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“Triggered? You’re suggesting I did something to deserve all this?”
“Not at all. As I said, I need the facts—”
“Then ask someone on my team. I’m sure they’ll gladly fill you in. Ask Deborah. My PR team. Whoever is willing to talk. Whatever they know will be enough.”
My intuition had been spot-on. “You don’t want me here.”
“No. Someone on my team contacted you and set up this meeting without my approval. I suggest you handle this directly with them.”
“I have handled multiple cases like this, Mr. Davenport. I know how to stop fires from escalating, and most importantly, how to stop them before they hurt innocents too.”
Something flashed in his eyes—I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it wasn’t annoyance. It was the first time I felt something other than hostility from his side. If anything, he looked vulnerable.
I dismissed the thought as overactive imagination as he rose from the armchair, headed toward his desk, and leaned that sculpted ass against it, crossing his arms over his chest. I maintained eye contact the entire time, refusing to allow my gaze to wander over those spectacularly toned arms or chest. I rose too.
“Speak to Deborah, or anyone else. Don’t care who.”
Asshole.
“To make this as short and painless as possible, I need your full cooperation, and I need you to follow my instructions. Your natural inclination seems to be to go against both these things.”
“You got a good read on me.” Those blue eyes turned cold again.
He unhitched himself from the desk, walking toward me. He stopped right in front of me. Because I was wearing high-heeled stilettos, he was only a notch taller than me, but somehow I still felt like he dominated the space between us. The tension he emanated wired me up, making me aware of how close he was. I couldn’t avert my gaze without seeming a coward, yet maintaining eye contact seemed dangerous in a way I couldn’t describe, or frankly, understand. Everything about his appearance was groomed to perfection. The skin on his jaw and cheeks was smooth, the scent of his aftershave hinted that he’d shaved this morning. His gray suit jacket clad his shoulders and arms tightly.
“I don’t work well with strangers, and I don’t do what others tell me,” he said in a low voice.
“Then I’m afraid I’d be wasting your time, and you’d be wasting mine.”
He bristled. I bet that no one had dared tell him that he was wasting their time. I waited for him to challenge me, because there was more where that came from, but he simply observed me intently. The muscles in my belly strummed tight, and my breath caught. I was determined not to let on how much he affected me, though. I was mad at myself for finding Reid attractive despite his hostility. I was never one to be blindsided by looks. I’d always searched for something to build a connection on. There was nothing here, but I still felt the impulse to stay and help, even though he obviously didn’t want me here.
“Well then, Ms. Connor, it will be smarter to go our separate ways. That way no one wastes anyone’s time. You can bill me for your time today.” He returned to his desk, leaning against the edge.
“There will be no need.”
He was really a piece of work, wasn’t he? This was pointless. Cameron would agree with me. Difficult clients were a time suck.
I should have just left, but I was rooted to the spot.
Maybe because Marion had come off as a manipulative gold digger in my research, or because the lack of any sort of public response usually correlated with the silent party having been either blindsided or still grieving.
Of course, I could have read the situation completely wrong, and Reid could very well be the insensitive asshole Marion was describing. I was getting more partial to the asshole part by the minute, but I felt compelled to give it one last try. Instead of walking straight out the door, I headed toward him, taking a business card out of my purse and laying it on the desk at his side.
“I’m very good at what I do, Mr. Davenport. This is my number in case you change your mind. But only bother to use it if you’re willing to give a little.”
Chapter Two
Reid
“Aww, you know I only realize how much you really love me in moments like these,” Bianca said, trying on a wide belt, glancing at herself in the mirror.
“And in the rest of the time, you don’t?”
“Well, yes. But I know you hate shopping, and yet... here you are. Lately, I think I’m the only person who can lure you out of your lair.”
“Bee-Bee,” I warned, even though she wasn’t wrong.
She pointed a finger at me. “Told you not to call me that. What would m
