When he’d looked across the lobby that morning and discovered the little blonde from the elevator checking him out, he couldn’t simply ignore it. He couldn’t get the image of her pink-thong-clad body out of his mind. And then there was her face. Fine, angular features and huge hazel eyes, and she had a great sense of humor, too. A triple threat: body, brains, and personality.
Back at the office, he’d only planned to chat briefly with her and collect his jacket. He hadn’t intended to ask her out, but for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself—his brain and body shifted to autopilot. She made him laugh, and that was something he hadn’t had occasion to do in a long, long while.
He scanned the restaurant again for signs of his brother. Where was Chance anyway?
Cursing, he pulled the file out of his briefcase next to him in the booth. Might as well not waste time. The sooner he solved this, the better. He flipped open the file and reread the description of the woman who’d intercepted the lost deals, then skimmed through the employee files of the women at Anderson Auctions who might remotely fit the description. Claire Maddox, his blonde from the elevator, seemed like the prime candidate for the spy. The person intercepting deals was described as petite woman in her mid to late twenties with a fantastic knowledge of antiques who called herself Flo. Hair and eye color varied, but wigs were easy to come by, as were temp hair dyes and colored contacts. The only other employee in the editorial department who fit the age and size of the spy was Mallory White. And though pretty in a wet dream sort of way, Mallory couldn’t possibly hold down the appearance of a savvy antiquities broker intermediary. And after a brief conversation with her this morning, he was certain she couldn’t pull it off intellectually, either.
Despite his doubts, all evidence pointed to Claire. And that really pissed him off. Why did it matter so much? Because she had a great ass and he wanted a piece of it? Was he really that pathetic?
No. It was the girl herself. She was different.
And she’d been insanely honest, even to her great embarrassment.
He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, playing their conversation over in his head. She was different and smart. Smart enough to carry off a slick game of corporate espionage, but she didn’t seem like the type. Surely his instincts weren’t that far off.
It was an odd coincidence though, that a woman matching the exact description of the woman poaching their clients just happened to get a job at Anderson Auctions around the same time the deals started being intercepted.
What hung him up most was the lack of information in Claire’s personnel file. She had come from a temp agency they used often, but nothing personal was in her file. Only education and date of birth. No work experience or reference letters. Not even a fucking address, like she’d come out of nowhere.
Damn if that wasn’t right. She came out of nowhere like a two-by-four against the skull, knocking all common sense out of him and turning him into a walking woody.
He sat up and grabbed his cell phone from under his menu. Jim would be able to dig up something on her to prove she wasn’t the spy. He texted his longtime buddy and former CIA agent the info on a Miss Claire Elaine Maddox. Twenty-five years old, single, master’s degree in history with a focus in ancient civilizations from a prestigious New York university—a seemingly perfect match for their spy.
And hot as hell. Take those smart wire-rimmed glasses off and let that hair down and damn. Once more, he pictured the reflection in the elevator door of her hot-pink lace thong flossing her perfectly formed ass. He groaned and adjusted himself again. Welcome back to New York City, brother. Have we got a case for you—a case of blue balls.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Chance said, sliding into the booth opposite him. “I was looking over the original agreement between Anderson Auctions and Elite Placement Agency, which, by the way, is owned by a Heather Larksay, who Mrs. Higgins says is first-rate. This recent temp is evidently a personal friend of Larksay and came with a ringing endorsement.”
That might explain the incomplete personnel file. Beverly Higgins and the agency owner were tight. Jim would need to pay this Heather Larksay a visit. Will slid a menu across the table. “The contract?”
“Standard, terminable at will.”
After the waitress came by and they ordered burgers, they went through the file on the lost deals together and discussed the conclusion that Will didn’t buy. Most evidence pointed to the new temp, Claire Maddox.
“We should terminate her without cause,” Chance said. “She has no claim for unemployment or wrongful termination since she’s a temp, so even if we’re wrong and she’s not the spy, we’ve not harmed ourselves. Her agency will simply place her somewhere else.”
Will took another bite of burger and shook his head. “Michael wants to find out who she’s working with.” He chased the bite with a swallow of Coke. “Not really liking the Maddox woman for the spy anyway.”
“Why not? Everything points to her.”