Casey leans forward in his seat and looks me dead in the eye. “I happen to think you’re worth it.”
Elation has me wanting to leap up and dance the boogie. I settle back in my chair with exaggerated casualness. “Oh, I know I am.”
Casey rolls his eyes. “Sure you do. Now tell me …” His eyes shift to the box I set down on his desk earlier. “What’s in the box?”
“Tim’s birthday present.”
His face pales.
“You didn’t get him a present, did you?”
Casey gives me a blank look.
“Dammit, hotdog. Tim is your assistant. How could you forget to buy him a gift? No wait.” I hold up a hand. “I know why.”
Grace. My machinations have a part in him losing his mind over her. Standing, I pick the box up and peel away the envelope that holds the card, tucking it inside my handbag. I walk around the side of the desk and place the box on Casey’s lap. “It’s Prada, but you’ll need to get him a birthday card.”
“Thanks, Mac.” His expression is all gratitude. “He doesn’t need a card though. Cards are for girls.”
“Tim is a girl.” I redo the button on my suit jacket and smooth a hand over the sleek fabric of my pants. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find Jake. He promised me lunch, and I’m ready to collect.”
Leaving Casey’s office, I look over my shoulder. He’s moving around to his side of the desk. His brows are drawn when he takes a seat and lifts the lid of his laptop.
Satisfied his focus is on his work and not me, I walk past Tim’s desk and lift a file from the new case tray without breaking stride and without having a clue of the contents. Casey might be willing to put in a good word for me, but that doesn’t mean Travis and Jared will listen. I still need to prove myself.
I slip the file inside my tote and head off to find Jake.
MAC
Later that night I’m at the Florence Bar where Jamieson is playing. The venue is booked to capacity to see them live. I switch my sharp office suit for skinny black jeans and a fitted I’m with the band tee shirt. When I arrive at the venue to oversee the setup, I put the stolen file to the back of my mind. It’s resting in the locked drawer of my desk at home. There hasn’t been time to look inside it yet, but I’m eager to get started. This will be my first case for Jamieson & Valentine Consulting. Granted, it’s unofficial, but that only makes it all the more challenging. I’ll have to utilise all my skills to pull it off without relying on anyone else.
“Where do you want this to go?” a burly man asks as he climbs the stairs off the side of the stage. A massive amplifier is wedged high on his shoulder.
“Just over there,” I tell him, pointing to the right-hand corner.
We have a crew do our hard labour now, but they still need direction. The band sits backstage, chilling and getting ready, basically acting like big deals. They deserve to, though, because they are. It’s their hard work that got them to this point so rather than take their egos down a notch, I let it slide. Mostly.
The venue is already hopping, the dance floor a complete crush as revellers dance and drink their Friday night away, waiting for Jamieson to take the stage. A DJ sits in the booth, pumping “Do I Wanna Know,” by the Arctic Monkeys when an argument in the crowd catches my eye. Normally I’d ignore it. Despite us having our own personal security, the Florence Bar employs the best bouncers in the city. They can handle anything. But this argument happens to be with our own personal security—Casey and a brunette in a red dress. It takes a lot to ruffle his smooth feathers, but right now they’re standing on end. His eyes are hard and every muscle tense. Casey is riled.
“If Jake keeps looking at you the way he does, I’m going to have to punch him,” Jared—the other half of our personal security for tonight—grumbles from beside me.
My eyes shift from Casey to Jake. He’s the only one in the band who helps with the setup, mostly because he doesn’t trust anyone else with his equipment. If a single drum is placed even an inch out of the alignment Jake prefers, he throws a tantrum of the likes you’ve never seen.
Right now he’s seated at his drum kit, sticks in hand and eyes on me—just like my brother said. I want to tell Jared that if he so much as touches a hair on Jake’s head, I’ll shave his eyebrows off while he slept. It wouldn’t be an idle threat either, because I’ve done it before. The night before Jared’s school formal. The best part of the entire retribution was seeing my eighteen-year-old brother in a suit, minus two eyebrows, while our mother asked him if he wanted her to draw a pair on his face for him.
Jake doesn’t need me defending him, though, so I bite the threat back. Instead, I give my brother a steely-eyed stare. “After everything that’s happened, you think Jake would tolerate you even looking at him crossways? If you so much as tried punching him, he would put you in the ground.”
“He would not,” Jared mutters.
“Would too.”
“Would not.”
“Oh my god.” I give him a withering look. “You’re going to be a father and you’re still ten years old. Your future kids are lucky they’ll have an Aunty Mac in their lives to teach them how to kick your sorry ass.”
Jared folds his arms, turning his glare at Jake toward the bopping crowd instead. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I snort. “This is me you’re talking to.”
He sighs, his eyes moving over the mass of dancers. “I know.”
With the setup under control, I motion to Jake, silently asking him if he wants a drink. His answer is a cute grin and wink that has me sighing.
“Be right back,” I tell my brother.
My heels click as I make my way down the stairs. I skirt the pulsating dancers as I move toward the bar. I’m halfway there when I notice Casey still arguing with the brunette. Now that I’m closer, I realise she looks familiar. I veer toward them. They’re so caught up in their disagreement, they don’t notice me.
“You’re wrong, Morgan,” I hear Casey saying, and it hits me. She’s the new detective in Sydney’s Cybercrime division. I’ve not only seen her in this very bar once or twice before, I’ve heard Travis bitching about her involvement with Casey before Grace arrived on the scene. “Grace isn’t leaving.”
Leaving? Like hell. Even if Grace had planned on leaving, I’m hedging my bets on Casey not letting her go anywhere.
“Oh, but I’m not,” I hear Morgan reply. “You see, her return flight is already arranged. She booked the ticket yesterday morning.”
Goddammit, Grace, what are you doing?
“Don’t you see?” she continues, leaning close and putting a hand on his crotch. “Grace doesn’t want you. But I do.”
If Casey’s expression is anything to go by, Morgan is about as wanted as a shit sandwich. When her tongue goes for his neck, he grabs a fistful of hair and yanks her off him.