Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“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.