“When you deliver some information we can actually use against these maniacs, I’ll shower you in confidence,” he replies, taking a minute to calm himself before going on. “In all seriousness, Collins, I’m sure you’ll do a great job with this. You’re really going to be a huge help to this operation.”
This little injection of encouragement surprises me. “Thanks, Mitchell,” I reply, “I’ll check in with you at the end of the day.”
We’re just about to hang up when my call waiting starts beeping. I glance down at my phone and see Milo’s name and number. What’s with all this outreach suddenly? I couldn’t pay him to drop me a line unprompted while we were dating. With a sigh, I answer my sorta-ex’s call.
“What’s going on, Milo?” I ask.
“Quinn,” he croaks, “it’s you.”
“Jesus, Milo,” I mutter, “you sound like hell.”
“I’ve been in hell since you broke up with me,” he whines accusatorially.
“Milo, my friend, I feel for you, but I don’t have time for this,” I tell him. “I’m working on a case, you know this.”
“Do you even care that I’m hurting?” he snaps. “This is your fault, Quinn. We had a great thing going.”
“We had a terrible thing going, Milo!” I exclaim. “You were the lousiest boyfriend in the history of, well, everything.”
“Now you’re just being cruel,” he moans.
“Listen,” I say, “use this as a learning experience. Don’t treat your next girlfriend like a speck of dirt on your carpet, and this won’t keep happening to you. But I’m an FBI agent, not a teacher. It’s not my job to keep educating you.”
“But—”
“I have to go now,” I cut him off, “I have a criminal organization to help dismantle.”
I hang up the phone before he can protest and drag myself into the shower. As the hot water washes over my skin, I can’t help but remember the words Brooks kept uttering in my dream. There’s no way you’ve ever been with a real man. Apparently even my subconscious is keenly aware of how lacking my sexual history has been. No wonder I keep fantasizing about Brooks. It’s not that I’m actually interested in him as a person, I’m just fascinated by the idea of fucking a real, manly man. But I’m sure I can manage to find one who isn’t also an obstinate, headstrong, loose cannon.
Hopefully, those aren’t the parts I’m actually attracted to.
“Good morning, Ms. Campbell!” says the friendly doorman I met yesterday at Kassie’s building. “So nice to see you again.”
“Morning...Franklin,” I say, fetching the man’s name from the tag on his uniform, “I’m glad to be here!”
That’s not a lie, either. This is the most excitement I’ve had in years. Even if I’ll still be sitting behind a computer all day. Getting to spend time with women my own age will be a nice change of pace from the sausage fest of my San Bernardino office.
“You can go right up,” Franklin tells me, “the ladies are expecting you. You look lovely this morning, by the way.”
“Thank you,” I reply, glancing down at my carefully put-together outfit. I followed Kassie and Kelly’s lead a bit more today, rather than my techie ex’s. I’m rocking a pair of black skinny jeans, an ultra-soft yellow tee, and a fishtail braid. And of course, my glasses. They’re almost like a mask for me to hide behind while I play the role of Keira Campbell. Whatever works, right?
I take the elevator all the way to the top, my pulse picking up with every passing floor. I wonder if Brooks will be around today? Tiberi said he’d be working at the Dante’s Nine auto shop most of the time, but who knows? Probably I should be hoping that he’s fixing an engine somewhere, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not hoping to see him. No harm in enjoying the view, as he would say. There’s no getting around the fact that he’s an attractive man. As forbidden as our getting together would be, a girl can dream. Quite literally.
I smile at my reflection in the mirror that hangs in the penthouse landing. This Keira is a sharp dresser. Why is it so much easier to feel good about myself when I’m someone else? Ugh. Best save the psychological quandaries for another day. I rap my knuckles on the door to suite B, adjusting the strap of my messenger bag. It’s tugging on the neckline of my tee shirt, exposing the very top of my bra. But before I can get my clothes in order, the door swings open.
“Hey—Oh...” I sputter, staring dumbly through the doorway.
Brooks towers before me in all his cut, inked glory, wearing nothing but a bath towel wrapped around his tapered waist. Of their own accord, my eyes skirt down his built torso, right down the ripped v at his hips—two lines of pristine muscle pointing right at the part of his body I spent the night dreaming about.
“Hey yourself,” he says, cocking an eyebrow at me.
I wrangle my face into an expression of indifference, but my entire body is buzzing with amorous sensation. His dark curls are still wet from the shower, and tiny droplets of water cascade down his amazing body. OK, so I am totally turned on. I’m only human.
“You gonna let me in?” I ask him, planting my hands on my hips.
“Only if you tell me the password,” he replies, leaning against the doorframe.
“How’s ‘some of us actually have jobs to do’ for a password?” I quip.
“That’ll do it,” he grins. “Nice bra, Red.”
I blush instantly, adjusting the neck of my tee as I hurry past him. “I told you, don’t call me Red.”
“Can’t help it, Red,” he shrugs, “those locks of yours are impossible to ignore. Embrace it—you’re gorgeous.”
Thankfully, Kassie and Kelly appear from behind the door of suite A before I have to formulate a response to that. They roll their eyes at the perfect specimen of man that is Brooks, parading around in his towel.
“Are you familiar with the phrase ‘hostile work environment’?” Kelly demands, brushing into the room.
“Me? Hostile?” Brooks replies, running a hand through his wet curls. “What are you talking about? I’m a goddamn delight to be around.”
“Walking around half naked is borderline sexual harassment,” Kassie informs him, “and even if you don’t think that counts as hostile, you’re going to make me hostile if you don’t stop bothering my new coworker.”