32
LARA
Week 5: Thursday, Lunchtime
“You nervous?” Sabrina asks, watching me in the mirror as she reapplies her lipstick.
I meet her gaze. “Not even a little bit.”
She smiles, dropping the tube back into her purse. “I knew you had grit.”
“Or a simmering vendetta,” I mutter, giving myself one last look in the mirror. The usual Lara stares back. Wide blue eyes. Ponytail that’s neither too high nor too low, just there—practical. Black-rim glasses, minimal makeup . . . and a score to settle.
“Yes, well, take it from someone who deals with revenge plots on a regular basis—this is a good one,” Sabrina says, stepping toward me and opening a button on my blouse.
“Hey.” I start to button it again, but she slaps my hand. “Nope. This’ll go better if he’s distracted by a bit of cleavage.”
“I’m not showing any cleavage.” Am I? I glance down.
“No, but there’s the prospect of it, and that’s even more enticing,” she says. But then Sabrina frowns and unabashedly puts her hands beneath my boobs, pushing them upward. “Seriously, what bra are you wearing, your grandma’s?”
This time it’s me who bats her hands aside. “Sorry, I didn’t realize this mission involved a push-up bra.”
She gives me a knowing look. “Do you even own a push-up bra?”
“What does it matter? I don’t have those to go with it,” I say, gesturing at her slightly low-cut dress.
She looks down at her chest. “You mean day cleavage?”
“What the heck is day cleavage?”
She holds up her thumb and forefinger to her cleavage as though she’s measuring something. “No more than a half inch or so, see?”
“What’s night cleavage?”
She widens the gap between her fingers. “An inch, at least.”
I shake my head in wonderment. “It’s like you’re from a different planet.”
“Well, get used to it, because I have every intention of making you a regular lunch date,” Sabrina says with a smile that’s warmer than I’ve ever seen from her.
“Because I’m helping Ian?”
“Nah. I mean, sure, that’d get you a thank-you lunch. Maybe a thank-you coffee. But you’re doing this for you. And that’s enough to make you a regular in my life.”
“Thank you,” I say, feeling unexpectedly touched.
Sabrina holds up a warning finger. “No hugging. No crying, either. Save those tears for the table.”
“Right,” I say, shaking out my hands. “I’ve been practicing my fake crying on command like you instructed.”
“Verdict?”
I waggle my hand. “Fifty-fifty chance of waterworks.”
“Good enough. If all else fails, let your chin wobble so he thinks you’re trying to hold back tears. That’s nearly as good.” Sabrina glances at her watch. “Okay. It’s go time.”
In the two days since we’ve hatched our plan to catch Jacob Houghton and Steve in whatever they’re up to, I keep waiting for the nervousness to set in—keep waiting to lose my nerve.
Instead, I feel . . . determined.
These men cost me my job at the SEC, they cost me my opportunity at the FBI, they are trying to send someone I care about to jail. I never thought I’d say it, but the system isn’t working. I could escalate above Steve’s head, sure, but without proof . . .
“Thanks for meeting me here early,” I say.
She smiles. “I would’ve, even if Ian hadn’t demanded it.”
“He did?”
“It’s killing him that he can’t be nearby, but if Jacob sees him, the plan goes to hell. Jacob doesn’t know me, so”—she blows me a kiss—“I’ll be at the table just behind you guys.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“You ready, then?”
I blow out a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
“Okay, you go out first. Our reservations are at the same time, but I’ll be fashionably late to mine so you and Jacob get seated first. You need anything, I’m there. Matt and Kennedy, too.”
“We’re the Avengers,” I say with a little smile.
She pats my cheek affectionately. “I love that you’re such a dork.”
A few moments later, I’m standing at the hostess desk, waiting in line to give them my name.
“Thanks for joining us today, Ms. McKenzie,” says the willowy hostess. “Looks like you’re the first to arrive. Would you like to wait for the other member of your party before being seated?”
“No need!” comes a jovial voice from behind me.
Had I not practiced this moment with Ian a dozen times this morning, I might have stiffened. Instead, I paste on a deliberately shy smile and turn to face him.
Jacob Freaking Houghton.
For some reason, I expect him to look different, knowing what I know. Or rather, suspecting what I suspect. But he’s the same. Same bland grin. Bland features. Bland suit. Bland everything.
“Lara, how are you?” he asks, kissing my cheek. “Hanging in there?”
Well, that answers that question. He knows I’m no longer employed by the SEC.
I let my hands wring like a damsel. “Well, um . . .”
He sets a hand on my shoulder. “I know. Let’s sit down. Get a drink and something extravagant for lunch. My treat.”
“Thanks, Mr. Houghton,” I say with obvious release.
“Anytime, Lara. And please, call me Jacob. I think we know each other well enough for that.”
Sabrina’s coming out of the bathroom as we head to our table, but she sails past both of us as though she’s never seen us before. I’m pretty sure Jacob glances at her “day cleavage,” but it’s little more than a male heterosexual checking out great boobs. He certainly doesn’t seem to recognize her as the notoriously elusive Sabrina Cross, which works well for the plan.
He holds out the chair for me, and we both settle with our napkins and menus. I’d deliberately picked a business-causal place for us to meet that’s nice enough for him to accept but not so fancy he’ll think it’s an odd choice for an unemployed SEC investigator.
“I was glad to hear from you,” he says after he’s ordered a bottle of white wine for the two of us. “I was just telling Whitney last night that I was sorry to hear you were no longer with the SEC. She so enjoyed getting to know you at Steve’s wedding. We both did. And Steve always spoke so highly of your work.”
I fiddle with my napkin and look down at my plate, noting out of the corner of my eye as Sabrina sits at the table directly behind Jacob, along with a tall woman with a sharp nose and even sharper gaze. I’m careful not to let my attention linger on them, instead waiting quietly as Jacob does the whole taste-and-swirl routine with the wine.
After the waiter moves away, Jacob lifts his glass. “To new beginnings.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I say, careful to infuse just a bit of desperation into the statement. I take a tiny sip of the wine. Jacob takes a drink as well—and not a small one. Excellent. Liquid lubrication is exactly what this conversation needs in order for the plan to work.
“So, Lara,” he says, starting to set down the glass but taking another sip of the wine instead. “I’ll admit, I was surprised to get your call. I’ve always enjoyed your company, but you’ve been so careful to keep a slight buffer—understandably so, considering what I do and what you do.”
“Did,” I correct. “What I did.”
“Right.” He gives a sympathetic smile.
I take a deep breath as though gathering my courage. “It’s actually . . . Well, it’s your relationship with Steve that made me think of contacting you.”
He nods encouragingly. “My brother-in-law was your boss a long time. I don’t think he’ll mind my telling you he was sad to lose you, Lara.”
“I’m hoping that’s the case,” I say with a small smile. “In fact, I was hoping you might be able to intervene on my behalf.”
He sits back and studies me. “You want your job back.”
Hell no. But what’s one tiny lie on the quest for justice . . .
“I made a mistake,” I say in a rush. “I acted rashly, and I’m worried he won’t listen to me. But I thought maybe if you talked to him . . .”
Jacob gives me a friendly smile. “Why don’t you tell me what happened—your side of it.”
I set my elbows on the table, burying my face in my hands. “I was such an idiot. I can’t even talk about it.”
He reaches across the table to touch my arm. “Lara. Talk to me. Let’s not forget you helped my wife safety-pin her dress after a few too many Pinot Grigios at Steve’s wedding. Whatever is said here stays between us.”
You wish, asshole.
I drop my hands back into my lap and take another deep breath. “Okay, it has to do with the case I’ve been working on.”
“Ian Bradley’s case.”
I see Sabrina straighten just slightly behind Jacob at hearing Ian’s name.
I nod. “It was . . . Well, I really shouldn’t say, but . . .”
“I know it was high-level,” he says dismissively, taking another sip of wine. The waiter swings by to refill it. “That’s what made you quit?”
I bite my lip. “Okay, here comes the embarrassing part . . . While I was working on the case, I sort of . . . Well, Ian—I mean, Mr. Bradley . . . He’s got this way about him, and even though I was investigating him . . .”
“You fell for him,” Jacob says, his voice just a bit more careful than before.
I give a small smile, letting my shoulders rise and fall. “I thought I did. I couldn’t find any dirt on him, and I told Steve as much. That’s why I didn’t recommend we move forward with a formal investigation. I didn’t know Steve was going to take over and move forward with the case anyway.”
Jacob sips more wine but says nothing, so I keep rambling.
“The thing is, I really thought I was doing the right thing. I wanted so badly to believe Ian was innocent. But now . . .” I close my eyes. “Now I wonder if I didn’t find anything because I let myself get distracted. Let him distract me.”
The irony is, most of what I’ve just said is true, even if it’s part of a bigger lie. I really did worry Ian was trying to distract me. I really did worry that I was letting him get under my skin in the way a better SEC investigator wouldn’t.
But I’ve also learned that’s not the part that matters. What matters is that Ian is one of the good guys. He didn’t break the law, and he didn’t betray me.
He wouldn’t. He’s better than that.
Jacob leans forward, eating up my line as we knew he would. “What happened?”
Showtime.
I take a shaky breath as I summon forth watery eyes. “I just learned that Ian’s cheating on me. I quit my job for him, and the bastard’s a liar.”
“Oh, Lara,” he says with a sigh. “Guys like that are amoral trash. Let me talk to Steve. He’ll understand when I tell him that Ian seduced you to trip up your case.”
I give an embarrassed wince. “But I don’t really want Steve to know that I slept with the guy I was investigating. Then he’ll never hire me back.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” He gives a small smile. “Let’s just say he might be more aware of Ian Bradley’s shortcomings than you think. How are things with you and Ian now? Have you broken things off?”
I shake my head and wipe my nose. “He doesn’t know I know about the other woman yet. A friend saw him out last night, all over some girl. I know I need to confront him, but—”
“What if you didn’t?”
I blink. “I can’t keep dating a cheater.”
“You could if you wanted to get back at him.” Jacob lifts his eyebrows.
“I don’t understand.”
Jacob takes another sip of wine. “I told you that you could trust me. Can I trust you?”
“Sure, of course,” I say, the picture of confusion.
“Ian Bradley isn’t a good man, Lara. He’s the worst kind of Wall Street cliché—arrogant, womanizing, filthy rich even by Wall Street standards . . .”
“Yes, but is he a criminal?”
“Guys like that don’t get where they are by being innocent. Surely you’re not that naive, no matter how good-looking the guy is.” He smiles, as though to soften the chastisement, and takes yet another sip of wine.
“You’re right,” I say with a self-deprecating slump. “The whole J-Conn thing felt dirty, but I couldn’t get a single person to come forward to testify.”
Jacob leans in with a smug expression. “Couldn’t you?”
I give him a puzzled frown. “I don’t understand. There’s nobody except . . .” My eyes go wide. “Oh my gosh. You were Steve’s confidential informant?”
He spreads his arms to the side with a rueful smile. “Guilty. I’m sorry Steve couldn’t tell you. We thought it’d be best to keep it under wraps as long as possible, given his and my connection.”
My mind is racing. Even though we knew—or at least had a darn good hunch—Jacob was the source, hearing him admit it makes me slightly nauseous. I glance at the back of Sabrina’s head, her stillness telling me she heard everything. Even better, the woman she’s with seems to be listening, too.
“Do you think it’ll hold up?” I ask. “It’s your word against his . . .”
“What if it wasn’t just my word?” He takes a sip of wine. “What if it was our word?”
“But I never found anything. You actually have information.”
“Eh.” He gives what I’m sure he imagines is a charming, boyish grin and shrugs a shoulder. “I may have exaggerated the depth of my knowledge.”
“Does Steve know?”
“Sure, he knows. He gets a fat check for playing along.”
I fiddle with my napkin to hide my barely contained fury at the man across the table from me, as well as the man who was my boss. My mentor. “What would I do?”
He shrugs. “Maybe you heard him bragging about the whole thing to a friend. Maybe a former J-Conn exec mysteriously shows up in his list of contacts, which you find on his phone.”
I stare at him wide-eyed. “I couldn’t.”
“Sure you could,” he says, filling up my glass even though I’ve barely touched it. “You get your job back. Ian Bradley gets what’s coming to him.”
I sit back in my chair with a little laugh. “I can’t believe it. All this time, I thought I was missing something, but you don’t actually have anything tying him to J-Conn, do you? You and Steve set him up.”
Jacob gives a cocky wink. “Sure did. The man’s slick, but not nearly as smart as he thinks he is.”
The moment is so quick, so subtle, I think maybe I’ve dreamed it, but the way Sabrina turns her head slightly tells me I haven’t.
Jacob Houghton just confessed to framing Ian for insider trading—with Steve’s help.
I shift my legs, purposely dropping my napkin.
A minute later, all hell breaks loose.