Love Irresistibly
Page 32
“Thank you, Lindsey.” Yes, fine, the man was hot. Brooke stood up from her desk, thinking it would be best to keep the door shut. She assumed Cade was there to talk about Sterling’s hacker, which she’d been keeping on the down-low.
As soon as she shut the door, Cade flashed her that thousand-watt smile. “Ms. Parker. How good of you to see me.”
She so was going to regret kissing him, she could already tell. Clearly, he felt that momentary indiscretion gave him leave to look her over, right there in her office, with a very bold, very familiar gaze.
“Mr. Morgan,” she said, emphasizing with her tone that they needed to keep this professional. “I assume you have some information for me?”
He eased back against her bookshelf, making himself right at home. “I have that name you were looking for. Eric Hieber.”
Eric Hieber. Brooke rubbed her hands together eagerly. Ooh, she so was going to fire his computer-hacking, homophobic ass.
As soon as she figured out who in the heck he was.
“Eric Hieber . . . that’s not ringing any bells,” she mused to herself, passing by Cade to look up the name on her computer.
“He’s a waiter at Reilly’s on Grand,” Cade told her. “Twenty-four years old, no priors, been with Sterling for two years. Good friends with Darrell Williams, one of the tech support guys here in the corporate office, who let it slip about a month ago that he’d been bombarded with work doing a software rollout that, among other things, temporarily switched everyone in corporate over to a default password. Hieber insists that Williams has no idea that he’d hacked into the company’s database. He claimed at first that the whole thing was just a joke, although, when pressed, he admitted that he waited on Ian Sterling and a male guest at Reilly’s about five weeks ago, observed that the two men were openly affectionate with each other, and said he was shocked that, quote, ‘A cool dude like Ian Sterling was into that homo crap.’”
When he’d finished, Brooke stared at him in amazement. “How do you know all this?”
“The Secret Service picked up Hieber this morning. I’m told he started crying during questioning when they mentioned the words ‘federal charges’ and ‘bank fraud.’”
Brooke was still trying to catch up. “Hold on. Does that mean your office is taking on the case?”
“I’ve arranged for a junior AUSA in my group to handle the matter under my supervision,” Cade said. “I suspect Hieber will end up with probation, but I’m guessing he’ll think twice before ever again hacking into a bank’s database as a ‘joke.’” His eyes skimmed over her, abruptly changing the subject. “And for the record, you look hot as hell in that dress.”
Brooke found herself going a little warm from his openly appreciative gaze. She’d put on a sleeveless red tailored dress that morning, mostly because she’d wanted an excuse to wear her red high-heeled shoes again. “This old thing.”
At her coy tone, Cade’s eyes flashed with undisguised interest. “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”
His directness took Brooke by surprise. She’d expected more quips and quasi-flirtatious sarcasm, not to be asked on an actual date. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Actually, certain parts of her were just fine with the idea of spending the evening with Cade. But other parts, the ones that were still thinking despite the blinding hotness of the cobalt blue eyes and three-piece suit, were remembering that she’d vowed to stay away from any emotional entanglements for a while.
“I was there when we kissed, you know,” he said in response to her hesitation. “I’m pretty sure you liked it. A lot.” He took a step closer, so that she was trapped between him and her desk.
She put her hand on his chest to stop him. “Easy there, cowboy. This is a place of busin—” she paused, pushing her palm against what was undeniably a very firm pectoral muscle. “Seriously, why are you so built for a lawyer?”
“I work out with Vaughn at the FBI gym,” he said with a casual shrug. “The pool there is good for my shoulder.”
“What’s wrong with your shoulder?” she asked.
For some reason, Cade seemed surprised by her question. “Just an old college injury.”
Before she could ask anything further, the phone on Brooke’s desk began to ring. “I probably should get that,” she said.
Cade remained standing right where he was. “You haven’t said yes to dinner yet.”
True. But she hadn’t said no, either.
Yes, fine. Cade had grown on her a little. He was smart and funny, and he’d gone above and beyond with the Eric Hieber matter. But even if, for argument’s sake, she was tempted to go out with Cade, she’d heard enough about Ford’s endless string of hookups to know there were certain rules to the casual-dating dance. Like maybe she was supposed to suggest drinks instead, but then again they’d already had dinner on Friday. But, maybe it didn’t count as an actual dinner if it had started off as a business meet—
Brooke’s phone rang a second time. Too much to think through, too little time. “I really should take that. How about if I get back to you about dinner?”
Cade looked her over, the long, slow look of a man not accustomed to waiting for something he wanted. “All right. The offer stays open for twenty-four hours.”
“What happens after twenty-four hours?”
As soon as she shut the door, Cade flashed her that thousand-watt smile. “Ms. Parker. How good of you to see me.”
She so was going to regret kissing him, she could already tell. Clearly, he felt that momentary indiscretion gave him leave to look her over, right there in her office, with a very bold, very familiar gaze.
“Mr. Morgan,” she said, emphasizing with her tone that they needed to keep this professional. “I assume you have some information for me?”
He eased back against her bookshelf, making himself right at home. “I have that name you were looking for. Eric Hieber.”
Eric Hieber. Brooke rubbed her hands together eagerly. Ooh, she so was going to fire his computer-hacking, homophobic ass.
As soon as she figured out who in the heck he was.
“Eric Hieber . . . that’s not ringing any bells,” she mused to herself, passing by Cade to look up the name on her computer.
“He’s a waiter at Reilly’s on Grand,” Cade told her. “Twenty-four years old, no priors, been with Sterling for two years. Good friends with Darrell Williams, one of the tech support guys here in the corporate office, who let it slip about a month ago that he’d been bombarded with work doing a software rollout that, among other things, temporarily switched everyone in corporate over to a default password. Hieber insists that Williams has no idea that he’d hacked into the company’s database. He claimed at first that the whole thing was just a joke, although, when pressed, he admitted that he waited on Ian Sterling and a male guest at Reilly’s about five weeks ago, observed that the two men were openly affectionate with each other, and said he was shocked that, quote, ‘A cool dude like Ian Sterling was into that homo crap.’”
When he’d finished, Brooke stared at him in amazement. “How do you know all this?”
“The Secret Service picked up Hieber this morning. I’m told he started crying during questioning when they mentioned the words ‘federal charges’ and ‘bank fraud.’”
Brooke was still trying to catch up. “Hold on. Does that mean your office is taking on the case?”
“I’ve arranged for a junior AUSA in my group to handle the matter under my supervision,” Cade said. “I suspect Hieber will end up with probation, but I’m guessing he’ll think twice before ever again hacking into a bank’s database as a ‘joke.’” His eyes skimmed over her, abruptly changing the subject. “And for the record, you look hot as hell in that dress.”
Brooke found herself going a little warm from his openly appreciative gaze. She’d put on a sleeveless red tailored dress that morning, mostly because she’d wanted an excuse to wear her red high-heeled shoes again. “This old thing.”
At her coy tone, Cade’s eyes flashed with undisguised interest. “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”
His directness took Brooke by surprise. She’d expected more quips and quasi-flirtatious sarcasm, not to be asked on an actual date. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Actually, certain parts of her were just fine with the idea of spending the evening with Cade. But other parts, the ones that were still thinking despite the blinding hotness of the cobalt blue eyes and three-piece suit, were remembering that she’d vowed to stay away from any emotional entanglements for a while.
“I was there when we kissed, you know,” he said in response to her hesitation. “I’m pretty sure you liked it. A lot.” He took a step closer, so that she was trapped between him and her desk.
She put her hand on his chest to stop him. “Easy there, cowboy. This is a place of busin—” she paused, pushing her palm against what was undeniably a very firm pectoral muscle. “Seriously, why are you so built for a lawyer?”
“I work out with Vaughn at the FBI gym,” he said with a casual shrug. “The pool there is good for my shoulder.”
“What’s wrong with your shoulder?” she asked.
For some reason, Cade seemed surprised by her question. “Just an old college injury.”
Before she could ask anything further, the phone on Brooke’s desk began to ring. “I probably should get that,” she said.
Cade remained standing right where he was. “You haven’t said yes to dinner yet.”
True. But she hadn’t said no, either.
Yes, fine. Cade had grown on her a little. He was smart and funny, and he’d gone above and beyond with the Eric Hieber matter. But even if, for argument’s sake, she was tempted to go out with Cade, she’d heard enough about Ford’s endless string of hookups to know there were certain rules to the casual-dating dance. Like maybe she was supposed to suggest drinks instead, but then again they’d already had dinner on Friday. But, maybe it didn’t count as an actual dinner if it had started off as a business meet—
Brooke’s phone rang a second time. Too much to think through, too little time. “I really should take that. How about if I get back to you about dinner?”
Cade looked her over, the long, slow look of a man not accustomed to waiting for something he wanted. “All right. The offer stays open for twenty-four hours.”
“What happens after twenty-four hours?”
