“Well, that’s a little judgy.”
He opened the door and nodded to the room service attendant. Reese salivated as the tray was brought in and deposited down on her tiny table in the corner.
“There’s no time limit on wings. Besides, I just got in from New York and there was no food service on the plane. I haven’t eaten since noon.”
“You’re all set. Is there anything else I can get for you?” The middle-aged attendant smiled at her, eyes dropping to her robe for a split second.
“That’s all. Thank you.” She headed for her food, her stomach in danger of digesting its own walls if she didn’t eat soon. “Knight, give the man a tip, would you?”
She gave him a sweet smile as she took her seat in front of the tray.
He frowned at her, but was already reaching for his wallet. “Let me guess, your money is with your flannel pajamas.”
“No. My money is in my purse on the bed. I just don’t feel like getting it.”
The attendant chuckled as he accepted the tip from Knight. They exchanged one of those guy looks, the kind where they lament the vagaries of womankind with a single lift of the eyebrow.
“Have a good night,” he said as he backed out of the room.
Reese patted the seat next to her at the cozy little table. “Sit down. Share some wings with me.”
He came towards her, dripping with suspicion, flipping his hair back out of his eyes. Given the unruly nature of his hair and the fact that his sweatshirt was probably older than she was, she decided he had been a while without a female influence.
Perfect.
Because she intended to influence him. To give her first dibs on the price-fixing story, and to convince him that it would be a brilliant idea to sleep with each other in the near future, after she was certain he was just dedicated to his job, not actually dangerous.
“Let’s discuss how we can help each other.”
“You can help me by staying out of this, Reese. Forget anything you saw and go back to doing whatever it was you were doing before.”
Interviewing B grade actresses and local mayoral candidates? No thank you. The truth was, she didn’t even work for a real newspaper. NoNew York Timesfor her. She was stuck with theNewark News,which was one third obituaries, one third sports, and another thirty percent delegated to entertainment. Her beat, lucky her. The remaining three and a half percent was for the news and current events.
With this story, she could blow off theNewark News,give her boss Ralph the finger, and wave the scoop in front of the highest bidder. Meaning any halfway decent paper that offered her a job. Anywhere in the Continental U.S. She might even be willing to consider Alaska if the pay was right.
“Okay, just give up on that idea right now. I can’t forget what I saw. And if you hadn’t chased me here, there, and everywhere for it, I probably never would have looked. But you made me curious.” So really he had no one to blame but himself.
A heartfelt sigh issued forth as he dropped into the chair. “I’m too old for this crap. I need to retire.”
It made her laugh as she reached for a chicken wing, setting it on her paper plate. Room service didn’t extend to anything breakable she guessed.
“Drama king, good grief. I think you’ve got like thirty years ahead of you before you can do that.”
“Try twenty. I’m thirty-six,” he said, reaching out and grabbing her stalk of celery. He gave a vicious bite and sat there chewing in a major sulk.
Since Reese had put him in the somewhere between thirty-two and forty category, she wasn’t surprised at all. But confirmation of his age made her take a peek at his ring finger to see if there was a Mrs. Cranky FBI Agent.
The finger was bare and there were no telltale tan lines to indicate he slipped it on and off at will.
“You’re just going to eat celery?” Reese said around a mouthful of chicken. “There’s plenty for you, too.”
“Ulcer,” he said, eyeing the wings covetously.
Reese saw the signs of someone feeling seriously sorry for himself. A little balloon of empathy for him rose in her chest, which was dumb since she had every intention of using him to suit her purposes.
Yet she said lightly, “Is that standard issue with your gun and badge? I swear, every cop has one.”
He just grunted and tossed the celery down, rattling the plastic fork and knife on the table. “Along with the bum knee?”