I hear muffled movement as if Jordan’s cradling the phone on his shoulder while he looks for the answer. “The system says there was one other pull of her credit history. Yesterday.”
“Dammit.” I wonder which of my competitors was lucky enough to earn her yes. “Find out who ordered that.” Then I’ll prepare my counter proposition.
“On it.”
“And call me the minute anything new comes in.”
“Yes, Mr. Pierce.”
I’ve just hung up when Patricia calls me again. I pick up the receiver to answer when my office door is flung open and Celia parades in.
“I’m sorry, sir,” my secretary says in my ear. “I was calling to announce her and she just walked in.”
“It’s okay. I’ll take care of her.” I hang up, cursing under my breath. Celia’s the last person I’m in the mood for, but Patricia isn’t any sort of bouncer.
Celia slinks in and half-sits on the far corner of my desk. “You’ll take care of me, will you?”
I ignore her suggestive tone. “Two days in one week, Celia. To what do I owe the pleasure?” I put enough bitterness in my final word that she can’t mistake that there is anything pleasant about her visit at all.
Immediately I feel a pang of guilt. It’s not Celia’s fault that I no longer want to be around her, rather it’s my fault. All of it, my fault.
She doesn’t let my tone ruffle her. “Oh, come on, Hudsy. Don’t be that way. I’m not the enemy.”
No, she’s not. I’m the enemy. She’ll never see it, though, so it’s my job to keep the distance. “Why are you here?”
There’s a gleam in her eye when she smiles. “I have something that I know is going to interest you.”
“Oh?” I sound bored, and I am.
“I’m serious. You’re going to want in on this.”
In on this? She can only be proposing a game. “Celia, I’ve told you, I don’t play anymore.” I shift my focus toward my computer screen, pretending to go back to whatever I was doing before she arrived.
She doesn’t get that I’m dismissing her—or doesn’t care. “You’ve told me, you’ve told me. Now I’m telling you, you’ll want in on this.”
I should kick her out now, pour out the bottle before I’ve even taken a sip, so to say, but I can’t help myself. Even with my attention turned, my pulse has quickened and the moisture in my mouth has increased. Her eagerness is contagious. And I’m curious. Too curious.
I can’t let her know. “I won’t want in on anything. But since you’re here,” I casually turn back to face her, “what is it you’re planning?”
Her grin kicks up a notch. “Look at you. You’re dying to know. Your eyes blazed the minute you realized what I was offering.”
I don’t try to deny it—I am interested and even with schooled features, she can see it. I hate how well I’ve taught her to read people. I hate when she uses her knowledge to read me.
It pisses me off enough that I almost send her packing.
But curiosity wins out. She hasn’t tempted me with her games in quite some time. Why now?
“Out with it, Ceeley.” I cringe inwardly at the slip of her childhood nickname. She’ll think I mean something by it that I don’t. It’s why I hate nicknames so much.
She stands and starts rummaging through her bag. “It’s a basic scenario—make the girl fall for you and then deny her, watching her fall to pieces.”
It had been our old favorite. No matter how many times we’d performed the experiment, it never failed to interest me. It was a marvelous study in the emotion called love, but somehow it never gave me any of the answers I was seeking.
I pretend the idea doesn’t pique me in the slightest. “How original. What about that did you think would interest me?”
She smiles with confidence. “The girl.”
I raise a questioning brow, but instead of answering me verbally, she retrieves a file folder from her bag and sets it on the desk in front of me. Then she waits for me to study it.
With a reluctant breath, I flip the cover open and move my eyes from Celia to the top sheet inside the file. Deep brown eyes and a warm smile meet me.
Celia’s right—it is the girl that interests me. And I know before she says anything more that I will hear her out to the end. Because if Celia has the answer to getting closer to Alayna Withers, I am in.
All the way.
Chapter Four
There are other pictures in the file Celia gathered and I want to survey them all, want to memorize every detail of Alayna Withers’ expressions, her postures. I don’t though, because I’m very aware of Celia’s hawk-eyed stare. She’s waiting for me to read the reports included, and I want to—I want to absorb it all.
But there’s something else nagging at me to close the folder and end this now despite my overwhelming desire to act otherwise. I’m supposed to abstain from these games. That’s not what’s halting me. My hesitancy comes from a far more primal source—I don’t want to share. I’m already irritated that Celia’s learned things that I want to know. I wish I could horde the findings to myself, decide how I want to handle my fascination with Alayna on my own. Obviously it’s too late for that, but I can try to dissuade my former partner in crime from pursuing this further.
I shut the file without reading on. It’s harder than I imagine, still I manage it with as much indifference as I can muster. “Not interested.”
I slide the folder across the desk to where Celia has perched herself. My pulse quickens as my fingers let go of Alayna’s profile. I’m itching to scrutinize it with an obsessive pull that I haven’t felt in years. Jordan will find the same information, I remind myself. I can wait. Patience has always been one of my most admirable traits.
Celia takes the folder into her hands. I try not to focus on it any longer, but my eyes flit to it more than once.
She stands. “I guess I was wrong then.” Her tone says she doesn’t believe that for a minute. “I’ll have to keep this little prize for myself. You really are out of the game, aren’t you?”
Celia’s almost as good at manipulating as I am. It is both a blessing and a curse that I know her as well as I do—I can predict every move before she makes it. Unfortunately, she can also predict mine. She’s the greatest chess opponent I’ve ever had.