A Lot like Love
Page 46
“I had sixty people in the store until just a few minutes ago. I didn’t hear it ringing and couldn’t have answered it even if I had.”
“I’m in my car, two minutes from the store. When I get there, you and I are going to have a talk about your lack of vigilance with your cell phone.”
“No—wait.” Jordan shut the door so the others couldn’t hear. “Look, Nick, I’m beat. We had a pickup party tonight, I’ve got three employees in the store, and I don’t have the energy to do the whole pretending-to-be-dating thing in front of them. Plus, you sound like you’re raring to go over this, and as much as I normally enjoy being lectured after a long day of work, I’m wondering if we could just save that for another time. As in, you know, never.”
Nick didn’t say anything at first. When he finally answered, his voice had a note of suspicion to it. “What’s a pickup party? Sounds sketchy. And it definitely sounds like something my girlfriend shouldn’t be attending.”
“It’s a party where club members pick up their wine. Not people.”
He sounded somewhat appeased. “Hmm. Just as long as no one’s putting their keys in a fishbowl or anything.”
Jordan smiled. “How 1970s of you. I think it’s wrist watches now, not keys.”
“I don’t even want to know how you know that.” Nick paused. “Seriously, how do you know that?”
“I saw it on Oprah.” Jordan took a seat at her desk. “What’s the emergency, anyway? I assume there is one, if you were trying to reach me all night.”
“Someone’s been following me all day.”
She turned serious. “Do you think we’re in trouble?”
“No, I actually think this is a good sign,” Nick said. “Eckhart’s investigator must be getting desperate, not having been able to dig up any dirt on me. But since he’s watching, we need to make sure everything looks on the up-and-up.”
“And that means . . . ?”
“That you and I are going on another date. The weekend starts tomorrow. With as much as Nick Stanton likes you, he’d want to see you again. Soon.”
“Nick Stanton doesn’t play the usual relationship games. I think I like this guy. Hold on a second and I’ll see what I can do.” Jordan checked the calendar on her phone. “How about lunch on Sunday? I usually take a half-hour break once Martin gets in.”
Nick sounded insulted. “You’re trying to push me off to a Sunday day date? That’s the lowliest of all weekend dates—where you slot the scrubs who barely beat out doing laundry. I want a Friday or Saturday night date. Period.”
The Great Oz had spoken.
“Sorry, but this Friday I’m having dinner with my father. And as you already know, on Saturday I have plans with my friends,” Jordan said. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I could bump you up to Sunday evening, after the store closes.”
“There’s a man who’s been watching my every move for the last eight hours, Jordan. He’s going to wonder what’s going on when Nick Stanton, who supposedly has a girlfriend and a regular life, sits at home alone on a Friday and Saturday night. The FBI didn’t magically produce friends for me as part of this cover. Other than my fake house and my fake office, there aren’t too many places I can go because I can’t risk anyone recognizing me. You are the part of this assignment that makes everything look normal. So it’s either dinner with your father on Friday, or Saturday with your friends. You pick.”
Jordan bit her tongue, knowing he was at least partially right. Still, for a fake boyfriend, he was awfully bossy. “Fine. You can pick me up on Saturday night and I’ll take you to dinner with my friends. I’ll tell them your work meeting was canceled or something.”
“See? Was that so hard?”
Yes, because now she had to lie to three more people she cared about, but she’d worry about that later. “Just be at my house at seven.”
WHILE DRIVING BACK to his condo—with a guy on his tail—Nick’s cell phone rang a few minutes after he finished talking to Jordan. He saw that it was Huxley, who Davis had assigned to be the liaison on the favor Nick had called in.
Finally. Nick had been expecting this call all day. “I was thinking you might’ve forgotten my number,” he said as he answered.
“Sorry for the delay,” Huxley said. “Griegs isn’t easily accessible, given the circumstances.”
True. “So what’s his assessment of the situation?” Nick asked.
“That Kyle Rhodes isn’t exactly Mr. Popularity with some of the inmates at MCC. He’s already been involved in several altercations. It doesn’t sound like he’s the instigator, but the guards have started putting him in disciplinary segregation nevertheless. Probably hoping that will pacify anyone who thinks he’s getting special treatment because of his money.”
For the first time, Nick sympathized with Kyle Rhodes. Being sentenced to prison for a crime he’d willingly committed was one thing, but being thrown in disciplinary segregation merely for defending himself was another. “But Griegs will keep an eye on him?”
“He says he’ll try. But he told me to warn you that there’s probably not much he can do. Apparently, Rhodes isn’t exactly helping the situation—he defends himself when threatened. Griegs says it’s just as likely that Rhodes will end up injuring somebody else during a fight. Either way, it’s not a good situation.”
“I’m in my car, two minutes from the store. When I get there, you and I are going to have a talk about your lack of vigilance with your cell phone.”
“No—wait.” Jordan shut the door so the others couldn’t hear. “Look, Nick, I’m beat. We had a pickup party tonight, I’ve got three employees in the store, and I don’t have the energy to do the whole pretending-to-be-dating thing in front of them. Plus, you sound like you’re raring to go over this, and as much as I normally enjoy being lectured after a long day of work, I’m wondering if we could just save that for another time. As in, you know, never.”
Nick didn’t say anything at first. When he finally answered, his voice had a note of suspicion to it. “What’s a pickup party? Sounds sketchy. And it definitely sounds like something my girlfriend shouldn’t be attending.”
“It’s a party where club members pick up their wine. Not people.”
He sounded somewhat appeased. “Hmm. Just as long as no one’s putting their keys in a fishbowl or anything.”
Jordan smiled. “How 1970s of you. I think it’s wrist watches now, not keys.”
“I don’t even want to know how you know that.” Nick paused. “Seriously, how do you know that?”
“I saw it on Oprah.” Jordan took a seat at her desk. “What’s the emergency, anyway? I assume there is one, if you were trying to reach me all night.”
“Someone’s been following me all day.”
She turned serious. “Do you think we’re in trouble?”
“No, I actually think this is a good sign,” Nick said. “Eckhart’s investigator must be getting desperate, not having been able to dig up any dirt on me. But since he’s watching, we need to make sure everything looks on the up-and-up.”
“And that means . . . ?”
“That you and I are going on another date. The weekend starts tomorrow. With as much as Nick Stanton likes you, he’d want to see you again. Soon.”
“Nick Stanton doesn’t play the usual relationship games. I think I like this guy. Hold on a second and I’ll see what I can do.” Jordan checked the calendar on her phone. “How about lunch on Sunday? I usually take a half-hour break once Martin gets in.”
Nick sounded insulted. “You’re trying to push me off to a Sunday day date? That’s the lowliest of all weekend dates—where you slot the scrubs who barely beat out doing laundry. I want a Friday or Saturday night date. Period.”
The Great Oz had spoken.
“Sorry, but this Friday I’m having dinner with my father. And as you already know, on Saturday I have plans with my friends,” Jordan said. “But if it’ll make you feel better, I could bump you up to Sunday evening, after the store closes.”
“There’s a man who’s been watching my every move for the last eight hours, Jordan. He’s going to wonder what’s going on when Nick Stanton, who supposedly has a girlfriend and a regular life, sits at home alone on a Friday and Saturday night. The FBI didn’t magically produce friends for me as part of this cover. Other than my fake house and my fake office, there aren’t too many places I can go because I can’t risk anyone recognizing me. You are the part of this assignment that makes everything look normal. So it’s either dinner with your father on Friday, or Saturday with your friends. You pick.”
Jordan bit her tongue, knowing he was at least partially right. Still, for a fake boyfriend, he was awfully bossy. “Fine. You can pick me up on Saturday night and I’ll take you to dinner with my friends. I’ll tell them your work meeting was canceled or something.”
“See? Was that so hard?”
Yes, because now she had to lie to three more people she cared about, but she’d worry about that later. “Just be at my house at seven.”
WHILE DRIVING BACK to his condo—with a guy on his tail—Nick’s cell phone rang a few minutes after he finished talking to Jordan. He saw that it was Huxley, who Davis had assigned to be the liaison on the favor Nick had called in.
Finally. Nick had been expecting this call all day. “I was thinking you might’ve forgotten my number,” he said as he answered.
“Sorry for the delay,” Huxley said. “Griegs isn’t easily accessible, given the circumstances.”
True. “So what’s his assessment of the situation?” Nick asked.
“That Kyle Rhodes isn’t exactly Mr. Popularity with some of the inmates at MCC. He’s already been involved in several altercations. It doesn’t sound like he’s the instigator, but the guards have started putting him in disciplinary segregation nevertheless. Probably hoping that will pacify anyone who thinks he’s getting special treatment because of his money.”
For the first time, Nick sympathized with Kyle Rhodes. Being sentenced to prison for a crime he’d willingly committed was one thing, but being thrown in disciplinary segregation merely for defending himself was another. “But Griegs will keep an eye on him?”
“He says he’ll try. But he told me to warn you that there’s probably not much he can do. Apparently, Rhodes isn’t exactly helping the situation—he defends himself when threatened. Griegs says it’s just as likely that Rhodes will end up injuring somebody else during a fight. Either way, it’s not a good situation.”
