That sobered him. He had the bodyguards to prove it. “No.”
“It is when you combine it with the black suit . . .” She studied his jacket. “Do you own, like, twenty of them?”
He fought the urge to follow her gaze and look down. “We’re discussing my fashion choices?”
She shrugged. “Just making an observation, but yes. Fine. I’ll agree to your deal, but I won’t stop investigating you until I’m satisfied you’re telling the truth and not involved.”
It didn’t take a master negotiator to see the trap. This is what he did for a living. He knew how to bait and what to give up. He didn’t see that she was budging on much at all. “How are those good terms for me? I don’t win anything.”
“You poor thing.”
Her sarcasm nearly knocked him over. “You clearly don’t belong to the ‘a male ego is a fragile thing’ way of thinking.”
“I don’t care if it is or not. You’ll have to get someone else to stroke yours.”
The word vibrated through him. She knew what she was doing. She had to. “Interesting.”
She reached for her cup and held it in a tight grip in front of her. “Frankly, I have a feeling you’ll be fine if you don’t get your way just this once.”
He couldn’t argue with that. She made a good case, and really, she’d poked at his curiosity until he couldn’t stop thinking about her or her cousin. And he should leave it at that. Make the deal, go away and check in later. But should was a strange word . . .
He reached into his pocket and slipped out the small card he’d placed there in the car ride over. “Here.”
She looked at the block lettering then turned it over. Then did it again. “What’s this?”
“My phone number.”
She flipped the card around. “It’s actually just a number. No name.”
“Yes.”
“Weird.” She dropped it on the table as if it were on fire. “Look, I get that you’re hot and all. Not to me, of course, but how someone who never actually heard you speak could find you to be—”
“What are you talking about?” He almost preferred the fidgeting to the babbling.
“I was trying to coddle that fragile ego of yours, but truth is I’m not interested.”
It took him a second for his brain to catch up. He smiled, not because of what she said but because the thought of the card being about something else even popped into her mind. Very interesting. “It’s for you to contact me if you get any more information.”
Her face actually fell. “Oh.”
“It’s private. Only I answer it.” Only a handful of people shared that access. Most had a work number or another cell number he used for cases with particular clients and his employees. This one truly belonged to a very small circle.
She turned the card around and studied it. Ran her fingers over the numbers. “You know I could do a reverse search on this and find out everything about you.”
“No, you couldn’t.” She continued to underestimate him, which was an odd sensation. No one else did that. Of course, few others ever stood up to him and he couldn’t think of anyone other than Garrett who would have the nerve to track him down.
She shrugged. “I have resources.”
He knew anything he said would sound condescending, so he kept as close to the facts as possible. “They aren’t better than mine. I guarantee it.”
“Huh.” She turned over the card, looked at every angle one last time, before pocketing it.
He had no idea what point she was trying to make. “Which means what?”
“Deal.”
“Good.” But he wasn’t sure it was. She’d gotten what she wanted and letting that happen could prove difficult going forward.
She tilted her head to the side again. “So, do I still call you Brian or are you going to tell me your full name?”
He decided that was his signal to leave. He should have dropped the card and walked out five minutes ago, but something about her made him want to linger . . . and that was enough to make him get up now.
He took the coffee with him. No reason to waste that. “I’ll be in touch.”
She nodded. “I’ll count on that.”
Later that afternoon Garrett walked into Wren’s office without bothering to knock. He carried three thick folders and a computer tablet. “Tell me who Tiffany Younger is again.”
Wren kept working. “Emery Finn’s cousin who went missing years ago.”
Garrett set his armload on the desk in front of Wren. “Oh, that clears it right up.”
There was no need to put off this conversation. This was the sort of thing Garrett would poke and question until he had the specifics.
Wren sat forward and opened the top file. “Emery thinks I’m involved.”
“Yeah, you told me that yesterday.” Garrett put his hand on the folder, slapping it closed before Wren could read a word. “You’re not. Game over. Walk away and be done with her, right?”
“Does Ms. Finn strike you as someone who will just take my word and scurry off?”
A growl rumbled in Garrett’s throat. “Oh, shit.”
This did not sound good. “What?”