Something in his tone made me glance up. He sounded genuinely impressed, maybe even a little touched.
“It’s my job,” I said simply. “I don’t do things halfway.”
“Clearly,” he murmured, then turned back to me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “I need your help with something else.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That depends entirely on what it is and whether it involves pretending to be engaged to you in any additional venues.”
“Nothing so dramatic,” he assured me. “I need a tuxedo for a charity gala this weekend. The Pediatric Cancer Foundation event at the Metropolitan Museum.”
That wasn’t what I had been expecting. “That’s not in our contract. Call a personal shopper.”
“I wantyouropinion,” he said. “You have excellent taste, as evidenced by this extremely thorough presentation, and a vested interest in making sure I look respectable for potential candidates who might be attending.”
“Flattery and logic in the same sentence,” I observed. “You must be desperate.”
“I’ll buy lunch,” he offered. “And we can discuss candidates simultaneously.”
“I can’t be bought, Mr. Burkhardt.”
“Everyone can be bought with the right food, Ms. Marcel. The trick is figuring out the currency.” He studied me for a moment. “You strike me as a sushi person. Precise, elegant, no unnecessary components.”
The accuracy of his observation was irritating. “Fine,” I conceded. “Two hours. Tomorrow. And we are discussing these women.”
His smile was triumphant. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up at eleven.”
“I’ll meet you there,” I countered. “Text me the address.”
“Always maintaining boundaries,” he noted. “Admirable but ultimately futile. I’m very good at getting past defenses, Ms. Marcel.”
“And I’m very good at maintaining them, Mr. Burkhardt,” I replied. “It’s why I’m still in business after my ex-fiancé tried to destroy my reputation along with my heart.”
His expression shifted to something more serious, the playfulness vanishing in an instant. “This Austin sounds increasingly like someone who deserves a visit from my security team,” he said, his voice suddenly hard with an edge I hadn’t heard before. “Maybe a long, private conversation about how to treat women properly.”
I stared at him, stunned not just by the shift in his demeanor but by the information he had. “How do you know his name? I never told you his name.”
Callan had the grace to look slightly abashed, though the hardness remained in his eyes. “I may have had Erika do some background research. Purely for professional purposes.”
“You investigated me?” My voice rose as a complicated mix of emotions surged through me; outrage that he’d violated my privacy, a strange flutter that he’d cared enough to look into my past, and something darker and more vengeful at the thought of Austin facing consequences for what he’d done.
“I investigate everyone I work with,” he said with a shrug, though his expression remained unusually solemn. “Standard procedure.”
“That is absolutely not standard procedure,” I shot back, suddenly furious. “My personal life is off-limits. You had no right to dig into my past.”
“You’re right,” he admitted, surprising me again. “I overstepped. I apologize.”
The simple acknowledgment took some of the wind out of my sails, but I wasn’t ready to let it go. “Why would you even care about my ex?”
“Because he hurt you,” Callan said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And anyone who would choose someone else over you clearly suffered from a traumatic brain injury. Or deserves to experience one.”
“I... that’s not...”
“Just an observation,” he said, mercifully letting me off the hook. “For what it’s worth, his loss is currently funding my found-the-perfect-wedding-planner good fortune.” He turned to leave, then paused at the door. “Oh, and Anica?”
“Ms. Marcel,” I corrected automatically.
“Wear something blue,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “It’s your color.”
And then he was gone, leaving me standing in my ridiculous research room.
