It’s my turn to raise a brow. “You’re in no position to diss my wardrobe, sweetheart. The fuck is that thing dangling from your belly button, a fishing lure? You trolling for largemouth bass?”
I suspect she wants to laugh. Her lips press together as if to keep a rogue grin at bay. Instead, she says coolly, “Hey, I’m not the one who always dresses like he’s going to a military funeral. You realize they make clothes in colors other than black, right?”
“I’ll wear something other than black when they make something darker.”
The bartender returns with my scotch. His gaze firmly affixed to the bar, he politely asks Tabby, “And what may I get for you, miss?”
She shoots me a sour look. I grin.
“Ice water with lemon, please.”
“Ice water?” I ask once the bartender has left.
Something odd crosses her face, there but quickly gone. “I don’t drink alcohol.”
“Lemme guess. Vegan?”
She curls her lip. “Please. I eat so much meat, I’m practically a meatatarian. And what does drinking ice water have to do with being vegan?”
“The fuck should I know?”
She inspects my face for a moment, and then says, “One of these days, I’ll ask what you have against the words ‘what’ and ‘how.’ Until then, why don’t you tell why you’re here.”
She slides onto the stool next to me, crosses her long legs, props her chin on her hand, and waits.
I can almost feel the old guy behind me having a heart attack. Must be staring at her legs. They’re pretty fucking spectacular, if I do say so myself.
“Got a client,” I say. “High level. With a delicate situation. Knew you’d gone freelance after Victoria, heard through the grapevine you were killin’ it. Today proves I heard right.”
She tries not to look smug about that last part but fails. “What’s the situation?”
I shake my head. “That’s classified unless you’ve signed on the dotted line.”
“What’s the job?”
“See my previous answer.”
She looks at the ceiling as if for divine intervention. After a moment during which I imagine her counting to ten to control the urge to stab me in the eye with the shiny lure attached to her navel, she says, “Can you at least tell me who the client is?”
“Miranda Lawson.”
Tabby’s eyes widen. “The Miranda Lawson?”
I knew that would get her. There’s nothing Tabitha West likes better than another ball-busting woman who had to claw her way to the top over a pile of male corpses. “Yep.”
The bartender sets a glass of water in front of her and leaves without a word. She takes a sip from the glass, thoughtfully crunches on an ice cube. “So the job’s in LA.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Will I be working at her movie studio?”
“Can’t tell you that.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“That’s it.”
She stares at me like I’m a complete idiot. “You expect me to commit to a job based on no information other than a name.”
“Pays half a million.”
That stops her cold. She freezes with her glass halfway to her mouth, and then slowly sets it down and looks at me. “Nobody pays half a million for a pen test.”
“Never said it was a pen test.”
She studies my face, but she won’t find anything I don’t want her to see.
“You have to give me something else, Connor. I don’t go into situations blind. It’s not how I work.”
She’s serious. I can see that much. Stalling, I take a swig of my scotch. I relish the burn for a moment, considering my answer. “You have a particular skill set that’s necessary for this job. None of my guys can do what you can do.”
“You can’t do what I can do,” she shoots back, challenging me.
I know a lot of men who’d never admit a woman was better than them at anything. But I’m man enough to admit the truth. “Nobody can do what you can do, Tabby.”
She blinks.
I sense a chink in her armor and press my advantage. “I’m flying out in the morning. Got a meeting with Lawson tomorrow. If all goes well, we’re looking at maybe a week before the job’s done. Then you can go back to your life and you’ll never see me again. Only you’ll be half a million bucks richer.”
She sniffs. “I don’t need the money. I never have to work again if I don’t want to.”
It’s another challenge. So I challenge her right back. “Okay. But I’m betting you’d go out of your fuckin’ mind if you didn’t have a puzzle to solve. Right?”
She doesn’t answer for a second. Then she turns away and mutters, “Bullshit doesn’t suit you, jarhead.”
I lightly grasp her chin, turn her face, and look her right in the eyes. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. I’m including myself in that statement, and I’m one smart motherfucker. I want you on this job. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t know you were perfect for it.”