She claimed to do these jobs because she loved the money. He knew that wasn’t strictly true. She did love money, in the way that only someone who’d grown up without any could. But he knew that wasn’t why she did it. Nope, she worked for him when he asked because she thought she owed him.
But the truth was, he owed her.
The rest of the guys got comfortable. Joe, who besides being his IT guy was also his right-hand man. Then there was Lucas, Trev, and Reyes. Their conference room was big, but so were they and the room seemed to shrink in their presence.
“Why do you smell like maple and bacon?” Joe asked Max.
“Because I’m eating a maple and bacon donut,” Max said.
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
Joe’s stomach growled loud enough to echo off the walls.
Max blew out a sigh and tossed him a white paper bag. “You gotta share with Carl though—I promised him some.”
Carl gave one sharp bark in agreement.
The rest of the guys protested, loudly.
“I want it.”
“Shit, man, I’ll even pay for it.”
But Joe held tight to the bag, fighting the others off. When he was in the clear, he pulled out the donut, broke off a corner, and tossed it to Carl, who caught it in midair with an audible snap of his huge jaws.
“Dude,” Max chided his dog, “you didn’t even taste that.”
Carl licked his massive chops but didn’t take his eyes off Joe, his new BFF.
Joe bit into the rest of the donut. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and moaned.
“Maybe you need a moment alone with that thing,” Archer said dryly.
“Yes. Jesus.”
“Right?” Max said with a smile. “I wanna marry this donut and have its babies.”
This started an explicit, filthy conversation that had everyone laughing until Archer opened his laptop. Immediately all conversation and amusement faded away.
Time to get to work.
Thirty minutes before the night’s gig, Archer heard the outer door to his offices open and close and then soft voices.
His receptionist, Mollie, greeting someone.
A few seconds later he heard the soft click, click, click of heels heading his way.
Mollie wore heels. So did some of his clients. But he knew the sound of these. Even if there hadn’t been attitude in every single step he would’ve recognized Elle’s smooth, confident stride anywhere.
And if that didn’t clue him in, the fact that his dick stirred was a dead giveaway.
A text from Mollie came through announcing Elle’s arrival just as the woman herself knocked once on his door. She leaned against the wood, saying nothing.
She looked . . . heart-stopping. That was the thing about Elle, she was always one hundred percent put together. He’d had plenty of women in his life. He knew the effort that they put in and the mind-boggling time they took, so he had no idea how Elle did it day in and day out. But whether on the job or in her personal life, it didn’t matter, she dressed like a million bucks and she never had so much as a single strand of her shoulder length blonde hair out of place. In fact, there’d only been one time in the eleven years he’d known her when she hadn’t been on her game and she sure as hell wouldn’t thank him for the reminder of that long ago, fateful night.
Earlier this morning she’d been in a power-red suit dress that had screamed success, even at the crack of dawn. She’d changed into a killer little black dress, emphasis on little. Her heels defied gravity with sexy little straps around her ankles and bows at the back, and her expression said she ate men for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
She did a slow twirl and he stopped breathing as he slowly rose from his chair. “Holy shit, Elle.”
“I wasn’t going for holy shit. I was going for sophisticated sexy.”
“Copy that,” he said. “But you’re also one hundred percent holy shit. You’re also a walking heart attack and aneurism—an all-in-one special.”
“Good. I was worried that maybe I look a little bit too much like I belong on Post Street.”
He looked her over again, enjoying the view way too much. “Post Street’s looking good.”
She rolled her eyes. “You should check out the corner of Post and Kiss My Ass.”
He grinned and strolled over to her. She smelled like a million bucks, making him want to press his face into her hair, or better yet her neck so he could inhale her like she was his own maple and bacon donut. Instead, he handed her an earpiece. “Comms. We’ll all be connected. There’ll be constant eyes on you too. The guys are already in place. Our mark isn’t known to be dangerous or armed but—”
“You’re not taking any chances with me yadda yadda,” she said impatiently, taking the earpiece. “I’ve heard the spiel before. I’m not a special snowflake, Archer. If I was, I wouldn’t be here—you wouldn’t allow it.”
All true. But he could no more curb his insane need to keep her protected and safe than he could stop breathing. It’d always been like that for him with her.
She put in the earpiece and give him a little nod.
“Okay,” he said. “So—”
“I’ve read the file you emailed me,” she interrupted. “I’m going in as Candy Cunningham, the girl Chuck swiped for and thinks is tonight’s hookup. I’m to get in, ID him, hold his attention until you guys do your thing with the laptop that’s hopefully in his briefcase, and then get out.”
“And get out fast, Elle. I don’t want him to know you’re—”
“Not Candy,” she said. “I think I know what I’m doing by now. You ready to do this or do you need to freshen up your lipstick?”
Since she was now wired for sound and so was Archer, he heard the snickers and snorts from his men in his ear. He didn’t bother to respond. He could and did demand their respect. But he was under no such illusions when it came to controlling Elle.
They took the elevator in silence. Elle stared at the doors. Archer stared at Elle. He had no idea how the dress was containing her full breasts with that low, plunging vee. Every move she made, they strained to escape.
What felt like a year later, the elevator doors finally opened. He caught Elle’s hand and waited until she met his gaze. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to gain his attention or walk out,” he said. “After that we go to Plan B.”
“Which is?”
“A plan that doesn’t involve you.”
“In that dress, she’s only going to need one minute,” Joe said in Archer’s ear from his vantage point in the courtyard.
“I’d put money down on fifteen seconds,” Reyes said.
“Shut it,” Archer said.
Radio silence followed this directive.
Elle snorted and walked off, her heels clicking over the cobblestones as she passed the fountain in the center of the courtyard and entered the pub.
Archer took a moment to shake it off—around her he had to do that a helluva lot—and followed. He was going in as a patron and would be guarding her sexy ass.
O’Riley’s was one-half bar, one-half seated dining. The walls were dark wood that gave an old-world feel to the place. Brass lanterns hung from the rafters and rustic baseboards finished the look that said sit your tired ass down, order good food and spirits, and be merry.
Catching sight of Elle heading toward the bar wasn’t difficult, people parted like the Red Sea for her, making room. She settled herself on a barstool right next to Chuck Smithson and nodded to the bartender.