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“It looks perfect for my needs, I admit,” he finally decided as he laid the papers on top of the open file and looked up. “I’ll have my assistant contact Ms. Westbrook in the morning to arrange a time to meet. If everything works out, we could discuss the lease within the next few days.”
It was all Poppy could do to keep the satisfaction from her expression. Cool and professional, she inclined her head in agreement.
Armstrong closed the file, his handsome features now shifting from business to charm. Just what she was hoping wouldn’t happen.
She glanced discreetly at the small watch she wore on her arm, a silent indication that it was time for her to leave, then caught the waiter’s eye with a nod for the bill.
“Dinner’s on me,” he told her as she glanced back at him.
“Crossfield-Dawson is more than happy to pay for the meal.” She smiled. “My bosses would have my head otherwise, Mr. Armstrong.”
“Well, we couldn’t have that,” he told her, frankly admiring. “Tell me, Ms. Porter—”
“Steven? I didn’t realize you were in the area.” Smooth, cultured, and amused, a feminine voice spoke behind Poppy in a familiar, welcoming tone.
Poppy knew who it was before the woman and her husband paused at the table to greet Armstrong.
“Kira. Ian.” He rose to his feet with a pleased smile and kissed Kira on the cheek before shaking Ian’s hand.
Kira Richards was beautiful. She had to be in her fifties but appeared much younger. As did her husband, the son of a cartel kingpin whose date-rape drug had destroyed dozens of lives across the nation more than a decade before.
“Allow me to introduce Ms. Poppy Porter of Crossfield-Dawson,” he said, nodding to Poppy.
“Good evening.” She nodded at the couple.
“Join us for drinks,” Ian Richards all but ordered, his grown eyes a rich, almost honey brown as he looked back and forth at them. “I’d like to discuss a security concern, if you don’t mind.”
Steven didn’t appear ingratiating or overly pleased, which she gave him kudos for, but he nodded all the same.
“Shall we?” He turned to her as though it were assumed that she’d agree.
“I have to decline. Work tomorrow.” Poppy excused herself as she made to push her chair back.
Ian Richards was there instantly, easing it back and allowing her to rise to her feet as he smiled down at her pleasantly.
She murmured her thanks before turning to the waiter and signing the check that would put the bill on the Crossfield-Dawson account, along with a nice tip.
“You should join us,” Ian said. “I hear we have a friend in common. Jack Bridger.”
There was a gleam of calculating interest in Ian Richards’s gaze that she found distinctly uncomfortable.
“We’re acquainted,” she informed him. “I wouldn’t say ‘friends’ exactly, but he is a neighbor.” She gave the couple another cool smile. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s late, and I need to get home.” She turned back to her client. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Steven,” she said sincerely. “I look forward to seeing you again soon.”
She didn’t run from the restaurant, but she didn’t hesitate or waste time leaving, either.
The Richardses’ appearance wasn’t welcome, as far as she was concerned. She’d met Kira several times at the small boutique in town that Poppy’s friend Lilith owned. She’d liked the woman, and hated that she hadn’t known who she was at the time.
Leaving the restaurant, she was aware of the Harley parked not far from her SUV and the man sitting on it as the motor idled with a dangerous throb.
Her eyes narrowed, lips thinning as she wondered just what the hell he was doing there. Probably waiting to meet with Richards, she thought caustically.
How could he have changed so much in eight years? she asked herself as she got into her vehicle and started the motor. Making herself accept that he could have changed that much was the most difficult challenge she’d faced in years. Jack had always been a hero in her eyes. A Navy SEAL, one of the good guys. A man who’d risked his own freedom to save her.
The drive home was short, uneventful, but afterward she wished she’d paid more attention to the traffic behind her. If she had, she would have known that the Harley was following her before she turned into the back street that bisected their homes.
Parking, she turned the motor off and left the vehicle as he parked the bike in the area across from hers and hurried to the back walk to the house.
She couldn’t deal with talking to him. What he’d want she had no idea. He hadn’t bothered in past years to talk to her, and she didn’t imagine they had anything to talk about now. But as she walked to her back steps, she realized he was right behind her.
