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Joe grinned. “Should I worry about your relationship with that thing?”
“It’s Isobe
l. She got into the system settings and changed the notification sound for her messages.”
“The perils of working with your wife.”
Callum cocked an eyebrow at Joe’s perfectly pressed jeans. “You can talk.”
The American just shook his head. “She thinks I should look smart for work.”
“Aye, and now your jeans have a nice ironed line right down the front of them and your T-shirt smells like spring flowers.” His laptop started to make X-rated gasping noises.
Joe laughed. “At least Julia only irons. You’d better answer that before your laptop has an orgasm.”
With a shake of his head, Callum brought up the message screen.
Your 10.30 is here. He’s seriously stuck up. Are you sure you want to see him?
“It would seem Mr. ‘Brown’s’ here,” he told Joe as he typed his reply: Show him in. I can handle him.
I know you can xxxxxoxxoo
He stared at her message for a second. It was a far cry from the sort of interactions he’d had back in the army. But then again, if his CO had sent him a note with kisses and hugs on it, he’d have been seriously worried. “You ready for this?” he asked.
Joe tapped the folder in front of him. “Bring it on. Let’s see what this guy’s playing at.”
Callum turned to face the door, just as it banged open.
Isobel’s face was green as she pointed to the distinguished-looking older gentleman beside her. “This is Mr. Brown.” She practically pushed him through the door. “Can you take Sophie for a minute?”
Without waiting for an answer, she shoved their four-year-old into the room and ran. Dressed in a Wonder Woman costume, and with a bag of art materials under her arm, Sophie seemed completely unfazed by being dumped on them.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Joe said. “Pull up a chair beside me and keep me company.”
With a smile, she rounded the desk, climbed up beside Joe and started setting out her sketchpad and pens in front of her.
Meanwhile, their prospective client stood frowning after Isobel. In his late sixties, with a head of perfectly groomed white hair, he held himself with an air of confidence that only came with money and power. And with the familiarity of wielding both.
“You might want to consider hiring staff who behave in a more professional manner,” he said. “Your receptionist is the first impression your company makes, and my experience thus far hasn’t instilled confidence.”
Callum barely contained a growl. “That staff member is my wife, and she’s three months pregnant, which is why she ran for the toilet. It was either that or puke on the client. Which would be pretty damn unprofessional, wouldn’t you agree?”
“My apologies.” Mr. Brown tugged at the sleeves of his Savile Row suit before opening a button on the jacket. He looked pointedly at Joe. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Joe frowned and didn’t bother offering his hand. “Joe Barone. I work here.”
If Mr. Brown was waiting for more information, he’d be waiting a while. He might rule his little kingdom, but things ran differently in the London office of Benson Security, and he had no clout there. On top of that, he’d not only insulted Callum’s pregnant wife but had made an appointment using a fake identity. Which was seriously stupid, because what sort of security company would they be if they didn’t investigate their prospective clients?
“May I?” Brown pointed at a chair, his tone making it clear he felt Callum should have invited him to sit before he’d had to ask.
“Aye, take a seat.” Callum was fast losing patience. Isobel was always telling him that he needed to be more polite, but this guy didn’t deserve the effort. “What can we do for you?”
“Clam,” Sophie snapped and handed him a drawing.
He took it and put it beside him on the pile of drawings she’d already done that morning, flashing her a smile before turning back to Mr. Brown, who was frowning at his daughter.
“I really don’t think it’s appropriate to discuss business in front of a child,” he said.
