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My pause is too long for Tana. “Cady? Did anyone see you with him?”
“There was someone in the elevator,” I admit. “But he was drunk. I’m sure he won’t remember anything.”
“Cady,” Travis groans. “You’re unforgettable, even for drunk guys.”
“Any chance you got a name?” Tana is back to businesslike. She thrives on problems dealing with everything that isn’t in my wheelhouse. I take care of the business end of things, Travis looks after everything IT, and Tana keeps the scandals to a minimum.
I call her my Gladiator, a la Olivia Pope.
“Oh, I got a name,” I tell her heavily.
“Who is he?” Tana demands.
I huff out a sigh. “Maximus Steele.”
8
Maximus
I’m nursing my second coffee, debating whether the eggs were the best idea, when a shadow falls over my table.
When I look up, I curse Marcus because I think I must have drunk a lot more than what was good for me. Because there’s no way she’s really standing at my table.
Cady Quinn, my elevator fantasy from last night.
Gone are the black dress, mascara under the eyes and the red river of hair. She stands at the table, hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, wearing a pair of loose pants, mock turtleneck and blazer, all in the unappealing colour of cement.
Same restaurant as last night, but she looks like a different person. Less warrior, more… human. Beautiful, sexy as hell human, but human nonetheless. I stare at her a little too long to be considered polite, just trying to remember if I said anything overly offensive. Like lawsuit offensive.
“I apologize for bothering you,” she says without an ounce of apology in her voice.
“No! No, it’s no bother.” I jump to my feet, wishing I could show an ounce of my game instead of reverting to my childhood dorkdom. “Sit. Please.”
There’s no sign of a smile as she takes the seat across from me. She didn’t track me down here to check on my hangover, but I have to try. “You were tempted by the pancakes, weren’t you?” I ask with an easy smile that belies my inner thoughts. “I really sold you on them.”
“No. That’s not why I’m here.”
“You sure? The eggs are pretty good too.”
“Then why aren’t you eating them?”
Because as good as they look on the plate, it wouldn’t compare to the nastiness of them coming back up. Thankfully, the verbal diarrhea seems to have vanished with my intoxication and I keep that opinion to myself. “Not as hungry as I thought I was.”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Or your stomach is queasy from the copious amounts of whatever alcohol you tried to drown yourself in last night.”
“Hey, we were celebrating,” I protest.
“Grown men who are hungover are such a turn-on,” she says sarcastically.
“Ouch.” I clutch my chest. “You wound me.” The corner of her mouth curves. If that’s all I’m getting, I’ll take that as a win. “So, mysterious lady of the night—what can I do for you?”
That might not be the best way to address a woman with her history. Hello, lawsuit.
Cady’s mouth tightens as she pleats the corner of the napkin. “It’s what I can do for you, Mr. Steele.”
My face falls. She’s here, not because I insulted her last night, but because of my name. My father.
I don’t know what’s worse.
