“Holy crap, Gracie, did you see that?”
Grace looked up into her best friend’s face. Kayla Green’s mouth was hanging open. Grace was just waiting for the drool to start. There was no question in Grace’s mind that Kayla was talking about Sean Johansson. Grace shushed her. “He’s in Matt’s office.”
“Are you serious? Can I go in?”
“No. Back down, girl. He’s a client. You can’t jump the clients.”
Kayla set her hip against the desk and a saucy smile covered her sweet face. “I bet that one is used to getting jumped. I swear, I thought I was dreaming when he walked in, Grace. He looks like a…I don’t know what he looks like, but that man is sex on a stick.”
“A Viking.” The words were out of her mouth before she could call them back.
Kayla’s brown eyes went wide. “Oh my god, has your libido come back online? Hallelujah! Now, I think the Viking is a little much to start with, but I have some men in mind.”
“Whoa! Don’t you start on that.” If she didn’t put a stop to it, Kayla would have her own version of speed dating going in under five minutes. She would be fielding calls about dates from everyone from Kayla’s deadbeat brother to the UPS guy. Kayla collected single men’s numbers like others collected bobblehead dolls or stamps. “I’m old, not blind, Kay. I’d have to be blind not to notice that young man.”
“He isn’t that young, Grace. And you aren’t old. Forty isn’t old.”
“Forty with two kids in college sure as hell feels old. I doubt that puppy in there has even contemplated having kids. He’s a boy.”
Kayla shook her head. “You were wrong about being blind. That was a man if I ever saw one.” Kayla looked like she wanted to argue further, but simply sighed. “Fine. I get it. You’re willing to read about dirty, nasty sex, but you won’t let yourself have some. One of these days you’re going to wake up and realize that life has passed you by. I’ll be right by your side telling you I told you so.”
“Gee, that sounds lovely, Kay.” And possibly prophetic.
“If the boss is busy, what do you say we go to the salad bar for lunch and then get our toes done?”
Grace smiled up at her friend, eager to accept the invitation.
“I’m afraid the pedicure is going to have to wait, ladies.” Sean Johansson stood in the doorway, his big body filling the space to bursting. He leaned negligently against the wall, and Grace had the sudden worry that he’d heard way too much of their conversation. “Grace is going to join us for lunch.”
“I am?” The words croaked out of her throat.
His smile was steady and sure. “You are.”
Sean moved out of the way as Matt walked up behind him.
“Come on, Grace. Sean here thinks we need your brilliant brain to help us poor males out.” He was already pulling off his tie. If this was anything like Matt’s other lunchtime meetings, he wouldn’t come back to the office. Grace really hoped he would be sober at the end of the day. “And Gracie, bring something along to take notes.”
Matt was out the door and waiting by the elevator before Grace could grab her purse.
Sean Johansson waited patiently by her desk. His hand came out gallantly to take the large briefcase she carried just about everywhere. He briefly introduced himself to Kayla, and then his hand came out again to help Grace from her chair. His big hand enveloped her small one as he steadied her. He held her hand for a second or two longer than needed. When he let go, Grace felt the loss of his warmth. He offered her his arm as though they were a lord and lady from another time.
“Shall we?”
No. No. They really shouldn’t. It was a bad idea. Grace shook it off. He was a businessman looking for a good deal. She was the boss’s admin. Every halfway decent corporate executive knew the admin was the lifeline to the boss. Grace plastered a bright smile on her face and gave Kay a wink. She could flirt just as well as Sean Johansson could.
“I believe I could use a margarita, Mr. Johansson.”
“It’s Sean, Grace. I’ve heard this place has the best in North Texas. The drinks better be good because I would hate to disappoint you.” He started to lead her out. “And Grace, nice shoes.”
She looked down at the purple peep toes she’d selected this morning. They were the only color in her outfit. She was wearing a black skirt and gray top. The purple seemed to give her a little personality. Now she wondered what those purple, four-inch heels would look like propped on Sean Johansson’s shoulders.
She was definitely going to need that margarita.
* * * *
Evan Parnell strode outside the building. He looked up and down the sidewalk and then carefully planted himself behind a large bush. He pulled out a cigarette, just another guy on a smoke break in a city that didn’t let a man’s vice inside its sanctified walls. He watched as the Mercedes pulled out of the parking lot with three occupants inside.
Damn it, he didn’t like this. They were so close, and Matt had to try to reel in some asshole corporate account? Matt should be concentrating on the goddamn Bryson Building. That was where they would score. Everything else was a distraction.
And distractions cost lives. Of course, they could be helpful on occasion. He chuckled as he thought about the last distraction he’d created. He’d enjoyed his brief time as an “ecoterrorist.” It had put the Agency off him and gotten him a small army of devoted “soldiers.” He had a couple of true believers, and they made excellent pawns. All he had to do was start a couple of fires, ruin some equipment, and suddenly no one was worried about his real activities.
He let his eyes drift across the skyline. He could see the Bryson Building. It was a large, nondescript building like most of the structures that made up Fort Worth’s skyline. It was absolutely perfect because it housed the Texas Natural Gas Corporation. Not that he actually gave a damn about TNG, but it was the perfect cover. He couldn’t see the west side. It was in a small office on the west side of the building that he would make his final, biggest score, and then he could retire.
In another week or so, he would be in Southeast Asia soaking up the sun and fucking as many girls as his dick could handle. Well, he would be if his brother didn’t screw everything up.
Evan took a long drag off his cigarette. He wasn’t looking forward to another round of plastic surgery, but it would be necessary. Evan Parnell would have to disappear the same way Patrick Wright had, and this time he wouldn’t have Agency resources. They’d trained him well. Maybe if they’d paid him as well as they had trained him, he wouldn’t have gone rogue.