“Zeke knows what his team are and are not capable of,” Ronan said with a shrug. “If he thinks they can handle this without dropping any balls, then that’s his call.”
I met Zeke’s eyes. They were so dark they were nearly black, but when I took the time to look past the attitude he wore like a shield, I saw a hint of real emotion in them. For whatever reason, he did care.
“Thank you,” I said thickly. “Thank you all.”
“It’s no problem.” Ronan pushed his chair back. “Call a temp to cover for you. You can focus on yourself until everything is cleared up.”
I pressed my lips together. He was an amazing boss, and I’d never take it for granted. “Thank you.”
Zeke rolled his eyes. “Stop thanking him and let’s get started. Come with me.”
He stood and stretched, his shirt riding up to reveal an inch of tattooed abdomen. I tore my gaze away from that intriguing patch of skin just in time for him to notice. His expression turned smug but he didn’t mention it, instead sauntering out of the office as if he didn’t have a care in the world. I thanked Ronan and Kade again, excused myself, and placed a call to the temp agency we used. Once that was done, I went to Zeke’s office and knocked softly.
He glanced up from his computer, a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose that somehow only madehim sexier. “You know, you didn’t have to manufacture this whole situation just to spend more time with me,” he teased. “You could have asked.”
I snorted. Perfect. There was the reminder I needed about exactly who he was. Sarcastic. Flirtatious. Not the kind of man I should ever be attracted to.
ZEKE
With balance restored,I open a search tab on my computer. For a few seconds there, Fiona had been looking at me in a way I didn’t understand, and I’d had to get us back on an even footing.
“Grab a chair and pull it up,” I told her.
The first order of business was to look into her asshole ex. A subtle floral scent tickled my nostrils as she parked a chair a couple of feet away and perched primly atop it, her thighs crossed and her skirt pulled tight across them. I forced myself not to stare. She made a tempting picture.
“What’s Burger’s last name?” I asked.
“Bergen,” she corrected. “It’s Cole.”
“Bergen Cole,” I said, typing it into the search field. It was a unique enough name that I doubted I’d need to add many filters before I found who I was looking for. Sure enough, I found a social media account right away, along with a Wikipedia page for Bergen Cole, Artist. I skimmed the wiki page. It was basic, with a few sentences about his life and a list of his known works. I exited the page and opened the social media account. Images of landscape paintings filled the screen. Mountains, streams, skylines,and several of a flower garden. I didn’t have much of an eye for art, but I could tell he was reasonably talented.
I scrolled down the page until I found a photograph of a person I assumed was Bergen. My hand froze on the mouse and my eyebrow popped up. The man in the photograph had dark, shaggy hair, brown eyes, harsh features, tattoos climbing the sides of his neck, and a cocky smirk. In short, he looked so similar to me that we could have been brothers.
“Shit.” I whistled. “I’m totally your type.”
“Are not,” she retorted.
I glanced at the screen pointedly.
Her cheeks turned pink. “Okay, so there’s a resemblance, but did you ever stop to think that maybe that’s exactly what makes younotmy type?”
I frowned and waited for her to elaborate.
She huffed. “What person would want to go out with someone who reminded them of the worst time of their life?”
Ouch. I rubbed my chest. Now that she said it, I could see her point. Being around me must be difficult sometimes. A constant reminder of what she’d been through. Was this why she’d disliked me on sight? If so, it would explain a lot. Still, it would be nice to be seen as my own person. I didn’t like being lumped in with someone else and paying for their sins.
Also, what were the odds? When I left my job at the agency, half the reason I covered myself with tattoos and got damn near everything pierced was to make myself as recognizable as possible, so I could never be used as a nameless, faceless tool again. The chance of finding someone who resembled me so closely must be infinitesimal, but apparently, not impossible.
“Got it.” I clicked out of the social media page andopened a website that appeared to be dedicated to Bergen Cole and his art.
Beside me, Fiona sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just been a long day.”
“I understand. We’re good.” I shouldn’t be teasing her anyway. It would be best for me to just focus on the task at hand. Perhaps I should lay off flirting with her in general. I enjoyed seeing her bristle and blush, but if it was causing her genuine distress, that wasn’t okay. “Tell me more about Bergen. Is he from Chicago?”
“Yes,” she replied. “At least, that’s what he told me.”
I glanced at her. “I don’t suppose you know his social security number.”
