Total D*ck (Bad Bitch #3) Page 4

  “My krewe’s Mardi Gras ball is Saturday. I’ve invited several of the higher-ups from Greenwood. They’ve always attended every year. Guy will be there. I think it might be a good plan for you two to come as well, just in case anything gets said or any discussions take place.”

  “Not a problem. Mr. Granade and I will be there.” Scarlett and I shook Frank’s hand once more as he took his leave.

  Once he was gone, Scarlett leaned on the back of her chair and spoke to Carey. “You have to track down Fluffy.”

  “No can do.” He closed his laptop.

  Eric did the same, signaling our meeting was at a close. “I’ve shown him everything we have. You have our server access if you want to poke around in there remotely. Just let me know if you find anything.” He spun and faced us. “There has to be a Greenwood link somewhere. I know it was them.”

  “We’ll find it.” Scarlett stowed her legal pad. “Come on, we’ll let you get back to work.” We packed up and walked to the elevator.

  “It was good to see you again, Scarlett.” Eric hit the down button. “And very nice meeting you, Carey and Kennedy.” He kept his eyes on Scarlett as he talked, the light glinting off the black plastic rims of his glasses.

  “Thanks for your help. We’ll be in touch.” Scarlett’s tone was all business.

  “And I’ll see you at the ball next week. Save me a dance.”

  She dropped her gaze to her feet. “I think I’m there for work more than anything else.”

  I smiled. She wasn’t interested in Eric. Maybe the total geek vibe was a turnoff. It was for me, anyway.

  “I’m sure you’ll have some time to enjoy yourself.” He glanced to Carey and me. “Gentleman, nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” I gave him a shit-eating grin to make things as awkward as possible. It worked, because he turned on his heel and walked back to the conference room.

  We loaded into the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, Scarlett said, “Carey, we need Fluffy. Sooner rather than later. Make it happen.” Her iron tone had Carey looking to me for backup.

  He’d come to the wrong place. “Scarlett’s right. That’s our in,” I said.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do? Discord is a dangerous group. They’ve hacked the highest levels of government. Remember that scandal involving the congressman who committed suicide after Discord hacked him and found his child porn collection and links to human trafficking?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Word in the community is it may not have been a suicide.” Carey shifted from one foot to the other and stared at the elevator doors as we descended.

  “Come on, Carey, a bunch of dorks with computers don’t go around killing politicians.” I leaned back into the wall of the elevator. “If they did, they’d get, I don’t know, medals or something.”

  Scarlett snorted and then schooled her features back into the perma-frown she seemed to have reserved just for me.

  “Say what you want, but I know these are people with whom one does not fuck.” Carey seemed genuinely spooked.

  Scarlett softened her approach and put her hand on his arm. “I don’t want you to do anything dangerous. I just want you to check and see if you can find any traces of him. That’s all.”

  He shot a glance down at her and she smiled. His lips twitched, a return smile trying to break free. Fuck, she was good.

  “Let’s exhaust all our other options first. If that doesn’t work, then I’ll see what I can do.” He sighed, defeated. “But I won’t make any promises.”

  “That’s all I can ask of you. Thanks, Carey.” She squeezed his arm.

  I wanted to karate-chop my hand in between them, severing the connection. The elevator did my dirty work for me as the door pinged open and we shuffled out into the parking deck.

  Scarlett slid into the driver’s seat. She nibbled her lip, clearly deep in thought, and didn’t notice her skirt riding up. I got a good look at her creamy thighs and stared at the shadow between them. She punched the ignition button and I turned to look straight ahead before she busted me.

  Since I’d first met her, I’d learned two things: One, I underestimated her. Two, I underestimated my own attraction to her.

  Both those things could have been overcome with most other women. But with Scarlett—I stole another glance at her as we got onto the road, and she gave me a withering look in response—things may have already reached FUBAR status.

  I pulled my sunglasses from my pocket and eased them on, a smile playing across my lips. I was up to the challenge. She may have looked at me like I was beneath her, but once I got her beneath me, her face would be nothing but pink cheeks, swollen lips, and a mouth that said only my name.

  Chapter Five

  Scarlett

  The next afternoon, Carey sat across from me at the conference table, his eyebrows pinched together. We’d been working together all day, going through each step of access into Rhone’s system. Carey had tried it so many different ways, looking for any other trace of the hacker that would point in a direction other than Discord. Night fell over the city as we ran through different scenarios and researched every last scrap of information on Greenwood.

  Kennedy had taken up residence at one end of the table, pretending to work on his laptop while I could only assume he was looking at porn. It didn’t matter. Until we could trace the breach back to Greenwood, we had no case.

  A strange pinging noise sounded from Kennedy’s laptop and Carey whipped his head around toward him.

  “Is that BloodSands?”

  Kennedy nodded his head and tapped his arrow keys in rapid-fire succession. Carey rose and went to stand behind him, watching the monitor with the same intensity he’d been using on his own screen. More pinging erupted and something that sounded like a roar.

  “What? What is it?” I followed Carey and peered at the monitor.

  A little cartoon man ran sideways across the screen, a huge gun in his muscled arms. He fired shots at bats and zombies and whatever ran toward him. It was some video game from the 1980s. Kennedy was goofing around when we were trying to get a multimillion-dollar case off the ground. I should have been surprised. I wasn’t.

  I sank into my chair and rubbed my eyes. What would Guy say if he knew he’d partnered me with an utter buffoon as cocounsel?

  A horn sounded in the game.

  Carey snorted. “You suck.”

  “I know. That’s why I have to start out with the cheat code every time.”

  “You do extra lives or infinite?”

  “Aw, fuck.” Another horn blast. “I died again. I have to do infinite.”

  “I remember this game from back in the day.” Carey shrugged. “Though it was before my time, we used to boot up an old Nintendo system and play the hell out of it when I was a kid.”

  “You ever have to use the cheat code?” Kennedy leaned forward and started tapping the keys again, and the pinging sounds picked back up.

  “Yeah, up, right, right, down, right, up, left, up, left, up.” They both repeated the code in unison. Dorks.

  “I never needed it, though.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Kennedy grumbled under his breath.

  Kennedy played. Carey watched. I drummed my fingernails on the table and sighed audibly. After about ten minutes of it—interspersed with too many horns of death to count—I cleared my throat. “I think we should focus on the case.”

  Carey leaned over and pointed to the screen. “You have to double jump there. That’s why you keep dying.” He walked back to his chair and sat, but instead of doing anything on his laptop, he scrubbed a hand through his short hair.

  “You couldn’t have said that five minutes ago?” Kennedy stretched and laced his fingers behind his head.

  “I was trying to let you beat it without my help. Make you a better gamer. You could use the experience.” Carey grinned.

  While I enjoyed any comeuppance that came Kennedy’s way, we needed to focus. I cleare
d my throat again. “Do you think we could look in any other spots for information on the breach?”

  “Yeah, I’ll try.” Carey’s tone did not inspire confidence.

  “Look, Carey, I know we’ve been over this, what, I don’t know”—Kennedy waved his hand in the air in a dismissive motion—“fifty times so far today, but could you reconsider your stance on Fluffy? The only way I get paid is to file suit and shake down Greenwood. The only way the stuffy assholes at this firm will let me file suit is if they have some sort of proof Greenwood did it. Help me out here.”

  I didn’t want to gang up against Carey, especially since I’d grown fond of him over our short time together, but Kennedy was right. “We need this, Carey. Preferably before the Mardi Gras ball in two days.” Two days. Shit, I’ll have to raid my old debutante closet.

  Carey ran a finger along the spider bite piercing in his lower lip and stared at his computer. The corners of his mouth began to turn down in a frown, doubt falling over his eyes like a mask. I was losing him. Then his stomach rumbled.

  I stood and plastered a smile on my face. “Let’s go get some dinner.” After a few drinks and some good food, and then maybe a few more drinks, I was certain Carey would be more inclined to pull the trigger on our “find Fluffy” mission.

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Kennedy slapped his laptop closed.

  I whipped my jacket onto my shoulders. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t ask you. Just Carey.”

  “Come on, three’s company, after all.” He grinned and glanced to my breasts as I stretched my arms out into my jacket.

  I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes like a teenager. “What do you like, Carey? You can pick.”

  He shrugged. “Anything in the Quarter.”

  “Whoa, Carey. That’s a mistake.” Kennedy shook his head and walked to the conference room door as Carey and I followed. “We need something good, not some tourist trap. I know just the place.”

  “Where?” I knew plenty of great spots, too. Growing up in New Orleans, and being from a prominent family, gave me a distinct feel for the city, one that I doubted Kennedy shared. He’d probably lead us to some Cajun knockoff joint run by Yankee transplants.

  Kennedy caught my eye and winked as I walked past him toward the elevator. Ugh, does that work on women? Given his reputation, yes.

  “Don’t worry. I think it’ll even be up to your standards, Ms. Carmichael. And I’ll drive.”

  “I’ll drive my own car.” There was no need to travel separately, but I didn’t like going along with him just for the sake of getting along.

  Carey hit the button for the elevator. “Are we doing this again?” He sighed. “Maybe I should just call it a night.”

  No! I couldn’t lose him now. “No, it’s fine. We can all go with Mr. Granade. Not a problem.”

  “Right, no problem at all.” Kennedy put his hand at the small of my back and led me onto the elevator. A tingle shot through me at his touch, but I gave him a searing look in the reflective doors. He didn’t remove his hand for the entire ride down to the parking deck, the pressure from his fingertips increasing by the moment, as if he were trying to push through the fabric to my skin.

  He smirked at my reflection, daring me to start a row and scare Carey away for the night. Such a dick.

  I stayed silent and hurried out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened.

  “This way.” Kennedy pulled a key fob from his pocket and pressed a button. A Maserati a few spots down the row lit up.

  I turned and glanced at him, unable to hide my surprise. He’d whipped his tie loose and unbuttoned the top of his dress shirt as we walked. I stared at the patch of skin visible between the lapels of his shirt. A light dusting of dark hair disappeared beneath the fabric. Glancing away, I licked my lips and silently cursed myself for doing it.

  “Maserati?” Carey ran his fingertips along the insignia stamped on the trunk. “This is nice as hell, Kennedy. I thought Scarlett was the big-time attorney.”

  Kennedy shrugged in what I would bet was false modesty. “I do all right.” He smiled and held the door open for me, staring at my legs as I swung them into the passenger side.

  Definitely false modesty.

  The car was nice with leather seats and top-notch gadgets. Perhaps I’d underestimated how much he cleared in his plaintiff’s practice. Then again, he had to be good at his work for Guy Porter to ask for him by name.

  “You like it?” he asked as he slid behind the wheel.

  “It’s fine.” I fastened my seat belt.

  “I think it’s badass.” Carey piled into the backseat and we took off toward the Garden District.

  I was glad we headed away from the Quarter. Mardi Gras was the following week and the streets were already packed with revelers. Enjoyable, but perhaps not the best spot for me to work some magic on Carey. Our office would shut down for the week, though I would be working on the Rhone case if I could convince Carey to throw me a bone on the Fluffy issue.

  “Do you have a manual for this thing?” Carey asked from the backseat.

  We stopped at a red light next to a restaurant with a party spilling out into the night. Loud music from a mosh of brass instruments punctured the warm air along with laughs from the crowd. Thunder rumbled in the distance, promising rain for the night’s revelries.

  “Manual? Yeah, I guess so. I’ve never read it.” Kennedy leaned over, his hand swiping my bare knee as he opened the glove box. His hair, darker brown in the low light, was tousled and I caught the scent of his aftershave. I wanted to run my fingers through the strands, feel how soft they were, and then yank to show him I meant business. Instead, I sat still as he pulled a small manual from the compartment.

  He closed it and leaned away but he dropped the booklet in my lap.

  “Sorry.” He smiled and grazed his hand along my thigh before grabbing the manual.

  I balled my hands into fists to keep from slapping him. It was as if he knew exactly what buttons to press to get a rise out of me. I would have to bide my time and repay him in the future. First Carey, and then I’d deal with Kennedy.

  We pulled up alongside the Commander’s Palace, an old-school restaurant in the Garden District. Lightning flashed nearby and a deafening peal of thunder boomed and rolled through the air. The valet helped me from the car, and I glanced across the street at the wall surrounding Lafayette Cemetery. I could smell the coming rain, and wind whistled through the moss hanging in the oaks around the restaurant.

  We made it under the friendly blue-and-white striped awning right as fat drops of rain began to fall, slapping onto the street and the roofs of the sepulchers beyond the low walls of the cemetery. Kennedy put his hand at my lower back again, guiding me forward and causing my cheeks to heat.

  “Paolo.” Kennedy greeted the maître d’ like an old friend.

  “Mr. Kennedy! Wonderful to have you with us again.” Paolo, a middle-aged man with dark hair and a pencil mustache, gave us a small bow and led us to a table in the back. Busts of nude women adorned the wall above our table. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, and a live band played jazz somewhere nearby. Smells of seafood, cream sauces, and sugar wafted in the air, making my mouth water.

  We took our seats at a table for four, Carey and Kennedy on either side of me.

  “I had no idea you were a celebrity around here.” I peered at Kennedy, an easy smile on his face as he settled into his chair.

  “I helped them with some charity work on getting the cemetery cleaned up last year. Nothing big.”

  “I can assure you it was big.” Paolo handed me a black napkin to go with my skirt and took my white one away. “Mr. Kennedy’s efforts at getting funding for community policing have cut crime to almost nothing, and the cemetery has never been safer.”

  “Cool.” Carey nodded and perused his menu.

  “Surprised?” Kennedy asked, holding my gaze.

  I studied him, letting my eyes rove his dark brows, five o’clock shadow, and
redolent lips. Was there actually a man underneath the playboy exterior?

  “A little.” I returned to his dark brown eyes and the eyelashes that were sinfully long.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Ms. Carmichael.” He plucked the menu from Carey’s hand. “I got this. Paolo, we’ll all have the special. And bring three hot shots and a bottle of Malbec.” He clapped Carey on the shoulder. “You like wine, right?”

  Carey nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Very good.” Paolo hurried off.

  I didn’t want to do shots, especially not something called a “hot shot.” But—I glanced at Carey as he looked around at the swanky restaurant—if it got me where I wanted with Carey, I would drink up. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who’d thought of the booze angle.

  “What’s the special?”

  “It’s always good. Does it matter?”

  “What if I had a food allergy?” I picked at my napkin.

  “Do you?”

  “Do I what?” I gave him a blank look and smiled on the inside when his jaw tensed.

  “Do you have a food allergy?” He spoke slowly, as if to a child.

  “No.” I smiled outwardly this time.

  “Do you always have to—?”

  “Look at that.” Carey pointed.

  I shifted in my seat to see Paolo moving through the tables with three shots with blue flames playing on their surfaces. It was a spring break throwback but in the classiest restaurant in town. Only in New Orleans.

  “Oh.” My eyes widened.

  Kennedy slid his hand to my leg under the table and squeezed. His warm palm sent heat snaking up my leg to my pussy. He smirked. “Don’t worry, Scarlett, it only burns for a second.”

  I gripped his fingers and pried his hand away while giving him what I hoped was a stern look. My pulse raced at his touch. Two seconds before, we were jousting. Now, the way he looked at me, and nowhere else, had me clenching my thighs together to ward off the tingling sensation in my clit. It was as if Kennedy knew how to glance at me and, with nothing more than that look, tell me a litany of dirty thoughts. The worst part was, if I closed my eyes, I shared them.

  Paolo set the tray down and doled out the flaming drinks. I eyed mine, not sure what to do with fully involved liquor.