Opposites Distract 4: Get Together (Patreon)

~ Edgar ~

The meeting was to be held at the Madison Hardlight, a downtown Raleigh hotel for the ultra-wealthy that Edgar had never heard of. After stepping into the dimly-lit splendor of the lobby and wading across its deep carpet, he conservatively guessed the cost of a night’s stay at one month’s salary.

Naomi’s email had included directions to a private dining room off of the hotel’s Michelin-starred restaurant. It had closed an hour ago, but that didn't mean anything; men like Conrad Griffin would always be accommodated. 

Thanks to nerves and a tendency to over-prepare, Edgar had arrived forty minutes early. He confirmed the directions, then loitered self-consciously for another minute. Finally, he decided to wait in the hotel bar. The place was named after some exotic flower, but the name on the fancy backlit sign tumbled out of his head the moment he stepped inside and spotted his partner.

Liv Doyle was standing at the bar wearing a knee-length sheath dress in dark blue. Surrounded by the lounge’s dim velvety interior, she looked like a priceless gem nestled in a jewelry box. Her back was to him, but he recognized her strong shoulders, athletic build, and barely tamed hair—and he would bet the corner office that the dress’s color paired perfectly with her eyes.

He took a moment to admire the way the fabric hugged Liv’s toned midsection and curves. A few more seconds were lavished on skin: her bare legs and the elegant sweep of her neck above the dress's modest neckline. Her hair—usually a pragmatic pony tail—had been put up in an understated clip. God, he wanted to press his lips to the nape of that neck and sweep his tongue across it.

Edgar blinked, coming back to himself with a start. He realized that his heart was pounding and his mouth had gone dry.

Why the hell was he eyeing his colleague like she’d swiped right and they were meeting for a date? Liv Doyle, he reminded himself, was a fellow agent. Worse, she was a wide-ranging, client-friending, case-closing rival. She wasn't his date, and the last thing he could afford was to put her on a pedestal.

She already acted like she was ten feet above him.

Forcing himself to ignore the bizarre wave of attraction, Edgar formed his expression into a professional mask and stepped up to the bar. “You like being early too?”

He detected a ripple of surprise as she turned toward him, but her face was composed. It seemed paler than usual in the gloom. “You’re here.”

“I'm afraid so.”

His answer provoked a fleeting look of irritation. Good. That was a version of Liv he could handle.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said.

“No?”

“No.” She turned away, and he sensed a strange nervousness coming from her. Liv was normally unflappable. Equally weird was his sudden impulse to put her at ease.

“So…did you do your homework?”

“I would ask the same,” she said archly, “but I already know the answer. I bet you used to sit at the front of every class.”

“All but Latin. I hated declensions.”

Involuntary amusement broke through Liv’s bellicose aspect like a sunbeam piercing clouds. Then the sun went away and she started toying with the cocktail napkin under a tiny bottle of water.

“You’re accusing me of being a teacher's pet,” he said, “but you got here before me.” For some reason he wanted to keep their conversation flowing. “I’m guessing you did just fine in school.”

“I wasn't some weird overachiever.” Pause. “I sat in the second row.”

That startled a small laugh out of him. He had always considered himself immune to Liv’s charm—if only because of the way her gaze usually passed over him—but he doubted anyone could be completely resistant. Was it his imagination, or did her lips curve up just a little?

“So you did do your homework,” he said.

“With what time I had.” She took a sip from the absurdly small bottle. “I focused on socials and news. What he’s posted, what people have posted about him. Important articles and write-ups, particularly those he or his publicist had a direct hand in. You?”

Edgar took a moment to respond. It hadn’t even occurred to him to gauge the client’s personality first. That was smart. He signaled the man behind the bar and pointed at Liv’s water. “I'll have the same.” He glanced at her. “You like this brand?”

Liv raised her eyebrows. “I asked for water and this is what they gave me. I can't even identify the language on the label.” She waited for the bartender to walk away. “We were talking about homework,” she reminded him.

“I…looked at his businesses,” he finally said. “Financials. Stock portfolio. Companies that he’s on the record as owning, and a few that he controls through subsidiaries.” He tried the water. It had a strange mineral tang. Worse, the bottle made him feel like he was stealing from a toddler. “A client’s bottom line tells you a lot about them.”

Liv nodded, her expression hard to read. She took another token sip. Hesitated. “Want to compare notes?”

“Yes.” Did he sound too eager?

“Great,” she said quickly. “Good.” Ah. They were both eager. “Want me to go first?” she asked.

Edgar shook his head. “I’ll go.” He had an impulse to show some goodwill. “I can confirm that Conrad Griffon is a bonafide billionaire. Seven-point-two billion at the end of the last fiscal quarter. Born into old money, but by all accounts he’s actively dedicated to his business pursuits. He was only worth a mere two-hundred million when he inherited.”

Her mouth crooked. “Do I detect a hint of ‘eat the rich?’ ”

He chuckled. “I’d rather just eat what the rich are eating.”

“Maybe you’ll get a chance tonight.”

“Think he uses a thimble for his cocktails?”

Liv flashed a grin that would have lit the bar if it stayed, but it was gone in blink. She was too edgy, troubled by more than ordinary nerves.

”My real answer,” he went on, “is that I’m always suspicious of great wealth. It doesn’t tend to come with great morals. But…” He tossed back the last pitiful swallow of designer water. “Griffon is above board. There are some inherited oil and coal interests that he keeps quiet about, but he’s been steadily divesting himself of those companies. He appears genuinely dedicated to various charities and not plagued with scandal.”

“I’ll corroborate that,” Liv said, taking up the thread with ease. “His social media posts are usually about philanthropic causes, with the occasional meme or motorsport post thrown in. Racing is one of his few non-charity passions. He has PR people screen his outgoing posts, but he controls his accounts directly. All of that tracks with your info. The gossip sites are desperate for dirt, but there isn't much to find. Their biggest stories center on his love life.”

Edgar lifted an eyebrow in question.

“Not as salacious as you’d think,” she said. “For a playboy, he’s fairly well-behaved. He has a fondness for models and a reputation for not letting anyone get close. The articles I found were usually some heiress having a cry because Griffon wouldn’t take their fling further. Other than that…he’s the nicest billionaire you could ask for.” She shrugged.

He nodded. “Okay, so we’ve researched from two directions and come up with the same answer. I feel better. Um…thanks for suggesting we share.”

“I’m glad we did.” She gave him a speculative look. “And if Hartnell asks?”

“We tell him we split our assessment areas up on purpose so we wouldn’t duplicate work.”

That earned Edgar another smile that felt like warm sunlight. They clinked their tiny bottles in camaraderie. Then her smile collapsed again.

“Stop that,” he said gruffly.

Liv was too surprised to be irked. “Stop what?”

“Looking so…hunted. It’s throwing me off. I’ve studied your work, and if you have a reason to be nervous it’s going to make me extra nervous.”

Liv’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened, then shut. She stared at the polished granite counter, rolling the bottom of her bottle back-and-forth over it. “It’s not the meeting,” she said in a rush. “It’s this.”

“Our conversation?” 

She shook her head impatiently, then indicated herself and their surroundings with a careless sweep of one hand. “All of this. Me and this.”

He was bemused. “You and…this. Nope, not following.”

Liv sighed. “It’s not like when I’m on a job. On a job I can fall into any role. I'm good at it.” She eyed him defiantly, like she was expecting him to disagree.

“I know,” he said mildly. 

“Oh.” It was her turn to look off-kilter. “Well, this is different. Whenever I’m supposed to, I don't know, be some version of me…these fancy places make me feel like an imposter. As if I’m going to do something wrong or say something wrong.”

“Seriously?”

She gave him a combative glare. Edgar was surprised to find he didn't mind being on the receiving end of it—getting under Liv’s skin was a lot better than being overlooked.

“No, Edgar,” she said, “I love places like the Madison Hardlight. I also have an apartment butler who feeds me cereal with a silver spoon.”

The sarcasm was oddly endearing. It reminded Edgar of the snarky little comments that appeared in Liv’s case write-ups, a unique trademark that somehow enhanced the typically dry reports.

“Does your place stock fancy foreign water?”

She gave a grudging smile. “In even smaller bottles.”

“Damn, that is fancy.” His expression turned sincere. “But seriously, Liv.” He appraised her dress and curves, not remotely trying to hide it. “You absolutely belong here.”

She gave him a narrow-eyed assessment. It was the same look she'd given him on the stairs when he’d told her that her casual clothes were fine. And they had been—just like tonight’s outfit was perfect for the Madison Hardlight. Liv’s dress, her hair, and her make-up all added to potent natural charms. In this place she was nothing less than a sophisticated knock-out.

“If I didn’t know who we were meeting,” he told her, “I would have guessed you were the client.”

“Yeah?” she asked. The hint of vulnerability shifted something in his chest.

“Yeah,” he said.

Liv gave a small huff of laughter, clearly relieved, and then leaned forward to offer a second confession. “Do you know I don’t even have a bachelor’s degree?” She spun the bottle. “Associates only. In Criminal Justice.”

“Well that doesn’t—”

“I know,” she said quickly. “It doesn’t mean I’m a dolt. My field experience speaks for itself. But there's always pressure to measure up—I’ve dealt with it since childhood. And the things you do…researching financials, crunching numbers…that’s stuff I could brush up on.”

“I have problem areas too,” he said emphatically. “For instance, I am lost when it comes to social media.” Edgar snapped his mouth shut, quietly shocked. Just like that, he’d confessed one of his greatest insecurities. When Liv Doyle wasn't raising his hackles she was slipping past his guard.

“How is that possible?” she said. “Social media is a computer thing. There’s something about computers you’re not good at? Really?”

“I’m ignoring that taunt since we’re under a flag of truce.” He eyed his empty bottle, now wishing the drink had been alcoholic. “And yes, really. I can't tell instatok from bookgram.” He’d screwed up the names on purpose, but it wasn't far from the truth.

“Wow. A babe in the woods of social media.” She tilted her head. “I don’t know if you’re serious or playing with me, but I’ll assume the former. For the sake of our partnership.” She winked. Liv’s confident bearing was back, and Edgar knew he had played a role in that. It was unnerving how much her comfort—and that wink—pleased him.

“Cards on the table,” he suddenly said. “If I was here just for fun, I still wouldn’t offer to buy you a drink.” He leaned forward with a rueful smile. “I would be too intimidated.”

Liv’s lips parted slightly, and for an instant he glimpsed something tender and warm in her gaze. There was a thoughtful pause before she replied. “Cards on the table…I would have let you buy me a drink.”

Something dangerously close to delight danced down his spine. “Yeah?” he said, echoing her nervous question from before.

“Yeah,” she said. “You clean up nice, computer guy.” Now they were both smiling at each other. It was so open and honest that it felt like a dream.

A cleared throat brought them back to reality.

Edgar turned to see a broad-shouldered man in a tuxedo staring at Liv. The suit was clearly hand tailored and—this late in the evening—rumpled the exact right amount to be appealing. And as if that wasn’t enough to stoke feminine interest, Edgar knew for a fact that the man was also a billionaire. 

“Are you Liv Doyle?” His gaze was pure flirtatious charm.

She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling at his warm tone. It had taken Edgar an exhausting series of near-arguments to coax a few of Liv’s smiles out of hiding, but this stranger had garnered one almost instantly.

“That’s me,” she said, damn near chirpily.

“Then you must be Edgar Sharp.” His manner was open and pleasant, in direct contrast to what one would expect from an ultra-wealthy business mogul. Edgar nodded.

“Conrad Griffon. I managed to escape my shindig a bit early and your admin—Naomi, I think?—told me you might already be here. Looks like I got lucky. Your director was early too. He’s waiting for us in the private dining room. Shall we?” He held out his arm, and Liv gently set her hand in the crook of his elbow.

“Thank you.”

Griffon escorted her towards the door. “I’ll pay any tab these two have,” he called airily over his shoulder. The bartender nodded at his back.

Edgar trailed after them.

Human nature was so interesting, he thought, watching the two of them. Full of contradictions and illogical behavior. Take his own case. He had just discovered that it was possible to respect a man like Conrad Griffon…while intensely disliking the smooth bastard.