The question strikes her pretty features with offense and causes her head to jut back. “I…” She glances at Jimmy, who has smartly busied himself on his phone. “If you must know,” she says, tilting her chin up while lowering her voice, “Ineed to talk to the asshole owner of that company, or my family will lose their restaurant.”
And that is why I shouldn’t have opened my damn mouth. There’s no getting out of it now, so I bite. “And what does the owner of that company have to do with your family losing their restaurant?”
“The asshole, you mean?” Her eyes are wide as her lashes flutter innocence in direct contradiction to the swear words escaping her mouth.
“Yes, the asshole,” I reply, chuckling. “What’s the story?”
When the elevator suddenly jolts to an abrupt stop, I grab her arms reflexively to steady her. But playing with fire will get any man burned when she’s the one lighting the torch. I drop my hands back and tuck them in my pockets. As expected, no thank-you for saving her life comes, but the dirty look that follows could make most men shrivel. I’m not most men.
Jimmy darts out and then stops to look back. “Are you coming, Warner?”
Irritation vanishes under recognition, and she steps to the side to block my exit. “You’re Warner?” Her arms cross over her chest again as that fury returns to her eyes. “Warner Landers of Landers Ventures?”
Would it be so wrong to lie to get out of this situation so I can head to a barstool to drink bourbon with Jimmy instead?
Probably.
Under a heavy sigh, I glance at Jimmy. “I’ll meet you there, Jimmy.”
Confusion wrinkles his brow as he looks at me like I might need the backup. “Are you sure?”
She stabs him with a stare when she steps off the elevator, and snipes, “He’s sure, Jimmy.”
Jimmy shakes his head with a laugh. “Good luck with this one. I’ll have a drink waiting for you.”
“Make it a double.” I get off the elevator just after someone hops on. When the doors close behind me, and my friend is exiting the building, I turn back to her. “You’ve got two minutes.”
CHAPTER 2
Delaney Bayetti
Two minutes. . .
Two minutes to plead my case.
Two minutes to save my family’s business.
Two minutes to convince this jerk that destroying the average Joe living in the shadow of his fancy New York City penthouse is not just a business transaction.
Warner Landers starts walking through the large lobby toward the exit. I double step to catch up. “I appreciate you listening, but I need more than your ears.”
He stops and eyes me, his blue eyes piercing me like a piece of tissue paper that never stood a chance against his sharp edges. “What do you need?”
“Your heart.”
Balking, he tilts his head back as a humorless grin splits his cheeks. “You’re not getting that.”
“Why?” I cross my arms over my chest, indignant to the insult of his laughter. “Because it doesn’t exist?”
“Funny.”
I shrug, cracking my own grin with a little pride bubbling inside. “I thought so.”
“One minute,” he says, the warning as incisive as the turn away from me when he starts walking toward the exit. “Good night, Jerry.” He gives the slightest acknowledgment to the guard standing behind a tall desk in the center of the lobby.
His quick stride resounds through the barren room minus the one seating area on the other side of it. His broad shoulders are straight with the confidence of a nepo-baby, which I discovered he is through my research. He’s cocky and rude; utter assholery all wrapped up in one annoyingly attractive shell of a man who is clearly vacuous otherwise.
The rubber heels of my favorite flats are quiet in comparison as I chase him down. “Listen, Warner?—”
