Page 16 of Playing Hard to Get

I dropped my jaw and clutched my chest. “That hurts.”

With eyes narrowed and a huge smile dancing on her face, Frankie laughed at me. She looked ridiculous and I loved it. I grabbed her and pulled her in for a hug. Her head rested against my chest. A minute passed before she pulled away.

“So—”

“I brought coffee.”

Frankie stopped. Took a second to blink her way into understanding. A crooked smile broke her face. “No good things. Great things. You're the best.”

“That’s why you love me.”

“That’s why I love you.” Frankie took a swig of the swill I handed her, then was back to business. “So, the guy is Gregory Carrington. He wants protection for his daughter while she travels.”

“Where’s she traveling to?”

“He didn't say. We’ll hash out the details in…” Frankie glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantle, an old heirloom passed down from her grandfather. “Two minutes.”

“Lee coming?”

“He’s still in Florida.”

Nodding, I headed for the large oval conference table at the far side of the room. “Think I’ll need my passport?”

“Better not. Not this time anyway. He mentioned a rush. Possibly tonight.”

Tonight? Shit. I’d thought about hunting down Vivian, convincing her she needed me in her bed. That wasn’t gonna happen now.

The buzzer rang and Frankie sucked in a deep breath as she lifted her chin and stood up straight. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

She walked out of the office and I heard the voices in the other room. The deep baritone, presumably Mr. Carrington, and Frankie’s alto pitch. An angel’s voice, as Corey would say. She ushered the man into the office, and I wished I would have worn nicer clothes. He was dressed in a dark black suit and crisp white shirt, a bright red tie clenched at his throat. I tugged at my sleeves, rolling them down as Frankie busied herself with the single cup coffee maker on the buffet by the door.

Any other woman as rich as she was would probably have hired help for things like answering the door. Or making coffee. But Frankie wasn't like that. She wasn’t like anyone I knew. When we first met, I didn't have a clue she was rolling in dough. It wasn't until she introduced me to her cousin—all strutting on a runway kind of gorgeous—that I realized Frankie was much more than she was letting on.

Frankie handed the guy the cup of coffee and motioned toward me. I stood, smoothing my hands over my dark blue button-up as I took the five steps to reach his side.

“This is Mitch Saunders. He’s one of our best.”

“Sir,” I said, brisk, direct, my military training kicking in. I gave his hand a firm shake and wanted to cringe at the limp, wet noodle he offered me in return.

“Carrington,” he said in reply, not looking at me, before he pulled his hand back and wiped it across the slick sheen of sweat on his brow.

My eyes flicked toward Frankie, and she smoothed a hand against the golden hair swept up at the back of her head. I wanted to laugh. She was about as impressed as I was. A quick nod let her know I felt the same way.

Carrington brought his coffee to the table and took a seat in the chair I vacated a moment before. I grabbed my coffee cup from in front of him, eyeing Frankie as I walked the long way around the oval table and planted myself as far away from our potential client as I could. I had half a mind to leave the room, walk out on the suit and any money he might bring us. I’d bet my life Frankie felt the same way. She smoothed her hair again, her lips pursed, then grabbed her coffee off her desk and took a seat just shy of halfway between him and me.

“Tell me what it is you’re looking for.” All business, harsh under nice. “What can LS Security do for you?”

“My daughter, Anna, is in need of protection.” The man oozed slimeball like his pores oozed sweat. He ran a thick hand over his damp brow before taking a drink of his coffee. “She’s planning on traveling, and I don't want her going alone. I don't want anyone taking advantage of her. She’s a sweet girl. Naive. Thinks she knows how the world is run when she’s more likely to get drawn into trouble of other people’s making. Too trusting, if you ask me.”

Frankie nodded, grabbed the single green folder laying on the center of the table, and slid it toward Carrington. He flipped the folder open and barely glanced at the papers inside.

“Our contract, Mr. Carrington.” She motioned toward the folder. “I emailed it to you when we first spoke. I assume you’ve reviewed everything?”

He waved his hand over the papers. “Yes, yes. Anna wants to go to California tonight. You can provide someone trustworthy to protect her, yes?”

Frankie straightened her shoulders. “The contract, Mr. Carrington, lays out what we can and cannot provide. It includes details of the amount of notice we need for a job, be it in the city, cross country, or on foreign soil. If you’ll flip to page ten—”

“Yes or no, sweetheart?” Carrington flipped to the back page and grabbed the pen off the table in front of him.