“My name is Sami Adyton,” the distinguished elderly gentleman said, bowing over Gretch’s outstretched hand instead of shaking it. “I have an appointment with Walter Morrow.”

Gretch beamed at his gallantry and covertly assessed the two men flanking him. Both were steroid-massive and grim. The one on the right, staring at her with undisguised interest, held a carry-on suitcase horizontally. Interesting. The art restored at Moore and Morrow drew insanely wealthy clients, but no one had ever brought their projects in under bodyguard before. Or maybe Adyton felt safer with them around, given the cane in his right hand.

“He’s expecting you, sir.” Gretch gestured toward the open doors of the conference room. “Please have a seat in there.”

She popped into Walter’s office, but her boss was on the phone, looking cross as he scribbled notes in a file.

“I know it’s critical,” he barked. “I said I’d do it. Do you really need to lecture me on this, Joe?”

The navy suit was one of his best, a sure sign of the importance of his upcoming presentation on why Adyton’s art deserved Moore and Morrow’s expertise. He glanced up, and she motioned to the conference room. “He’s here,” Walter said solemnly. “Okay.” And hung up.

“Adyton brought two bodyguards.”

No surprise flickered across Walter’s face. Doubly interesting. What was in that suitcase?

Walter stood and straightened his already-straight crimson power tie. His nervous expression was so atypical that Gretch blurted, “You look fine. What are they bringing us?”

Walter picked up a thin file, clearly avoiding eye contact. “Don’t you have payroll to attend to?”

Gretch frowned. “You know I’ll have to write up the acquisition contract anyway.”

He passed her without comment. He never acted like this. He never used that rude tone of voice. What was going on? She followed him out. “Should I bring coffee?”

He turned at the conference room entrance. “Payroll, Gretch.”

The second the door clicked behind him, she marched into his office and scooped up his outgoing mail, scanning the papers littering his desk. An inventory list that had handwritten Arabic scrawled in the margins snagged her attention.

Adyton’s name was typed in as seller, and Tomas Hussain was listed as buyer. There were twenty items on the list, and the total of a hundred thousand dollars circled at the bottom. Warehouse location on Knox. Gretch whistled as she crept from the office and hurried down to Hannah’s. Her bestie would cough up why Walter was acting like they were accepting the Crown Jewels. Maybe they were—a hundred thousand dollars’ worth.

“…hope to finish the Picasso shortly,” Hannah said into the phone. “We’ll be ready to transport and rehang this final set at your convenience, sir.” Her face was in flames, her shoulders hitched like a coat hanger was wedged in the back of her lab coat. Had she not named the artist, it still would’ve been obvious who the client was. “Yes… I meant to call you, Harrison. Sir.” Hannah cringed.

Gretch took a seat, smiling her encouragement. How awkward to feel so intimidated by a client who’d probably be your father-in-law before year’s end.

After a few more stilted comments, Hannah hung up and pantomimed blowing her brains out. “It never gets easier.”

Neither did telling Hannah to grow a backbone with Harrison Wickham. “Does Walter know Arabic?”

Hannah’s harried expression morphed into a blank look. “Not that I know of. Why?”

“He’s meeting with a Sami Adyton,” Gretch said. “I don’t have a proposal started. What’s the project?”

“Jeez, I can’t recall.” Hannah rubbed her forehead, clearly on mental overload managing staff and restoration projects, dealing with her sick great-aunt, and moving to a new condo with Devon, who spent most weeks back in New York cleaning up some corporate mess.

“It was in a suitcase, and the client brought two bodyguards.”

“Wow.” Hannah’s brow knitted. “Nothing’s ringing a bell.”

“Are we supposed to get a huge project?” Gretch pressed. Surely Hannah—the co-owner—would know. She’d have to staff for it. “I saw a list on Walter’s desk. Twenty artifacts worth a hundred thousand dollars.” She held up Walter’s outgoing mail as proof she was supposed to be hanging around his desk.

Her bestie shrugged in apology. “I’ll speak to him as soon as he’s through.”

That was about the time Gretch would know, too. He’d need contracts drawn up. No doubt Sean would be chosen as the restoration tech. This was where his obsessive-compulsive tendencies became precious assets.

“Boss?” Sean said from behind.

Gretch started and twisted in her chair. See, the problem with Sean was he moved with the litheness of a panther. Not like he had a slight build or tiptoed. He just constantly appeared out of thin air, taking her by surprise.

As Hannah greeted him, Gretch frowned. He stood in the doorway making direct eye contact with Hannah as if Gretch weren’t three feet away. As if they hadn’t shared a café table yesterday, where he’d clearly indicated he wanted to be more than coworkers.

“You’re late,” she snapped. Not that she had the slightest administrative pull. Nor did she give a shit what time Sean strolled in. It was just an irrational need to keep stripping away the stoic, almost bored expression he always wore. Besides, it was only common courtesy for him to notice her.

His unreadable dark eyes shifted and swept over her camouflage-print minidress. The flare in his nostrils was barely perceptible—Hannah probably hadn’t caught it—but confidence bloomed hot in Gretch’s chest.

“Is it army-dress-up day?” he asked. His perpetually quizzical eyebrows rose a fraction higher. “Did I not get the memo again?”

Ugh! He was such an ass sometimes. Not one man riding the El this morning had taken his eyes off her, and vanity aside, she’d expected it. Ever since puberty, she’d been a magnet for the baser side of men. Except Sean. His M.O. was no reaction. Even yesterday, when she’d tossed his passive attempt to ask her out back in his face, he hadn’t blinked. No disappointment, no surprise, nothing. Army-dress-up day! “If only you knew a sexy dress when you saw one.”

He lifted a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “The mud color bleaches your skin. Now your choice of makeup has too much yellow tint.”

“Sean,” Hannah admonished, shooting Gretch a look of warning.

“Just explaining the logic behind the color wheel.”

Gretch huffed out a breath. Of all the people to hand out fashion advice. But why escalate? The men on the El hadn’t been looking at her skin tone, and Sean wasn’t looking at her figure. His precision at eyeballing hues and blurting his opinion without regard to whether he insulted someone was legendary. Walter had stopped parading new clientele past their golden boy long ago.

“Was there something you wanted?” Hannah asked him in a gentler tone.

“Logistics of this week.” He straightened and stuffed his fists in his pockets. “The Picasso will be done by the end of the day. If Dane can crate Wickham’s collection, I’ll start on the Art Institute’s Etruscan mosaic.”

“Walter’s meeting with someone.” Again the look of bafflement. It wasn’t like Hannah not to know incoming and outgoing art pieces like a mother knows her children. “His new project might take priority.”

Sean nodded. “Okay. Let me know.” He knocked twice on the threshold, his annoying signal that he was done with the effort of being social.

Before he could step into the hall, Gretch called, “And you didn’t submit your timecard Friday. If you want a paycheck, I better have it by ten.”

He pivoted back. An expression so raw and primal crossed his face that her heart thunked to a stop, then thudded up again painfully. Who was this Sean? Before she even finished the thought, his standard sardonic grin reappeared. “Sir, yes, sir.” He saluted then disappeared down the hall without a sound.

“Insufferable!” She stood and smoothed her darling dress. Why hadn’t he shown her this side yesterday? She totally would have said…maybe.

“What’s going on between you guys?” Hannah asked.

“Nothing.” Gretch threw her an easy grin and headed for the door. “Absolutely nothing.”

She glanced at the closed conference room door on her way back to her desk. Her phone dinged as she sat down, and she scanned Brandon’s newest text. It marked her thirty-fourth wedding proposal, and was as short, cute, and empty as the rest. She knew what she was good at, and why his message was worded for her hand in marriage when she’d declined another evening with him. Men and their penises!

Gretch shut the cell phone in her desk drawer. She picked up the supply bill from NaraGoods as a faint ding came from the drawer. Brandon… Give me a break. It was one—

The company line rang, and she snatched the receiver, her cheerful receptionist greeting strained, just in case Brandon had somehow found out where she worked.

“Sean Quinn, please.”

“I’m sorry, he can’t be disturbed.”

“He already is disturbed. Interrupting him won’t compound that.”

Gretch cocked her head in delight. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“Jason Quinn. His brother.”

“Brother?” she squeaked. Strangely, her brain flailed with something witty to say. “I—I was so sure he was raised by bears.” Wow, that was crazy lame!

“Close. Four brothers who are Bears fanatics.”

“No sisters?”

“Much to my mother’s dismay.” His chuckle was low and lovely. A Quinn who could socialize.

“No wonder Sean can’t relate to women,” she purred.

“That has more to do with the four of us dressing him up in Mom’s evening gowns.”

“No!”

“No.” The grin in Jason’s voice was unmistakable. “But damn, I wish I’d thought of it before now.”

Gretch jumped up and perched on the edge of her desk as if flirting in person. “Please tell me some dirt.” Her voice came out breathy and silly. She frowned. She didn’t do silly. And why would she want to know details about Sean, anyway?

Her lanky coworker took that exact moment to stroll in and drop his timecard on her desk. He didn’t so much as glance at her sexy pose, her hem riding almost to her panty line. Seriously, it was like she wasn’t even in the room. Without a second thought, she held out the phone. “Your brother.”

Hell froze over, pigs flew, and hark, the herald angels sang! Sean’s mask slipped, and a mess of emotions raced across his face. Gretch caught annoyance, curiosity, and joy before he grabbed the receiver and turned his back on her.

“Jace? I can’t talk right now…” His shoulders stiffened. “Yes, I did say that, but not during work hours.”

Gretch ate up the sight of him. The untidy dark brown hair, the slim build that was all lean sinew. She’d been a personal trainer long enough to know he had to be doing everything right. Healthy diet, just the right amount of high-impact aerobic activity mixed with perfectly proportioned strength training. If only his button-downs didn’t always cover his ass! Even spiffed up Saturday night, his fitted shirt had remained untucked.

“No, I can’t do that either,” Sean muttered. His grasp on the phone turned his knuckles white. More silence and finally a sigh. “Okay. I’ll meet you out front at noon.”

She was so going to be hanging around the sidewalk at noon. One more opportunity to explore what made the Enigma tick. And she was dying to meet Jason—Jace.

“Yes, Jace, I get the urgency. I said I’d go.”

Urgency? Gretch stood and gnawed on her lip. Sean never went anywhere. He holed up in whatever cubicle was equipped for that particular project’s requirements, stuck earbuds in (probably disco), and went into a mental zone so deep she’d only experienced it once, competing in a triathlon. Was there a family crisis?

He grunted what must have been a goodbye, turned, and handed her the receiver without meeting her gaze. She intentionally let their fingers brush as she accepted the phone. Not one iota of a reaction from him. It had to be the family emergency. “Hope everything’s all right,” she said, cursing her high octave. “No one ever calls you.”

Sean glanced over then, his usually soft brown eyes hard and cold. The sudden alpha-toughness stirred something deep. It was all she could do not to stagger into his arms. Christ in a cradle, where had that alien feeling come from?

“It’s all good,” he said. “Gotta get to work.”

Wait. This guy had hemmed and hawed his way through asking her out not twenty-four hours ago, and now he was walking off like she was a potted plant in the corner? “Hannah wants you to work on that charity painting next,” she blurted. “The one Harrison Wickham planned to donate to a senior center.”

He spun back. It was a freaking high to see those quirky eyebrows knot, watch his frown carve even sharper angles into his cheekbones. When he let his guard down and displayed emotions, Sean was really quite handsome. “That piece of shit? Why?”

“Turns out Harrison wants it after all. Skip the Etruscan mosaic; this is the newest priority.” She nodded to make her lie more convincing. Goosebumps skittered along her skin. Why had she recklessly screwed with his projects? It wasn’t sabotage so much as a test: here was a glimpse of the ugliness inside her. How would he deal?

She had yet to meet a man who got her, but somehow, stealthily, in these last two years of working together, Sean had shown he was different in almost every way. He didn’t fawn over her, never reacted to situations where she knew exactly how other men would behave. His response to this practical joke would peg him one way or another. If he ended up so furious it ruined this budding thing they had, so be it. A part of her would be relieved.

Besides pressing his lips into a flat line and nodding curtly, Sean reined in any other emotions and loped back to the lab. Gretch studied his retreating form, her breath streaming unsteadily. Yes, she was a bitch, but this was a great plan to get over him.

Just as another client walked through the door, her cell phone erupted in a series of muffled dings.