Loveable.
The fingers clutching a bottle of spring water still bore no wedding ring, damn it, but Bo sure groomed well.
Lucky could still rock his world.
Back then Bo had been “Newbie”, a pain in the ass necessary to getting Lucky out of the SNB’s clutches once and for all.
Yet here Lucky was.
There Bo was.
Tonight, they’d be lying together in wrinkled sheets, the bubble butt Lucky used to only dream about making a pleasant handful against his palms as they…
“Lucky? Lucky!”
How the hell had Johnson snuck up on him?
He’d store the image of a naked Bo for later. “What?”
“It’s time to get started.” She smoothed a hand down her jacket and sat next to Lucky. Bo on one side, Johnson on the other. Why? Tag teaming to keep the resident asshole in check?
Oh. Perfect position to ogle the CEO—who also wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
What the fuck? “Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Lucky hissed from the side of his mouth. He’d never pass up an opportunity to yank her chain.
Johnson flashed an unapologetic grin and murmured low enough to be heard only by Lucky, “I’m seeing someone at the moment, but I’m not dead by a long shot, and I so enjoy fine art. That man over there? He is fiiiiiine.”
Thank God she wasn’t wearing a wire.
Yeah, the man did have some looks on him, but didn’t hold a candle to Bo.
Bo rose from his chair and addressed the CEO. “Mr. Chastain, could you please show us a few of your standard operating procedures? We’re especially interested in any processes dealing with mixing-room housekeeping and security for controlled substance shipments.”
Chastain nodded at the newcomer in the room, a young lady who reached into a folder lying before her.
She handed a stack of papers to Chastain, who passed them to Bo. She also shared the wealth with Lucky and Johnson. “I believe you’ll find everything in order.”
Lucky dug some papers from the stack. Let Johnson deal with housekeeping, his area of expertise leaning toward security and diversion prevention of shipments.
He poured over his stack of procedures. Whoever’d written them knew what the hell they were doing. Except for a weird spacing problem on one of the pages, he couldn’t find one damned thing wrong.
“Shipments security checks out,” Lucky said, though he’d already consulted DEA and local police reports to confirm no missing product in the past five years.
Bo tapped away at his iPad.
“I have a question.” Johnson glanced up from her reading. “It says here that only approved chemicals are to be used for cleaning. Is there an approved list?”
The woman across from Lucky smiled and produced another document from the deceptively thin folder. How much stuff did she have in there?
Johnson nodded as she read. “Standard list. I see you use mostly green materials.”
“When we can.” The woman beamed. “It’s a pet project of mine.”
“Nice work.”
After perusing a few more documents, and accessing online records, Bo said, “Mr. Chastain. Would you mind excusing us? We need to compare notes.”
“Certainly.” The man rose and ushered his managers from the room. He smiled at Johnson before leaving.
