No. Fucking. Way.
Hearing my silent denial, Josie winks before faintly nodding, as if to say,Yes. Fucking. Way.
Is that why our plans altered? The one lie Josie didn’t deliver tonight was our change of location. We had every intention of dining at a burger and wings joint a few miles out of town. It was only after Josie took an unexpected call did she request a switch up.
When suspicion consumes me, I take a step back. Does she know Regan is on the FBI’s radar? If so, why is she pushing us together? She can’t be acting on Theresa’s “do anything and everything to get my man” stance, or she would have initiated contact hours ago. But what other reason would she have to change our plans from a twenty dollar a plate meal to one that made my eyes water while scanning the menu?
I answer my own question when a man with jet black hair and blue eyes pops out of the elevator next to ours. He darts across the marbled foyer, his brisk steps shadowed by a large, Maui looking man.
“Mark, hi,” Josie presses a phone against her ear, “you’re waiting outside?”
I’m trained to notice the lack of illumination from her phone screen when she pivots to face the door the blue-eyed man just darted through. Regan isn’t as clued in as me. She floats back a few paces, giving Josie privacy she doesn’t deserve.
“I’ll be right there. Just give me a sec to say goodbye to my friends.” She pulls her cell away from her ear and slides it into her clutch purse. Rookie mistake. All good agents know you push the end button to make your call look legitimate.
“Mark is waiting outside for me. Little twit locked himself out of our apartment. It was lovely seeing you again.” Her words come out in a flurry, her eagerness to leave uncontained.
"Play nice with this one, Alex. I like her spunk. If you don't snap her up, the Bureau might," she mutters in my ear when she leans in to press a kiss to my cheek.
Her comment annoys me more than it pleases me, but I’m left void of a retort when her focus returns to Regan. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Regan. No matter what this klutz does tonight, I still want that bottle of wine.”
Regan smiles, then nods. She’s uncomfortable with Josie’s overfriendliness, but it’s growing on her. “I’ll have a bottle or two delivered to you later this week.”
Josie is so eager to hunt down her target, she nods before practically sprinting out of the lobby. She is lost in a sea of foot traffic within seconds of dashing through the revolving glass door.
Confident her ruse has no chance of being broken, my eyes drift to Regan. She has an odd expression on her face. It doesn’t reflect joy or humility. In all honesty, she looks a little constipated.
Noticing I’ve spotted her odd expression, Regan straightens her spine. “So you’re not just an accountant who dabbles in cabinetry on your days off; you go on dates with married woman while wearing holey jeans and shoes only teenage boys should wear.”
I quirk my lips before doing a halfhearted nod. Unamused by my blasé reply, Regan rolls her eyes before pushing off her feet.
For some stupid reason, I follow after her. "Admit it: you would have hammered my outfit whether I was wearing dress shoes or flip flops."
“Flip flops would have gotten you tossed out of the restaurant, saving Josie the embarrassment of being seen with you looking like. . .that.”
“Hey!” It’s lucky her voice is laced with cheekiness, or my ego would have been insulted. “Josie likes my casual look.”So do you; you’re just too afraid to admit it.“She said I reminded her of Nate fromGossip Girl.”
“That wasn’t a compliment,” Regan advises with a giggle.
My strides cease. “It wasn’t? Why?”
I’m not acting daft; I seriously want to know. Wasn’t Nate one of the rich guys? If so, shouldn’t that instantly make him top shit?
“Nate was a pathological liar who had an inability to love,” Regan explains.
“Gossip Girlfan?” I ask, shocked by her quick-witted reply.
She shakes her head. “No. I’ve never watched an episode. I’m just good at studying people for who they truly are.” She stops walking to rake her eyes down my body. “Hmm. Now that I think about it, Josie’s assessment was fairly accurate.”
She friskily winks before continuing for the door.
Chapter Twelve
My snappy remark stumps Alex for barely a second. His frozen state doesn’t last long enough to weaken the energy bristling between us the past ten minutes, but it gives me a moment of reprieve.
I'm so shocked, my mouth is bone dry from the number of times it was left hanging open in the elevator. Alex can't be an accountant. Nothing against them, I love my accountant, Jerry. He claims my excessively priced dresses and shoes as a tax write-off since it is my job to look presentable, but the portion of his stomach that sticks out the bottom of his polo shirt is hairier than his head. He drinks orange juice from the carton and talks when his mouth is full. He is a grommet.
Alex is not.
