As the security escort led Charity in, Paco’s office seemed different. Or perhaps her memory of that day over a year ago had been tainted. The rich burgundy hues accented by neutral tones and crown molding were vibrant and pleasing, details she’d missed when she was here before.
It was big, but homey with photos, a sword collection, encased coins, and exotic souvenirs, all undoubtedly from extensive travels around the globe. The room wrapped her in a sense of warmth and safety.
The invitation to debrief Alex and Paco after hours was an opportunity she’d jumped on. So much had changed in the last year and a half, thanks to them. Paco had checked in on Charity every now and then and could see the subtle ways she’d transformed between each visit. But Alex never had.
Both men were seated at a conference table that overlooked parts of Manhattan she’d never seen. They stood as she stepped in, but her stomach knotted at how woefully underdressed she was next to them, choosing jeans and a plain black but fitted long-sleeve shirt for their meeting.
“I should have changed,” she said shyly.
“Not on our account,” Alex said, his insistence making her comfortable as he wrapped both hands around hers for a tender shake.
Paco pulled her into a sweet hug, releasing her to pull out her chair.
“So,” Alex asked. “What have you got?”
Charity passed over her phone to Alex, unlocked to a photo of the sunglass-sporting, prim-and-proper Natasha, but he deferred to Paco.
“Let’s let the man who never forgets a face take a look first.”
Charity complied, wondering if the gorgeous and mysterious Mr. Robles could get any hotter. Paco’s face filled with delight at the image, but he didn’t interrupt her recap.
“Natasha. That’s the only name she gave me. I tried to read her whole name off her credit card, but the light hit it as she slipped it back into her wallet.”
Paco chuckled. “She could go by a few names.”
“A con artist?” Alex asked.
Paco shook his head. “Nope. This one’s even better. You wouldn’t know her real name, though her uncle Cecil would be familiar to you.”
Intrigued, Alex volleyed another question across the table. “I’m being set up by a perve?”
“I doubt he even knows. But this girl just applied for a job. Here.” He handed Alex the phone.
“Let me guess. She wants to be vice president of anything at all. Rich kids—they think their wealth and a degree give them a free pass to a seat on the executive board.”
“Wrong again.” Paco sported a grin, releasing the information bit by bit. “First name, Natasha. Last name she gave DGI was . . .” He tapped out a light drumroll on the table. “Taylor. Some phony paperwork landed her application on my desk. We thought she was a corporate spy, so we’ve been watching her and waiting. But this makes more sense.”
Alex looked at him, patient and clueless.
Paco beamed, replying with a song in his voice. “Somebody’s husband hunting.”
Alex gulped, undoubtedly from the weight of crosshairs on his wallet. “Me? I’m the most unworthy wedding catch of the century.”
“You said it, brother. You never sniff around the same tail twice, and rarely even bother learning their names.”
Alex scowled. “Hey, my mind is full of important crap like national security technology and how to maintain a competitive edge in the global space. If I remembered all the women’s names I spend a little time with, some poor penguin is getting sacrificed, flicked off the brain iceberg, and gone forever.”
Shrugging, Paco didn’t seem to care. “Whatever. It’s not like they mind. Women are eager to overlook the occasional indiscretion when a man’s net worth starts with a B.”
“Occasional indiscretion? To be more indiscreet, I’d have to hire a publicist.” Alex’s momentary aggravation melted quickly and he looked over at Charity. “Okay. She wants some insights into Alex Drake. Use your imagination and give her something good.”