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I raise a brow as if I’m not sure I am willing to grant a favor.
“I need you to pop in to Sheremetov Brothers Rare Books. They have some books I ordered for Dad’s birthday.”
I perk up. I’m all about rare books. “Sure. I haven’t been to Cecil Court in quite some time.” Then I realize Cecil Court is around the corner from the GSU offices in Leicester Square. “Why can’t you go yourself?”
Max shakes his head. “The banker meetings will take all day. Make sure Serge or Alex wrap the books up as a gift.”
“Don’t you want to check the books first?”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine. We’ve bought books from them since their father had the business. They’re relatives.”
I snort. Relatives. Of course they are. Max may have the biggest family in the world.
He stands up. “We’re cutting it fine, sweetheart.”
Bossy boots. I take a quick shower to scrub away lingering feelings, and pull my unruly curls into a scrunchie. I root through my tiny carry-on for the outfit I plan to wear. The wide-leg black wool twill pants and oversized gray polo-neck sweater are cozy and smart enough to make me appear pulled together but not overdressed.
In the sitting room, Max taps away on his laptop. When he turns his head in my direction, heat flows up my neck into my face. The spark in his eyes as he runs his tongue over his lips sends a frisson of desire through me.
He looks up. “Just checking if there have been any changes for today’s meeting.” Max’s phone beeps. “JL is downstairs.”
The Athenaeum Hotel is literally a one-minute walk from the RAF Club. As we walk out the door, I notice the spot where the confrontation with Kev took place last night. There are no signs anything occurred, not even a smear of blood from Kev’s nose, but a shudder shakes my shoulders.
I’ve been to London at least a dozen times since I last saw Kev in Oxford, the day he walked out, and we never ran into each other. The shock of seeing him last night hit me like a bowling ball to the chest. Max’s arm comes around my waist, and hesqueezes me.
JL is waiting in the Athenaeum lobby when we arrive. “Mon Dieu. Two minutes late.” He shakes an admonitory finger at us. “Let’s repair to the restaurant.”
A double macchiato and I’m human again. Max sips his usual morning beverage. True to form, JL has a cappuccino, the first of many. We all choose the full English, although no beans or black pudding on mine. I ask the waiter if I could have a dram of whisky for my oatmeal.
He winks at me. “The Scottish influence. Been to Pitlochry, have you? I know many restaurants there offer the option.”
I point to the man smiling at me across the table. “My partner is Scottish.”
The server eyes him thoughtfully. “Well, I hope you’re a properOutlanderromance hero, although you don’t have the right coloring to be Jamie. Pity. You really resemble David Tennant.”
I snicker. Max is no Jamie Fraser, and I’m glad he’s not. I can understand Sam Heughan’s appeal, but Max’s dark hair and long, lean body are more to my taste. “David Tennant with dark hair and glasses. Not David Tennant as Doctor Who.”
His gaze flicks back to Max. “Is the Proclaimers’ ‘I’m Gonna Be’ your favorite song? After all, David Tennant is their biggest fan.” He sings under his breath.
My mind drifts back to before Christmas last year. Max, his father, brothers, and brother-in-law, all in kilts, serenading me with that very song in Micki’s apartment.
Once breakfast has arrived, JL asks, “Did you connect with the office this morning?”
Max splutters through a mouthful of oatmeal. “Checked to make sure the meeting place hadn’t changed but I didn’t check with Chicago. It’s only two a.m. there. Although, with our meeting at ten a.m. GMT, Clay and Metin must be up and getting ready.” He picks up JL’s shot glass of whisky and downs it.
With an exaggerated scowl, JL summons the waiter back. “I need another glass. Your friend purloined mine.” He puts special emphasis onfriend. When Max doesn’t follow up, I realize he is on his phone, texting. He must have gotten a message because he usually puts his phone away at meals. Then he slips his cell into his jacket pocket, scowling.
JL touches his arm. “Problem?”
“Yeah.” The restaurant is empty, and no waiters are visible. “There was an attempted breach into the system last night.” Max purses his lips. “Jarvis found a back door that shouldn’t exist.”
Shadows flit over JL’s face. “Was there an actual breach?”
“The hacker wasn’t able to break in, but it was a close-run thing.” Max’s ragged breathing echoes painfully around the room.
He slaps a palm on the table, his voice hard. “Jarvis has to handle it. We can’t put off the meeting with the bankers and it will last all day.” Pushing away from the table, his breakfast hardly touched, he shrugs on his jacket. “I’m going to the office. Jarvis is balking at bringing in Elizabeth Talbot, so we need to have another little talk. If he flat-out refuses, I’ll call her myself.”
“I’ll come with you.” JL’s plate is still full, and he’s only eaten a bite of the oatmeal.
