He reaches into his pocket, passes me a card…and it has the stink’s cell phone number on it.
I can’t wait to spam the shit out of it.
Or maybe sell it on the black market.
“I need to run to another meeting,” he murmurs, those dancing hazel eyes holding mine. “Call me anytime.”
Then he’s gone.
“Something you need to tell me?” Jean-Michel asks quietly.
Yes! Fucking yes.
But…one problem at a time. “No.”
“Marie,” he warns.
I carefully pocket the card, weigh how much to tell this good man, thisoverprotectiveman. I settle on, “We met a few months back. I didn’t know who he was, and he tried to take my Lyft.” I snag the papers, stack them carefully, taking my time and making sure each of the four edges is carefully aligned. “We had words.” A shrug. Another sigh as I fumble with my words. “And now he’s here.”
He falls quiet, studying me for a long moment, and I’mthisclose to spilling my guts when he releases me from that intense stare and says, “Tiff is waiting, and I need to get home to her. Do you need me here for this?”
“No,” I say, probably far too eagerly before I settle myself and add, “It’s the same as before—keep your distance, I’ll update you with what you need to know, and hopefully that’ll keep you well away from any investigation fallout and future court dates.”
“Let’s hope those court dates for her aren’t all that far into said future.”
I smile as he leaves, but I know it’s distracted.
Because I have the weight of that card in my pocket.
And because I know that Jace will be waiting for me to use it.
Same as he’ll be waiting for me tonight.
No matter how late I get home.
Thirty-Six
Jace
“Jean-Michel knows something’s up,”she says, nose wrinkled adorably.
It’s been several weeks since Marie came to my office that night and all Agent Phillips has told her and me is that the FBI is working on putting the pieces together.
Seriously.
I may call her Attie, just to spur her into motion.
And in the meantime, we’re supposed to continue as usual.
Not the easiest thing in the world for the two control freaks currently occupying the bed in her condo deal with, and I know that Marie is struggling with the same itchy, powerless feelings as me.
But there’s nothing to be done and work has been insane for both of us—me trying hard to get the endometriosis treatment back on the calendar. It’s not looking promising, as we’re still fighting the patent shenanigans which is forcing us to jockey projects around on the schedule to make certain we have all our ducks in a row. Add in needing to hire another security company, one who can work to make the campus safe for my employees without tipping off the Duarte subsidiary…and then, theoretically the other, more powerful players Agent Phillips is working to take down, and I’ve barely had time to spend with Marie.
Thankfully, my woman had an in with a man named Pascal and connected us.
His company will be covering Genen-core until we can move forward with his recommendation for a corporate security firm.
And Marie has been just as busy on her end, though it has less to do with scheduling and security and the FBI, and more to do with Jean-Michel.
