Page 13 of Wrecked With You

Damien raised a brow, and Tony looked into those oddly hypnotic dual-colored eyes. “As you just saw, I can hardly force her. For that matter, I’m not certain I still employ her.”

“She’s ballsy. She can hold her own. And I don’t have a clue what I’m really walking into. Could be an easy meet and an exchange of info. Or I might end up with a gun aimed at my head.” He crossed his arms as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Damien nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I told you in Paris that I owe you one, and I meant it. But I can’t compel her. And I won’t try. That’s not the way I work.”

“I get it. I wouldn’t want you to. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve satisfied the obligation.”

“I’m not sure—”

“I am,” Tony said. “I walked into this party and told you I needed a woman. You found me the perfect partner for this job in under an hour. You did your part,” he added with a shrug.

“I’m happy to find you another partner for the job,” Stark said. “Where you’re concerned, I’m inclined to go over and above. I want you on the team.”

“Then you know how I feel about Emma. I want her, Stark. And I’m going to get her.”

* * *

Tony pulled his hybrid Land Rover into the narrow driveway of Emma’s Venice Beach house, thankful that Quince had vouched for him with her sister.

“You’re not going to get anywhere with her,” Eliza had told him. “Emma’s stubborn, and she makes her own rules. She always has. And it sounds like she’s made up her mind.” Her mouth twitched. “Once she’s dug in, there’s no digging her out. But if you want to waste your time, be my guest,” she’d added, then rattled off the address.

Now Tony was here, and he sat for a moment with the SUV in park, mournful blues filling the car from the ridiculously awesome sound system he’d installed a month after he bought the thing. He intended to take a moment to hone his plan to convince her.

He never got the chance. His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rapping at his window, and there she stood. The plain silver band she wore on her right hand clacked against the glass, and he looked into her stern expression, her hazel eyes dull and expressionless.

Stark had told him she was a pro, and one look at her face proved it.

He hadn’t yet killed the engine, so he hit the button to roll down the window. “Problem?”

“What the hell are you doing in my driveway? Did Stark actually give you my address?”

“I asked, but he refused. I got it from Eliza,” he added, since that was a nice, subtle way to suggest that her sister was on his side.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

He expected her to say more. To tell him to get off the property. Or that he should explain why he was there. Something.

But all she did was turn around and walk back into the house.

For a moment he simply sat there, looking at the spot where she’d been. Then he realized that he was smiling. This woman was turning out to be a hell of a lot of trouble. But he also had a feeling that she was worth it.

He killed the engine, got out of the vehicle, and followed the path to blue door of her charming little bungalow.

She opened it before he reached the patio. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

“You wouldn’t want to work with me if I did.”

Her voice held no irony as she said, “I don’t want to work with you now.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You do.”

He waited for her to slam the door in his face. Instead, she opened it wider. “Convince me,” she said, and invited him in.

He stepped into the tiled entry hall, then followed her into the spacious living room filled with both light and comfortable-looking furniture. The walls were wood and stone, and were covered in colorful paintings and framed photographs. A bookcase took up one wall, and he stifled the urge to study the spines, just to see what Emma Tucker read. He didn’t, but only because she was already in the next room, and he hurried to catch up to her in the kitchen.

“Great house. You own or rent?”

“I bought it years ago,” she said. “It was a dump. I made improvements.”