K. R. Treadway
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Opposites Distract 1: Room with a View
🕑 Added 2024-10-06 15:00:08 +0000 UTC
~ Liv ~
“What are you doing?”
The man standing in Liv Doyle’s future office turned to stare at her. He raised one eyebrow. Liv felt bad as soon as she recognized him. She hadn't intended to sound so suspicious.
The computer guy wasn't competition.
“Sorry, Edward—”
“Edgar.”
She blinked. “Oh. Edgar. Right.”
Great. Now she’d snapped at him and gotten his name wrong. But it’s not as if she was expected to know every staffer’s name, right? Like all senior agents employed at Hartnell Inquiries, Liv spent most of her time out of the office and working cases—and her personal workload included way more out-of-state hours than anyone else.
Liv glanced at the man in front of her and then away again. Besides, some staff members were better off being avoided entirely. To find a prime example in the middle of her soon-to-be office was mildly aggravating.
“So,” she said, determined to try again, “were you checking to make sure the network outlets were up-to-date?” The previous occupant, Vernon Zimmer, had been something of a technophobe.
Edward—Edgar—got both eyebrows into the action, raising them as he folded his arms and leaned back against the vacated desk. His expression was somewhat incredulous.
What was this guy’s deal?
Liv couldn’t figure him out, and the late afternoon sun wasn’t helping by highlighting his flawless bone structure and wavy brown hair. When did people in IT start wearing such stylish clothes? Considering how flattering the man’s charcoal pants and white button-up shirt looked on him, tailoring had to be involved. She had a tougher time figuring out why his forearms looked so damn good, since his rolled-up sleeves didn't factor into it.
The office. That was it. Everything looked better here.
Satisfied that she’d found the explanation, Liv resisted the urge to peer down at her own clothes. Her most broken-in pair of jeans and favorite knit pullover with its ratty elbow hardly qualified as professional, but she wasn’t officially back at work until tomorrow.
That was Edgar’s deal, she decided abruptly. He was the sort of person who made everyone around him feel underdressed.
A quiet knock gave Liv an excuse to turn away from inscrutable Edgar and his inscrutable expression. Her mood lifted on seeing the tall blond woman in the doorway.
“Sharebear!” Liv said.
Her friend Sharon smiled at the nickname and responded with her own. “Livy! I thought you were still in San Diego.”
“Got back last night. Late.”
“You found him?” Sharon’s amiable features darkened to something almost predatory. More than one person had mistaken her friend’s innate kindness for weakness and paid the price; there was a reason she was Hartnell Inquiries’ security specialist.
“Hell yes. Ran the scumbag to ground. The kids were unharmed, thank God.” Liv’s most recent case—an unstable parent abducting his own children—had been stressful, but she’d unraveled the trail and brought it to a speedy close. “He’s in custody and the little ones are back with their grandparents.”
“I knew Mr. Hartnell gave it to the right person.” Sharon’s praise was honest, and it made Liv want to preen. She gave her friend a joking half-curtsy.
“Thank you. Interested in celebrating after work? I promised to reward myself with the ultimate nacho platter at Isabella’s if the case went our way.” It went without saying that those nachos would be washed down with a pitcher of margaritas.
“Oh, I love those nachos.” Sharon’s face held an almost comical longing. But then she gestured to the smart suit she was wearing, its light-gray color professional and unobtrusive. “I can’t. I’m running security for the Griffon Holdings charity thing tonight. Rain check?”
“Definitely.” Liv abruptly cocked her head, narrowing her eyes in fake suspicion. Mostly fake. Sixty-percent fake. “Don’t tell me you came up here to scope out Zimmer’s office?”
Sharon laughed. “No way. I’ll watch the battle from the sidelines. Can’t afford to get blood on this get-up.” She pointed over Liv’s shoulder. “I just came to talk to Edgar.”
Liv’s eyes widened. Edgar. Right. She’d forgotten about him. Mostly forgotten. Sixty-percent forgotten. She turned as he pushed off from the desk and walked over. Compared to the non-expression he’d given Liv, his face was open and pleasant—apparently Sharon rated higher in his books. That fact grated more than it should have.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Final check for the gala,” Sharon said, a hint of apology in her voice. “I know you always tell me if there’s an issue, but I don’t remember if we went over the valets and—”
“And you start getting paranoid if nothing’s gone wrong,” he finished smoothly. The words were warm, making it clear he was only teasing. Sharon’s answering laugh was evidence his charm had found its mark. Liv had the weirdest impulse to grind her teeth. “I get it,” Edgar continued. “All your valets cleared their background checks except one.”
“What was the issue?”
“Unrelated criminal background. I flagged him as a precaution. He was reassigned to a different event so he wouldn’t lose wages.”
The wattage of Sharon’s smile kicked up until it was dazzling. “Thanks, Edgar. I appreciate the assist.”
“Happy to free up your time. The venue the client picked seems like a security headache.”
Liv was starting to feel lost and annoyed. Sharon had roped in Edgar to help with background checks? And what the hell did an IT person know about event security?
“The atrium is a nightmare,” Sharon admitted.
Edgar nodded. “And that attached parking deck? Ouch.”
“Wow, such an expert at everything.” The muttered sarcasm just sailed out, spoiling Sharon’s reply. Liv’s mouth snapped shut. Damn. She hadn’t meant to speak. In her defense, she was bone tired, and something about Edgar’s presence was…provoking.
Edgar stared at her. The ice wall was back, freezing her out. Liv’s irritation flared even higher, but this time she kept a tight leash on her snark. After a moment, he returned his attention to Sharon, who was still watching Liv with a perplexed expression.
“Yeah…the garage was really riddled with coverage gaps,” Sharon said slowly, replying to Edgar’s original comment.
“Sorry,” he responded suddenly, “I just remembered I have to grab something.” His smile toward her was strained. “Need help with anything else, Sharon?”
“No that’s it. Thanks again!”
Edgar moved to the doorway with laser focus, pausing just long enough to let Sharon slip into the room before he exited. Her colleague still wore a puzzled look.
“What was that?” Sharon asked.
“What?”
“Are you mad at Edgar or something?”
“No.” Liv heard the defensiveness in her voice and made an effort to smooth it out. “No. I just don’t get it.” She took a few steps across the antique rug—as soft as she had always imagined—and ran a fingertip over the gorgeous grain of the rosewood desk. “Since when does our computer guy run background checks?”
Sharon tilted her head. “Our computer guy? That’s a bit—” A muted ringtone cut her off and she hastily pulled out her smartphone. “This is Sharon Nichols. Yes. Thank you for getting back to me. I had several questions about parking garage access.” Sorry, she mouthed, before spinning on her heel and heading out of the room.
Liv shook her head with an amused smile. The mystery of Edgar Whatever-his-last-name-was could wait. She was finally alone in her dream office. Sure, it wasn't technically hers, but it would be once Mr. Hartnell assigned it.
She took a spin around the space, unable to resist brushing her hand over the polished built-ins and restored 19th-century wallpaper. Everything in the room spoke of elegance and the scads of money long-dead American aristocrats had spent to achieve it.
But she loved the view the most.
Liv slid onto the window seat and stared out at the expansive lawn, its color the mature green of late summer. She took in the yard’s giant sycamore tree, and further, the suburban street lined with more Victorian homes. A soft, happy sigh carried her tension away. It was possible there were private investigation agencies in the continental US that had nicer headquarters, but she wouldn’t bet on it.
Kingston House was a dream from the gilded age, a sumptuous three-story Victorian that sat on its corner like a monarch atop a throne. Almost twenty years ago, when Mr. Hartnell and his wife had picked Raleigh, North Carolina, as their base of operations, they had found Kingston House in the city’s Historic Oakwood neighborhood. The location was right on the edge of downtown, which was perfect. The property itself had been anything but.
There was a picture hanging in the front hall that depicted the day the Hartnell’s closed on the house. It showed a wreck of a structure that Liv would have judged dilapidated beyond hope. But Richard and Vicky Hartnell had seen past the sagging foundation and peeling paint, and glimpsed a place where a business might grow into a home. And today, after years of loving restoration, modernization, and truckloads of curated antiques, Kingston House was the home of Hartnell Inquiries.
Liv stretched out on the seat until she was almost lying down. She imagined taking her lunch, reading a book, or maybe just resting her eyes while her bluetooth speaker played Motown. It would be perfect for unwinding during grueling cases.
Her current “office” had the opposite effect. Seated in her cubicle—one of four occupying the former residence’s drawing room—Liv’s only way to look outside was by precariously leaning in her chair to see into the conference room. She’d put up with that cubicle hell for years, working without complaint to build her record and career. Eventually, she’d escaped to field work. But now she was back, and with a reputation worthy of an office with a view. This view.
A creaking floorboard drew her gaze away from the window.
Edgar the expert was back.
Liv resolved to ignore him while he did whatever he was here for. Maybe he had to finish inspecting the ethernet. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
The distinct rasp of a metal tape measure popped them back open.
Unable to restrain her curiosity, Liv rolled her head to stare. Edgar was measuring the width of the desk. As she watched, he measured the length and tapped a number into his smart phone. Then he squinted at the ornate light fixture. It was one of Liv’s favorites, a mini-chandelier with dangling cut-glass crystals.
Edgar stretched up, the flex of his lean body giving Liv another unwelcome flicker of feminine interest. He affixed the end of the tape measure to the light and gently pulled it down to the desktop. He checked the measurement. Okay, that had nothing to do with ethernet access.
“What are you doing?”
He glanced up, his face a perfect mask of indifference. “Checking to see if my standing desk will fit in here.”
Liv swung her legs to the floor as he set the tape measure onto the polished rosewood. Tactical mistake—now she had something within easy reach suitable for throwing.
