Page 87 of Reckless Devotion

“How do you know Sarah in accounts?”

“People like me.” I offer by way of explanation, shrugging one shoulder.

He frowns. “What are you up to?”

“Well,” I start slowly as I begin to trace a path along the edge of the long table. “Since you seem determined to distract me anytime I try and work on the case these past few days…” I pause to shoot him a sharp glare.

He grins sheepishly, guilty as charged. Not that I mind too much when his distraction technique is to see how many times he can make me come in a row. So far, our running record is seven before I tap the fuck out.

“We’re going to play a little game called Pig Pie.” I stalk back toward him and pick up the pie closest, propping it up in one hand above my shoulder like a pro waiter balancing a tray of drinks. “Every time you say something piggish, you get a pie to the face.”

He surveys the row of pies, one eyebrow raised. “I don’t know whether to be proud or offended that you bought so many pies for this game.”

“Option two. It should definitely be option two,” I deadpan, fighting to keep my face straight at the look of exasperation on his face.

He scratches the back of his head. “Okay fine, but can I please just get one obvious one out before we start, because I’ll combust otherwise?”

“Be my guest,” I agree innocently, sidling an inch closer.

“Well, only to say that if you wanted a cream pie, you just had to ask.” He slips his hands into his pockets, smirking at me with those thick corded forearms visible beneath rolled white shirt sleeves.

I let out a little sigh, reaching up on my tiptoes and slamming the pie square into his unsuspecting face. He scrunches his eyes shut just in time and stands stunned for a second as the pie slips off and lands on the floor with a wetsplat.

I clap a hand to my mouth, wondering if I’ve taken it a step too far as he spits out banana pudding, his face wholly covered in cream, sticking up in the front of his hair and dripping onto his shirt.

“I can’t believe you just did that.” He swipes clumps of cream out of his eyes, and I lose control when his face resembles a smiley fry.

“I tried to warn you!” I laugh, dancing back as he flicks a splodge of cream my way.

“You said I could get one inbeforewe started!” He raised an eyebrow and a drop of cream splays directly onto one shiny dress shoe.

“I changed my mind.” I shrug, picking up a few napkins off the table and handing them to him—having had the foresight to grab a large pile.

He swipes them from me, starting to wipe the bulk of the cream off, grumbling something that definitely includes the words, “pain in my ass.”

I hop up onto the boardroom table, plucking a plastic spoon out of the bakery bag and flipping open a new pie tray. “So we know the organization responsible are working from inside your company.” I hold one finger up at him and use my other hand to scoop up a spoonful of pie. “We know they are connected enough to have safehouses.” I hold up another finger and then pop the pie filling into my mouth.

“We know they have the contacts to create high-quality forged documents,” Chase adds, coming to lean back on the table next to me, cream still stuck in his eyebrow and around his hairline.

I nod, making a low noise of appreciation. God damn, these pies are good. Almost too good to be wasted by getting smashed into his face…almost.

“We know that they have turned some of your employees into double agents.” I scoop up another spoonful and then squeak when a large hand plucks the spoon from mine.

“And we know someone’s using Evelyn’s name as a coverup.” He eats the pie, and watches me roll my eyes with a blank expression.

I chew the inside of my cheek, going over everything we’ve discovered so far. I can’t see any other way forward, other than to speak to Evelyn. But since that option is not on the table, I have no fucking idea where to go from here.

“Ugh, this is so annoying!” I throw my hands up, gripping the edge of the table and leaning forward to stare at the navy carpet.

A large hand lands softly on the back of my neck, stroking the baby hairs that escape my claw clip. “May I offer you a shoulder to rest your legs on in these trying times?”

I snort out a laugh, hearing the smile on his face without even looking.Strike two.I pick the pie we’re eating out of the tray and turn to face him.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns, his grip on my neck turning tight.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll give you one back.”