22
LARA
Week 4: Thursday Night
When I dressed this morning, I confess I thought I was looking pretty good. The sleeveless blue turtleneck matches my eyes, the gray pencil skirt does a decent job of disguising the past few weeks’ stress eating. The nude pumps are both classic and sexy.
So I thought.
Walking into Ian’s apartment, I feel like an utter frump.
Who are these people who look better at six o’clock on a Thursday than I do after primping for a black-tie wedding?
The men in expensive suits, I can get. I’m used to that. It’s the women who throw me a bit. The strappy high-heel sandals, the short cocktail dresses, the flawless makeup.
It’s a good reminder that this is Ian Bradley’s world—glamorous, expensive, and elite. A world to which I don’t and will never belong.
That’s never bothered me before. I’m not sure it bothers me now. I like who I am. I like that I own more pantsuits than cocktail dresses, that I work hard in a profession I believe in.
I’m okay not fitting in here. What I’m less okay with is what that means for Ian and me.
“Lara, hi. I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” Kate says as I’m ordering a drink at the makeshift bar.
“I wasn’t sure, either. I nearly chickened out,” I admit, turning to face her. I quickly scan the room, but it’s packed wall-to-wall, and I don’t see Ian. “Is he here?”
She gives a slight smile. “It’s his apartment. I should hope so.”
“Okay, I’ll rephrase. Does he know I’m here?”
She looks away and doesn’t answer, the first time I’ve seen Kate anything less than forthright.
My heart sinks. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”
“No. You stay,” she says determinedly. “There are only so many places he can hide.”
“Do you think anyone will know who I am?”
“Probably,” she says. “Or they’ll at least know what you are. They’re all in Prada heels, and you look like a government worker.”
“Um, ouch,” I mutter, even though I know she’s right.
“Just remember why you’re here.” Then she gives me a curious look. “Why are you here? You never said why you wanted to come.”
I give her a steady look. “No, I didn’t.”
“A hint?”
“Kate,” I say mildly. “If I wanted to go through a messenger, I would have done so already.”
She sighs. “Fine. Can’t blame a girl for trying. Okay, so look. He’s a little pissed at me for telling you about the party, and he’s a little pissed at you for . . . well, I don’t know what. We need to figure out a way to get you two alone.” She nibbles her lip. “I’m just not sure how. He’s not as easy to handle as he was before.”
“Before what?” I ask, taking a large sip of my wine.
Kate pats my arm. “Before you.”
My head snaps up as I stare at her, my heart thumping. “Before me. What does that mean?”
Kate merely smiles enigmatically and scans the room, then points toward the sliding glass doors on the far side of the living room that lead to a balcony. “Go wait out there, just until I can be sure he won’t cause a scene.”
I laugh. “I’m being sent outside? Like a dog that destroyed a pillow?”
“Yes, but I’m getting you a refill first,” she says, pulling my wineglass out of my hand and holding it up for the bartender. Then she thrusts it back at me and points. “Ten minutes. Max.”
I do as I’m told, mostly because the thought of standing out on the balcony sounds vastly preferable to making small talk in here. Nobody is paying me any attention—yet. But that’ll all change the second I get the so, what do you do? query and word spreads like wildfire that they have the enemy in their midst.
“Truffle arancini?” A slim woman in a black-and-white server’s uniform presents a tray in front of my face.
“No, thanks,” I say with a smile.
She pivots and presents the tray in her other hand. “Lobster toast?”
Damn. So this is how the other side parties.
“No, thank you. I’m good.”
She moves on with her lavish snacks, and I step out onto the balcony. On my walk over here, it was sunny, but it’s started to cloud over thanks to an approaching summer thunderstorm, so I’ve got the whole area to myself. Not that it’s particularly large. It’s not a grill on the deck and sip beer kind of space. But it’s nice.
Who am I kidding, it’s more than nice. The guy lives on the fifty-sixth floor of a fancy high-rise with a view of the Freedom Tower.
I take a sip of my wine and try to enjoy the view without thinking about how much it stings that Ian didn’t so much as come over to say hello. Just a few nights ago he was kissing me. Now he won’t even look at me, won’t answer my calls, won’t agree to a meeting.
Still, I get it. He needed something I couldn’t give. Not then, not until I’d seen the case all the way through.
But I can now. It’s why I’m here.
“May I join you?”
I turn and do a double take when I recognize the woman stepping out onto the balcony. She’s the one I saw Ian with at lunch a few weeks ago, and she’s even more gorgeous up close. She’s got long, thick black hair that falls almost to her waist, piercing blue eyes, an angular but striking face, and if I’m going to be perfectly honest here . . . rather spectacular boobs.
“Sure,” I say, resisting the urge to pull my hair out of my ponytail so I feel slightly less juvenile.
She gives a cool smile and extends a hand. “Sabrina Cross.”
“Lara McKenzie.”
Her smile cools even further. “I know.”
I take a sip of wine, wondering what the heck that means. What does she know? Did Ian tell her about the kiss? “So, you also know . . .” I say it casually, fishing.
“That you’re the SEC investigator looking into Ian? Yep.” She tilts her head and studies me. “But you’re not what I expected.”
“You’ve already seen me. In the restaurant at lunch that day.”
“True,” she admits, taking a sip of her champagne. “But then I was more interested in Ian’s reaction to you than I was you.”
There’s bait there, but I don’t take it, much as I want to.
“I always picture SEC employees in boxy brown suits and clogs.”
“Well, all my boxy suits were dirty, and the clogs hurt my bunions.”
She laughs, and it’s as low and sultry as I’d guessed when I’d seen her laugh at the restaurant with Ian. “I see why he likes you.”
“Yes, men just love my combination of forthright and awkward.”
“Men like the combination of witty and smart,” she corrects.
“Assuming there was a compliment in there, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She takes a sip of her drink and watches me for a moment. “Why are you here?”
I lift my eyebrows at the blunt question, but she merely shrugs. “I’m very protective of Ian.”
“Ian told me you two are close.”
“Did he?” Sabrina says thoughtfully. “Interesting. He doesn’t often discuss our friendship. With anyone. But yes, we’re close. As close as possible to siblings without sharing parents.”
Siblings. I can’t deny that her word choice gives me a fierce stab of relief that the relationship’s as platonic as he’d claimed.
“Are you close with Matt and Kennedy as well?” I ask, both curious and determined not to look too interested in Ian specifically.
“Sure. Kennedy’s a good guy. A little uptight but as loyal as they come. As for Matt . . .” She practically sneers his name. “We have . . . history.”
“He’s an ex?”
“Eh. More like . . .” She waves her champagne around, searching for the word. “A past fling. It ended badly, and I wish regular suffering upon him, and he me.”
“Sounds wonderfully adult,” I say, smiling to soften the sarcasm.
She laughs. “It keeps us entertained.”
“What about Ian?”
Sabrina blinks. “What about him?”
“Does it bother him having two of his best friends at odds all the time?”
“Possibly. He doesn’t hide the fact that we get on his nerves.” Then she frowns. “I guess I’ve never thought about if it really bothers him, though.” Sabrina tilts her head and studies me before continuing. “I’ve never thought about it, but it seems you have. You care about him.”
I take a sip of wine and stay silent.
She doesn’t. “Ian and I have never slept together.”
I keep myself from choking on my wine. Barely. “I didn’t ask.”
Her smile is sly. “But you’ve wondered.”
Most definitely.
“You two grew up together?” I ask, deciding to flip the tables. Ian’s oldest friend clearly has me under a microscope right now, wanting to know who or what I am to Ian. But the exchange of information can go both ways. And I’m more than a little curious as to Sabrina and Ian’s story.
“We did. We looked out for each other.” She turns to watch the slowly setting sun. “Neither of us had a good run of it, but we had each other.”
I want to know more, but it’s not my place to ask, so I take another sip of my wine.
She turns to face me after a moment of silence. “He’s on good terms with his foster father—the last one, the decent one. But I think it still stings that Dave never adopted him.”
I give her a wary look. “I don’t think he’d be overly fond of you sharing this with me.”
“Oh, he totally wouldn’t,” she says with a quick laugh. “But that’s too damn bad. For both of you.”
“What’s this have to do with me?”
“Ian likes you,” she says, turning to face me full-on. “He likes you in a way I haven’t seen in . . . Actually, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him act like this.”
“What, ignoring me altogether?” I say, nodding back toward the party.
“What did you expect?” she asks. “You hurt him.”
My heart squeezes a little. “How can I have hurt him? I don’t even know him.”
“I think you do,” she says quietly.
Before I can reply, the balcony door opens, and Kennedy Dawson and Matt Cannon step out to join us.
Sabrina sighs. “Do you mind, boys? This is girl talk.”
Matt drops an arm over her shoulder and nuzzles her ear. “You telling her about how you’re still trying to get over me?”
“Well,” Sabrina says, using her nails to pick his hand off her shoulder as though it were a piece of trash, “I do definitely remember being over you. I’ve never been with someone quite so content to just lie there on his back.”
Kennedy leans down slightly toward me. “Don’t worry, eventually you get used to them.”
I smile, a little flustered at being surrounded by Ian’s inner circle. I’ve spoken with both Matt and Kennedy over the course of the investigation, but it’s always been formal to the point of borderline chilly. Not that they’re giving me warm fuzzies right now. In fact, all three of them are watching me. Not glaring, but I have the distinct sense that they’re trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing here.
I don’t blame them. This isn’t my scene—at all. Not only that, I’ve always made a point of separating my professional from my personal life, separating work from after work. Before this case, I’d never once blurred those lines. But as with everything having to do with Ian Bradley, I’m breaking my own rules. All of them.
I hope it’s worth it.
I let my gaze sweep around the balcony, making eye contact with all three of them to let them know that while I’m not the enemy, I’m not a pushover, either. “I’m here to talk to Ian.”
“At his cocktail party,” Matt says dubiously.
“Yes, well, if your friend hadn’t decided to play the game of avoid the SEC for three days straight, perhaps I wouldn’t have had to crash his party.”
“It’s important?” Matt asks.
I nod. “It is.”
“You think he’s innocent.”
This comes from Kennedy, and it’s not a question. It gives me a good indication of why he’s so good at what he does. Ian plays on wit and stubbornness, Matt on smiles and flattery, but Kennedy gets what he wants with quiet command and competence.
“Oh, for God’s sake, let her talk to him,” Sabrina says, waving at the two men.
“You say that like you’re not his lead guard dog most of the time,” Matt snaps.
“She thinks he’s innocent,” Sabrina insists.
“Actually,” I interject, “all she said was that she needs to speak to him.”
Matt cuts me a quick glance with his blue eyes. They’re darker than Ian’s and usually friendlier, although I suspect that’s a deliberate effect. The man didn’t take Wall Street by storm in his early twenties just by being cute.
Although he is that. Very.
“All right, then,” Kennedy says, opening the door. “Matt, you’re up.”
“On it.”
Matt hands his cocktail glass to Sabrina, who accepts it with an eye roll, and then walks back into Ian’s living room.
“All right, everyone, time to clear out,” he says in a commanding voice.
The noisy chatter of a successful cocktail party falters slightly as they all look toward him, trying to assess if he’s serious.
“You heard the man,” Sabrina says, sweeping into the room. “We’re taking this party elsewhere.”
“How about your place, darlin’—party for two? Or three, I’m game.” A drunk, douchey-looking guy laughs as he says it, leering at Sabrina.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Ian step forward, his gaze ice-blue and murderous as he searches for the speaker.
Sabrina lifts a hand to halt her friend, then slaps her other hand against Matt’s chest, who’s also stepped forward. “What’s your name, pet?” she purrs at the drunken guy.
“Sean.”
“Sean . . . ?”
“Galen.”
“Lovely to meet you,” Sabrina says with a warm smile. Then she claps her hands like a mom at a soccer party. “Okay, boys and girls, we’re moving this party to the Brandy Library. Drinks on Sean Galen. Be sure to get whatever you want; Sean’s feeling very generous tonight.”
“Hey!” the man exclaims, just sober enough to realize what’s happening. “You can’t just—”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Sabrina puts a hand to her chest as though appalled by her faux pas. “Can you not afford it?”
I press my lips together to stifle my laughter. It’s well played. The Brandy Library is a ridiculously expensive cocktail bar, with every top-shelf liquor a booze snob could dream of.
The bill will be unthinkable.
But not as unthinkable as a power player having to admit that he can’t pay.
He swallows and forces a smile. “I got it. Everyone enjoy themselves. On me.”
Sabrina gives him a condescending pat on the shoulder, and Kate buzzes around the room, plucking glasses out of hands and ushering everyone toward the door as Kennedy hands wads of cash to the servers and bartenders and sends them off as well.
He catches my eye and winks.
It all happens so fast, I barely register just how thoroughly the situation’s been handled until Kennedy and Kate pause in the doorway of the now empty apartment.
Kate looks at Ian. “You good?”
He only glares.
Kennedy nods and puts his hand on Kate’s back, ushering her into the hallway. “Yeah, he’s good.”
A moment later, the door closes.
And then it’s just me, a bunch of empty glasses, and one very pissed-off-looking Ian Bradley.