“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Besides, why are you up here so late? It’s your first day.”
“Okay. You’re a cautious woman. I can see that. You need an exchange of information. I’m here because I don’t have a car and my brother is at some faculty event. He’s an actual functional adult with job responsibilities that go beyond throwing his body in front of a bullet for whoever’s paying him to. I’m lazy and the train station is a couple of blocks away. I also saw some shit during my time with the military so I don’t sleep well, and I was thinking seriously about running a couple of miles on the treadmill so I might be able to sleep tonight. Oh, and I’m avoiding Hamilton.”
“The musical? I really want to see it.”
“No. The cat. My fully functional adult big brother has a cat because he does that now. The cat stares at me like he’s judging every second of my life and all the choices I’ve made. So talking to the chick who has obviously had a day while drinking my uncle’s good Scotch and eating the whole snack basket seems like the best of all worlds right now.”
“Big Tag’s door is very secure. He uses a key card and a biometric signature. Only he and Charlotte and Genny and Hutch can get in. I don’t handle that part of security.”
She looked like a woman who could handle a challenge. Who kind of needed one. “I bet you’re better than that lock.”
Her jaw straightened. “Damn straight. I can get in. Is it really good Scotch because if I’m going to lose my job and everything I’ve built here, I’d like for it to be good.”
“Oh, I promise you that Scotch can vote. It’s probably older than you.”
“I’m twenty-five.”
So fucking young. In all reality she wasn’t much younger than he was, but his world had aged him in a way she would never be able to understand. “Well then you’ve got something in common with the Scotch. Unless the old guy’s gotten more snobby about his liquor, and then we’re in for a real treat. And he won’t fire you. He’ll yell at me. I’m used to it. Here’s the key with Ian—if he’s yelling, everything is fine. You’ll know he’s seriously angry when he gets quiet. When he’s silent, that’s when he’s planning a murder. What do you say, MaeBe? Wanna prove to the old folks we’re completely irresponsible and out of control?”
She bit her bottom lip. “Kind of. Except I don’t want to upset the only father figure I have.”
He could fix that. His uncle was a reasonable man. He slid his phone out of his pocket and hit the number that connected him to Ian Taggart.
The sound of something crashing came over the line. “Travis, do not throw that freaking frisbee in the house. Who raised you? Was it wolves? Kyle, what’s happening?”
“I made a bet with MaeBe that she can’t break into your office, and if she can we’re going to find your stash and drink it,” he said.
Ian sighed and his voice went low. “I thought she wasn’t your type.”
“She’s worked her way through someone’s beer, and she was going for Wade’s whiskey,” he pointed out.
“Hey,” MaeBe said, her whole face flushing.
“Wade’s whiskey is barely drinkable,” Ian was saying, and then he paused. “Damn it. If she’s drinking, it’s probably about her family. Look, I’ll call Hutch…”
He didn’t want Hutch. “I can handle it. And David’s picking us up, so she won’t drive home. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
“Put me on speaker,” Ian ordered. He continued when Kyle hit the button that shared the call with MaeBe. “Mae, you can’t get through that door. Hutch promises me that no one can. So you’re high if you think you can bust in.”
“I so can get in.” MaeBe was back to standing tall.
“Even if you can get in, there’s zero shot of Kyle finding my stash. I’ve had that office redecorated since his intern days, and you’ll never convince me he was the one to find it in the first place. David is the treasure hunter of the family. Kyle’s pure muscle.”
Oh, so the big guy wanted to push all the buttons tonight. “Guess what, old man. I’ve been here a day and I already figured out you put in a secret fridge in the break room. Yeah. I caught that paneling that hides it. That’s where you keep the lemon tarts, and I bet they go well with that Scotch.”
“Hey, now,” Ian began.
But Kyle hung up. He’d done what he needed to do. “See, he’s not even going to think about you. He’s going to be pissed at me. So let’s raid the secret fridge and prove to my uncle my brother isn’t the only one who can find a treasure.”
MaeBe blinked, her tears clearing. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
He watched as she walked toward the stairs. He kind of couldn’t take his eyes off her. Something about the woman drew him in, and he knew that was dangerous.
She stopped at the stairs and looked back at him. “Thanks. I needed this.”
His freaking breath threatened to stop because she was lovely. Really beautiful. He’d thought she was cute before, but something about her smile as she thanked him kicked in every protective instinct he had. “No problem. I want that Scotch.”
She laughed as she started up the stairs.
He followed her because for the first time in forever he felt something that wasn’t toxic, something that wasn’t anger. Something good.
* * * *
MaeBe sat back against the leather sofa and looked out over the city. Big Tag knew how to live.
Lucky for her she knew how to hack a system, and her new friend was excellent at figuring out where hidden things were.
He also could order a pizza.
“What the hell is Srirancha?” He had polished off three slices in no time at all. They’d had to negotiate about toppings though. He was apparently a hardcore carnivore.
That would make a cute shirt. She drizzled her beloved condiment over the slice of pepperoni with mushrooms. She’d had to fight hard for that delicious fungi. “It’s a combo of Sriracha and ranch. It’s delicious. You know when you order from this place you can ask to play Reaper Roulette.”
A brow arched over his eyes. “Dare I ask.”
“Before they put the cheese on they put a couple of drops of ghost pepper sauce on one slice, and no one knows where it is. But they figure it out fast.”
“Hot, huh?”
“The Sriracha I put on pretty much everything registers at 1000 to 2500 on the Scoville scale, depending on the peppers they use in it. The ranch on this particular version cuts some of the heat.”
“There’s a scale for peppers?”
“How did you live with Sean Taggart and not know this? Yes, there is a heat index for peppers, and Carolina reapers register somewhere between 1.4 and 2.2 million.”
He hissed at the thought. “Damn. Have you ever done this roulette thing?”
“It was so hot I could feel steam coming out of my ears,” she said with a laugh. “I’m pretty sure I drank a gallon of milk, and somewhere in all of that pain, I saw like dead relatives and stuff. The crazy thing was we’d played it the week before and no one said anything. So I thought it wasn’t a big deal. I thought it was all bullshit, but what happened was Boomer got the slice and he didn’t think it was all that hot so he didn’t say anything. Something’s wrong with Boomer. We need to study him medically. He went on to eat two pizzas after he ate the reaper. I was in a fetal position begging God to take me.”