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All she needed was a little help . . .
9
“You want me to do what?” Cooper Graham snatched a cherry lollipop from his mouth.
She’d cornered him in his rooftop garden, where he was nurturing his cucumbers before the first frost could get them. Even though October had arrived, the garden’s high brick walls, multiple levels, and comfortable lounging area formed a beautiful oasis. Raised vegetable beds held cool-weather crops of leeks and spinach; beets, turnips, and broccoli. Big glazed pots and stone jardinières displayed mixes of rosemary and zinnia, parsley and dahlia, lemongrass and marigol
d. She hadn’t liked discovering he’d built this garden himself. It upset some of what she wanted to believe about him.
“You’re an adrenaline junkie,” she pointed out, crumpling some mint leaves in her fingers. “This should be right up your alley.”
“You really are taking medication. Crazy pills!” He plopped the lollipop back in his mouth and returned to the cucumbers.
“A deeply offensive comment,” she said with a sniff. “But I’ll rise above.”
“You do that.”
As she moved around a pot of pepper plants to get closer, she noticed a potting table tucked behind the wooden lattice that defined the garden’s lounging area. Something on top caught her attention. She gave herself time to regroup by going over to investigate. “What’s this?” She held up a perfectly rounded ball of hard-packed dirt, one of half a dozen sitting on top of the table.
“Seed bomb. Unlike you, I have no ethics.”
“Meaning . . . ?”
“I’m a guerrilla gardener. Some clay, peat moss, and a batch of seeds shaped into a ball. That’s all it takes.”
She was starting to get the picture. “You’re an urban Johnny Appleseed. You toss these into empty lots.”
“It’s getting too late in the season now. Best times are spring and early fall. With a little luck and some rain at the right time, a hardscrabble plot of dirt starts to bloom.” He reached across the cukes to pull off a few yellowed tomato leaves. “Coreopsis, coneflowers, black-eyed Susans. Maybe some prairie grass. Fun to watch.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“Two, three years. I don’t know.”
“I thought you were laundering drug money.”
He grinned for the first time since she’d cornered him. “You did not.”
“Well, not really, but . . .” As interesting as this side of him was, she hadn’t lost sight of her goal. “Maybe I should start from the beginning.”
“Or maybe you shouldn’t. You realize, don’t you, that you blew your cover at the club last night with your jujitsu moves? Nobody’s going to buy you as my social media specialist any longer.”
Something she’d already figured out. Church bells chimed in the distance, and she plunged ahead. “Her name is Faiza. She’s only nineteen, and she’s been working for the family since she was fourteen. She’s sweet and smart, and she only wants what we take for granted. A chance to be free.”
He scowled at a ragged bean plant.
“She dreams of going to nursing school so she can take care of preemies, but right now, she’s little better than a slave.”
He ripped up the bean plant and tossed it aside, crunching on what was left of the lollipop. She moved in on him. “Please, Coop. It’s Sunday. The club’s closed. All you have to do is go to the Peninsula tonight and have a manly chat with the prince. Think of it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get an insider’s look at a different culture.”
He tossed the lollipop stick in a compost bin. “I’m happy with the culture I’m already in. Except for my thieving waitstaff . . .”
A tiny red sugar crystal lingered at the corner of his mouth, and the memory of that ridiculous kiss came back to her. She instinctively licked her lips. “Your waitstaff is basically honest. And if everybody felt the way you do, there’d be no hope for international peace and understanding.”
“Thank you, Miss Universe.”
“I’m merely pointing out that you’re being very narrow-minded.”
He jabbed a soil-crusted finger at her. “At least I have a mind. And I seriously doubt my spending a night reliving my glory years with a Middle Eastern oil baron is going to do squat for international relations. As for the rest of your plan . . .” He shuddered. “I’ve done a few things in my life I’m not proud of, but what you’re asking is creepy.”
