal," she added.
"She's more than metal, Lady, she's a sweet piece of ass."
"Yeah, sweet."
Dug-E's expression sobered and his face became a blank canvas. She could practically hear the cogs slowly grinding in his brain. Then he brightened. He pointed both be-ringed forefingers at the screen. "Okay, I'll give her a chance. But if she doesn't live up to my high standards, I'm going with Jamieson and Jamieson."
Pity his high standards didn't extend to his personal grooming.
Bob made an appointment with Dug-E's mother and the screen flickered off with her waving at the camera and Dug-E looking bored. Then he turned to his agents, eyes sparkling. "Okay, Annie, you're our girl. Go for it."
She blinked at him. "Go for it? Are you insane? Have you lost your mind?"
"What's wrong? You're perfect for this."
"Perfect! You just made me sound like a...a rebel." She threw her hands in the air. "I don't know anything about motorbikes or parties or drinking beer. I haven't been drunk since 2006 and even then it was only because someone spiked my soda. I'm not my father, Bob." Nor was she the daughter Reg McCallum had wanted her to be. He'd wanted a wild child, like himself. A party animal and socialite. He'd got a daughter whose idea of rebelling was to go to the library after school instead of straight home.
Bob shrugged. "Then you'll learn." He nodded at the other agents. They stood and left the room. When the door closed behind them he placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. On anyone else it would be a threatening move, but on a big teddy bear like Bob it was hard not to smile.
"Look, Annie, you're our last chance. You're the only agent under thirty here. Hell, you're the only agent under fifty. We need you on this one. We can't lose Dug-E to Jamiesons."
"Why not? He's a snotty-nosed little—"
"Now, now. It's attitude like that that sends the kids elsewhere." He wagged a disapproving finger at her but there was no real admonishment in his tone.
"But I'm no hip and happening young thing, Bob. I can't give Dug-E what he wants. I don't know what boys his age do."
"Don't worry. I've got the perfect person to teach you."
She narrowed her eyes. "Teach me what?"
"To ride a motorbike for starters."
"You're really going to make me get on one of those dangerous things? I could get killed."
"Calm down, Annie, you won't be killed. He's a great teacher. He'll make sure you don't even fall off."
She rolled her eyes. "Gee thanks. Is he going to teach me how to drink beer, swear like a sailor and flash my br**sts at passing trucks?"
He grinned. "If you ask him nicely."
She crossed her arms and tried hard to swallow her simmering temper. Bob had been good to her, giving her a chance. He may have done it in memory of his best friend, but he'd stuck by her even though she didn't bring in as many clients as her father had. She owed him and she would love to repay him by getting Dug-E. But did she have to drink beer?
"So who is this amazing teacher?"
"A friend of mine. We've known each other for fifteen years."
"Fifteen? How old is he?"
"Thirty-four."
"Isn't that too old to be a rebel?"
At least thirty-four was better than eighteen. He might not be as juvenile as Dug-E. Although he was male...
"He's perfect for the job."
She groaned. The noose tightened. "I can't wait to meet him. What's his name?"
"Zack DiMarco."
She laughed, but Bob didn't join in. "The millionaire?"
"No. The billionaire."
"Why would Zack DiMarco teach me to ride a motorbike and drink beer?"
"Because we go way back."
"You must be close."
He shrugged. "I'll give him a call. I'm sure he'll free up some time to take you on as a student."
"Yeah." She sighed. "What better things does a millionaire have to do but teach me to be a rebel?"
"Billionaire."
***
Zack answered his cell phone on the third ring. "Yo."
"Zack? It's Bob."
Zack broke into a smile at the sound of his friend's voice. "Hey, Bob. Long time no see. How's business?"
"Great. The most lucrative deal of the decade just landed on McCallum and Horton's table."
"Yeah?" Zack saved the spreadsheet on his laptop and closed the file. The financials of Deet Electric could wait. It wasn't often Bob called him. It must be important.
"We've got the chance to sign up a young rapper, Dug-E Dug—"
"That's his name?" Zack laughed. "Sounds like a gardening tools manufacturer I bought last week."