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“But she’s not important enough to merit telling me? You give your last name and that of your ‘associate,’” he could hear the air quotes, “but not hers.”
“It’s Jennings,” Alicia supplied.
“Are you always this testy?” he asked, enjoying her discomfiture. There was something about her that told him she wasn’t frazzled easily, which made him wonder why she had come to Cerberus.
“Get off,” she said, shoving him to the side and rolling away from him before scrambling to her feet and stumbling. She caught herself on the edge of the desk before he could help her.
“What brings you to Cerberus?”
“I knew this was a mistake.”
“Maybe it is; maybe it isn’t, but it might be best if we determine that,” said Coop.
“Why? Because you’re the big, strong men?”
“No, ma’am. Because we’re the professionals, and people who are in trouble generally come to us for help. Why don’t we all admit we got off to a bit of a bad start, and you can tell me your name.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head and scooping her hat off the floor. “This isn’t going to work. I shouldn’t have come here.” A frown, followed quickly by what looked like fear, flashed across her face. “What am I going to do if they followed me? They could have seen me come in here. Do they know what this place is? Maybe they think I’ve come to the kink club; they wouldn’t have any way of knowing it’s Cerberus I came to see. Damn it! I never should have come here.” She reached past him and tried to open the door that was still locked. She rattled the handle—her agitation evident. “Let me out of here.”
“Not until you tell me your name and what it is you’re afraid of,” said Coop, in a reasonable tone.
“Is she? Afraid, I mean,” asked Seth helping Alicia to her feet and coming around the end of the reception desk.
“She is, although I don’t think she wants us to know that,” Coop said to Seth before turning back to the beautiful blonde. “Why don’t we go upstairs to the conference room? I can get you a nice cup of coffee or a cup of tea?”
“Would you offer a man who came in here like I did tea or coffee?” she asked, archly.
Coop smiled and looked down at the floor. She had him there.
“Probably not,” he admitted. “I apologize. So let me amend your choice of beverages to include the aforementioned coffee and tea as well as soda, beer, bourbon, scotch, Irish whiskey, gin, and tequila.”
“I should probably have coffee or tea, but what I’d really like is a double shot of single malt.”
“Then you’re in luck. We have Glenlivet for the tourists, but I know for a fact we keep a bottle of fifty year old Macallan on hand so if the big boss shows up, we can pour him a proper dram.” He said the last bit with a thick, Scottish accent, which made her smile.
“I’ve only dreamed of tasting fifty year old Macallan.”
“Then why don’t you tell me your name? We can go upstairs, and I can make all your dreams come true.”
“You don’t know all of my dreams,” she said, the corner of her mouth inching upwards.
“Well, you can tell me, and then I’ll start working on taking them off your list.”
That made her laugh. “You’re not too bad when you aren’t being an asshole.”
“I’ll take that as an acceptance of my apology. Shall we?” he said, opening the inner door of the antique elevator.
“Is it safe?” she asked, seeming a bit reluctant to enter.
“Very. It’s the very best elevator money can buy, clad with a vintage interior and door so it goes with the place.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“I need your name so Alicia can put it on our visitors’ log.”
“Sorry. Anabella. Anabella Foster,” she said, offering him her hand.
Coop shook it before tucking it into the crook of his elbow and leading her inside the elevator car. He could tell she thought about removing her hand, but then accepted his lead. So, Anabella Foster was a bit prickly and seemed out of sorts but was receptive to a soothing show of authority. The day was looking up.
