Opposites Distract 3: Friendly Competition (Patreon)

~ Liv ~

“You two head down. I’ll be along in a moment.” 

The conference room was on the ground floor, which meant Mr. Hartnell would have to use the single-person elevator he’d had installed due to his hip. It was an old injury, and Liv had heard at least three tales on how he'd gotten it, each more bizarre than the last. Hartnell himself never talked about it. He waved them toward the stairs with his free hand and pulled back the gate.

She and Edgar started down the grand staircase that wrapped around two walls of Kingston House’s stately foyer. They took the steps in silence. 

Liv wasn't sure what the man beside her was thinking. His emotions had disappeared behind that disinterested look again. Had Mr. Hartnell heard them shouting? They’d been like children fighting over playground equipment. She winced. And now she felt like a student ordered to the principle’s office without knowing why.

And her clothes…this was her day off! As they reached the midpoint landing, she stopped to rub a finger over the frayed cuff of her sweater. Edgar halted a few steps lower and looked back. She tugged off her hair band.

“Go on,” she murmured with the band between her lips, “I’ll catch up.”

She frantically regathered her rebellious hair into a tighter ponytail, trying to ignore Edgar's presence. There. Liv adjusted the fit and lightly ran her fingertips across her crown to smooth everything out. Then she spotted the hole in the knee of her jeans. Just as she started to fret over how big it was, Edgar spoke.

“You look fine. Kind of cool.”

She glanced up sharply. No sarcasm in those vividly brown, suspiciously mild eyes. Maybe she looked terrible and this was a ploy. But…he had called her gorgeous a moment ago. Had that been a jab? No. Idiotic, the way he’d said it…but somehow she was certain he’d meant it. Just like now. She felt a faint flutter in her belly. It was hunger. Nothing but hunger. For food.

Liv blew out a breath and gave him a tight nod. They continued to the bottom of the stairs. Maybe it was mutual nerves at having to meet with the boss, or Edgar’s show of consideration just then, but the tension had loosened enough to be bearable.

“Truce?” she asked under her breath.

“Truce.”

The conference room was more modern than the rest of the house, with gray walls and brushed metal fixtures. Its dark rectangular table resembled polished wood from a distance, but up close it was an exotic laminate that had probably been intended for something ostentatiously futuristic, like…space coffins. 

Hartnell had once confided that he’d styled the room for their corporate clients, the sort who would be “unnerved by the humanity” of the other rooms. He’d chuckled when he said it, but she knew it wasn’t a lie. Faceless corporations paid, and he was happy to cater to them if the request was ethical. Hartnell Inquiries might be an eccentric boutique, but it didn't mind swimming with the sharks.

Liv and Edgar had just taken their seats when Mr. Hartnell entered. His hair looked even more disheveled, as if he’d mistakenly taken the laundry shoot instead of the elevator. Liv was convinced it was pure artifice. The man wore slightly dated three-piece suits, but they were always immaculate—and today’s tie was a perfect Windsor.

He hooked the handle of his cane over the table edge and gingerly sat down. “I’m glad you were already in the building, Ms. Doyle. I dislike asking my people to come in on their days off.”

She smiled. “Glad I was, too. Just got back to town and wanted to drop off some case paperwork.”

“Oh. I assumed you were here to confirm that Mr. Zimmer had cleared out.” His tone was Sahara dry. 

Good thing Edgar had made her blush earlier and gotten it out of her system. This time Liv’s face behaved. “That too.”

“And you, Mr. Sharp…interested in the office as well?”

Edgar nodded.

Hartnell flashed them both an indulgent smile. “Vernon Zimmer was my lawyer before I started this agency,” he said. “He earned that space in every sense.” Pause. “But the mission and goals of Hartnell Inquiries has evolved. When we started, process serving was the biggest portion of the business. These days it’s priority investigations, asset recovery, and security.” He leaned forward, his broad shoulders reminding Liv that Hartnell must have been quite the bruiser in his PI days. “For that reason, Vernon’s office will go to a deserving senior agent.”

Richard Hartnell’s quiet resolve prickled the hairs on Liv’s neck. He wouldn’t have told them if they weren't heading the list. Edgar’s presence meant she wasn’t the only contender, but Liv wanted it more. 

It's mine. It has to go to me.

“How will you decide, Mr. Hartnell?” Edgar asked.

“A vital question, my boy. You always appreciate the details.”

“Basing it on close rates would be the logical choice,” Liv said. She might not have read—or noticed—Edgar’s case reports, but she always checked the monthly summaries.

Hartnell turned to her, a characteristic gleam appearing in his eyes. “And you, my dear, are a scrapper. You remind me of me.” The compliment had Liv sitting up straighter before she could help it. “Yes…” he continued after a moment, “the close rate would make a lot of sense. If I went by that, you would be a shoo-in, Ms. Doyle.”

She heard the qualification. “If you went by that?”

“If,” he echoed sagely. “There are other metrics to consider.”

“Financial earnings,” Edgar said cooly.

“Indeed. By that metric, you would be sitting at Vernon’s desk—going by the last fiscal quarter, anyway.”

Liv felt a nudge. She couldn’t believe it. Edgar had bumped his leg against her knee! Take that, Doyle, it seemed to say. She wouldn’t.

“Personability should also factor in, sir. Warmth, empathy…an approachable quality with clients.” There may have been a muted knuckle pop from the vicinity of Edgar’s gathered hands.

“Excellent point,” Mr. Hartnell agreed.

Liv sent her knee into Edgar’s surprisingly firm thigh. Woah. Was that muscle the result of using a standing desk? Unlikely. Across the table, Hartnell reclined back, either oblivious to their escalating antics or secretly enjoying them. It could have gone either way.

“What we have,” he said grandly, “is a race that’s too close to call. Do you know what that means?”

Liv and Edgar shared an uneasy glance. At least he was in the dark too. They turned back to their employer.

“Tiebreaker.” Hartnell said. There was unmistakable glee in those pale blue eyes, and Liv suddenly knew he had been watching them slap-fight over the desk, and worse, had enjoyed the hell out of it. “I have a case,” he announced. “High-priority. Resource intensive. Short timeline. And solving it would be worth millions to this agency.” 

Liv’s attention sharpened. The petty squabble with Edgar was already starting to melt under a sudden simmer in her blood. Unlike the attractive robot beside her, she lived for this work—even if it didn’t come with a prize office. A job like that…she’d never been offered a case with financial stakes that high.

“What is it?” she said, unable to help herself.

“The client is a victim of industrial espionage and sabotage.” Hartnell delivered it like a chef uncovering a prize dish. Before she could grab a fork, a low whistle sounded beside her.

Edgar.

She turned to look, and was stunned to see the hungry expression on his face. It was instantly recognizable…and familiar. As if he sensed her stare, he glanced in her direction. She saw a faint line form between his brows, a flicker of puzzlement. Then he blinked and it was all gone, his expression deadening like a shut-off screen. But she had seen it.

“Are either of you familiar with Conrad Griffon?” Hartnell asked.

“The tech billionaire,” Edgar said.

“We’re doing security for his charity gala,” Liv added, remembering Sharon’s prior engagement.

Hartnell nodded. “Correct. He is the client in this case. Should this agency resolve it to his satisfaction, he will put us on retainer. A generous retainer.”

“That would be the millions,” Edgar said.

“It would,” the other man agreed. Then he zeroed in on Liv with eyes like a bird of prey. “You’ve just come off a case, Ms. Doyle. Are you fresh enough for this? Be honest.” 

Liv gave the question serious consideration. She prided herself on her performance and wasn't about to endanger her colleagues or agency assets. “The Phelps kidnapping was intense,” she said after a moment. “But it resolved quickly. I have plenty of gas in the tank, sir.”

Hartnell held her gaze for a few more seconds…and then knocked twice on the table surface, as if signaling his satisfaction. Then it was Edgar's turn to endure what Sharon had once termed “the Gorgon stare.” Liv was gratified to watch Edgar shift under it, betraying a hint of discomfort.

“Mr. Sharp, you have proven yourself in a number of cases, but this one will require more fieldwork than you’ve ever done—including an undercover element. Are you sufficiently prepared?” Out of the corner of her eye, Liv saw his throat move, but his calm expression didn't waver. 

“Yes, sir.”

Another pause. Another two knocks. The heaviness in the air seemed to melt away. Whatever Hartnell had been looking for, it seemed both of them had passed the test.

“You two will both be working this case. As partners.” Liv opened her mouth to protest, but Hartnell steamrolled on. “I will be assessing each of you, and awarding the corner office accordingly. Make no mistake”—he jabbed the air between them with an extended finger—“cooperation is one of the key metrics I will be using. Am I understood?” It was addressed to both of them, but his gaze seemed to linger on her.

“Yes, sir,” Edgar said.

Liv bit the inside of her mouth. “Yes, sir.”

“We will meet with Conrad Griffon tonight, after his gala. Naomi will email you the details.” His stare flitted between them a moment more, its intensity only slightly lessened by having two targets. “Do your homework.”

Three quick knocks on the table, and they were dismissed.