Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Malik stands nearby with a beer in hand, his expression clearly appreciative of the family scene spread out before him.
And then I see Tessa. She’s standing with Josie, animated and intent in the way she gets when she’s dissecting information. Her hair falls loose over one shoulder, and she also holds a glass of wine. There’s color in her cheeks I didn’t see yesterday. There’s life in her expression that makes my chest ache with want.
We’ve been hanging out together most of the day, first taking her to meet with her editor and gathering everything she needed from her office to work remotely for a few days. We went to her house after and pored over more of the information from the flash drive. I try not to dwell on how good it felt to be back in her home—the home I lived in with her for over a year before we split apart. It certainly dredged up feelings that I’d thought were long dead and buried, plus way too many reflections on some of the best moments in my life that were spent in that house.
“Cole,” Malik calls, lifting his bottle to get my attention, and busting me right out of the memories. “You’re just in time before Reid tries to stage a coup.”
“I’m starving,” Reid mutters.
“You’re always starving,” Anna counters, sliding a spatula through the lasagna with practiced ease. “That doesn’t entitle you to the first strike.”
I lift my chin to Malik but ignore the food for now, instead moving over to Tessa and Josie, who I assume are talking shop. Instead, I walk in on a conversation about cats, which is odd. Tessa’s definitely a dog person.
“I’m telling you,” Josie says, completely serious, “cats absolutely understand English. They just choose to ignore it.”
Tessa folds her arms. “No. Dogs understand English. Cats understand contempt.”
Josie gasps. “That’s slander.”
“I’m not slandering,” Tessa insists. “I’m observing. If I call a dog, it comes. If you call a cat, it evaluates whether you’re worth the effort.”
“That’s merely discernment,” Josie argues. “We call it emotional intelligence in humans.”
“It’s narcissism,” Tessa shoots back.
I stop beside them, blinking. “We’re in the middle of dismantling a corporate arson ring,” I say slowly. “And you’re debating feline psychology?”
Tessa glances up at me, completely unbothered. “It’s important to understand your enemy.”
Josie narrows her eyes. “You’re definitely a dog person.”
“Obviously,” Tessa says. “Unconditional loyalty, tail wags and zero attitude.”
“Zero boundaries,” Josie counters.
Deep inside, it warms me to see Tessa fitting in so well with my teammates. But that’s the type of woman she is. One of the reasons she’s so good at her job and getting people to talk is because she’s so genuine and down-to-earth, you just want to be around her.
A hand clamps onto my shoulder and I turn to see Malik. “Have you met Bebe yet?” Malik asks as he gestures toward the far end of the island.
My eyes follow.
Bebe Grimshaw, Jameson’s Chief Technology Officer, stands with one of the new agents, her small frame nearly swallowed by her oversized hoodie. Dark bluish-black hair falls in a sleek curtain around her shoulders. Her pale eyes are sharp and assessing despite the faint smile playing at her lips, and the ink that trails up her forearms disappears beneath the sleeves like secrets she doesn’t bother to hide. She’s visiting from the Pittsburgh office to do some upgrades on our systems.
“Not yet,” I reply.
“Bebe,” Malik calls out, waving her over to make introductions. “This is Tessa. The journalist I mentioned.”
Bebe looks to Tessa and tilts her head slightly, studying her with an intensity that would make most people uncomfortable. Tessa, to her credit, doesn’t flinch. “You’re the one poking at RainVest,” Bebe says, voice soft but edged with steel.
“I’m trying my best,” she replies.
Malik smiles faintly. “Tessa, Bebe’s the architect behind BOB.”
Tessa’s eyes widen. “You built BOB?”
“Co-built,” Bebe corrects mildly. “Dozer and I don’t argue about credit anymore.”
Josie snorts. “That’s because you win.”
A flicker of amusement crosses Bebe’s face before she turns back to Tessa. “BOB’s predictive modeling is only as good as the data we feed him. If RainVest’s financials are dirty, he’ll see it before you do.”
Tessa leans forward like she’s been handed a rare artifact. “I would love to pick your brain about that.”
Bebe’s lips curve faintly. “Everyone says that.” She then turns her attention to me. “You must be Cole Mercer. We’ve heard good things about you in Pittsburgh.”
“All cold hard truths,” I quip as we shake hands.
Tessa steps slightly in between us. “About BOB… I was reading about predictive modeling and—”
Malik interrupts. “Eat first because that lasagna is at its best when the cheese is gooey. Save the cyber-interrogation for dessert.”
We all laugh and Bebe slides away with Josie, already discussing in low tones.
Tessa watches her go with open fascination. “She seems like a really interesting woman,” she murmurs as she props an arm on the kitchen island. “What’s her story?”