The waiter slowed and gestured toward a table with two seats open. Grif’s eyebrows drew together as his gaze landed on the man waiting for them.
The guy looked decades too young. He appeared closer to his thirties like him, with his black hair slicked back, flawless bronze skin, and a serious, contemplative expression. He was pure professionalism in a gray Burberry suit that highlighted his trim figure, and everything matched from the platinum watch he wore to the tack on his tie. He stood to greet them and offered a blinder of a grin.
The open expression on his face was the innocent sort of hot that punched him in the gut, because Grif Blackmore liked to ruin pretty things. And wreck him, he would. His tongue traveled over the front of his teeth as he scanned the man up and down one more time.
Until it dawned on him why he looked so familiar.
Danilo Torres. They weren’t having lunch with some easy-to-schmooze middle manager. The fucking CEO had shown up.
Four
Dan had taken over all of Mike and Len’s acquisitions meetings for a few weeks, which meant he now perched in a black chair with the cream cushions that matched the rest of this swanky, unnecessary restaurant. Dozens of mirrors glared at him, like he’d entered a carnival attraction, and he couldn’t help the residual discomfort he felt in posh places like these.
The discrepancies in the financials remained buried too deep to get a pulse of what went on, so he figured the hands-on approach might offer some tangible leads. Ever since he’d pulled a microscope over the company’s earning and spending, Brennerman had been finding more and more excuses to meet with him. Dan took another sip from his coffee with enough milk and sugar to soothe his nerves. As if that could temper out the shitty attitudes of his employees.
Each time he entered the Aon Center and rode the elevator to Torres Industries, he needed to don a set of armor. And ever since Brennerman soured on him, the man had been spinning trouble. Dan didn’t need the problems spelled out—he could see them in the furtive glances as he walked through the offices and the murmurs trailing him in the halls. Even the lack of quick response to his emails could be traced to unrest in the upper management.
Dan traced his finger around the rim of the porcelain cup, staring at the tan surface of his coffee. He almost didn’t hear the slow thump of approaching footsteps.
For the first time since he started taking over these meetings, Dan was glad of the decision.
The two guys who strode his way were grade A gorgeous. One walked forward with a casual smile and stroll, his easy eyes gleaming. Even in the trim suit he wore, his height and broad shoulders betrayed the solid muscle he hid beneath the layers. However, the first guy might as well have been invisible once he spotted the other one.
The man sucked all the attention from the room with a glower in his ice-blue eyes and a presence that crashed in like an earthquake. Dan had to suck in a sharp breath as he scanned him over. His blond hair was tightly trimmed, his goatee neat in a way that highlighted his sharp chin and cheekbones. Even though he wore a Valentino suit accentuating a lean figure, his corded neck and the way he held himself made it clear he was all cut muscle.
Dan somehow shook some sense into himself, even if his dormant libido had kickstarted at the mere sight of this man who exuded power from his pores. Maybe if he moved like this guy, his employees might step in line.
“Welcome,” he said, extending a hand. He flashed a smile, his body a traitor as he stood in front of this gorgeous man. “I stepped in for Leonard.”
“What did we do to snare the attention of the CEO of Torres Industries?” the man said, reaching out to shake his hand. Their palms pressed together, and the guy shook with a firm and authoritative grip. If Dan was honest, the intensity made him a little weak in the knees, especially when he caught a whiff of amber and citrus from his cologne. The man stared him down like he wanted to devour him, and Dan was ready and willing to offer himself up.
“So, it seems you already know who I am,” Dan said, pulling his hand back before his body betrayed him any more. He hadn’t gotten laid in far too long, and it showed. “Now what’s your name?”
“Greg Locksley.” He flashed a grin that didn’t soften his features in the slightest. That gaze could bore right through a person, and his stance screamed intimidation. Why he found that quality so damned attractive made him question his sanity.
“John Smith.” The other guy stepped between them to extend his hand. Dan shook and offered a nod before the man continued. “We’re thrilled to have the chance to talk to the CEO of Torres. If we had known, we might’ve sent someone higher up on the food chain than lowly reps like us.”
Dan lifted his hand. “That’s the exact sort of attitude I’m trying to dispel. The days of Torres Industries as an unapproachable hierarchy are of the past. I’m happy to meet with both of you today. Please, call me Dan.”
Greg settled into a seat on the opposite side of the table and placed his suitcase beside him. He cast Dan an appraising look as their eyes met. “Okay, Dan. Then let’s sit down and talk.” For some reason, his name on those lips felt filthy, and he liked it. Christ, he needed to get his head in the game—every other meeting had been more of the same polite back and forth jabber, but he hadn’t met anyone who evoked such a visceral reaction since his first boyfriend.
He returned to his seat as John took the one in the middle. Dan snagged the blue folder he’d brought on Neo-National even though he didn’t need a refresher. He’d gone through the papers ahead of time. Their case seemed simple—a small organization looking for the stability of a larger company like his. Some of the others he’d fielded set off his internal alarms, companies that had no reason to be working with them, whether due to their current means or focus. He’d leveled extra questions their way, ones to make them sweat.
He refused to further the corruption rampant in Torres Industries, even if most of Chicago hated him by the end of this.
Dan tipped back his coffee cup again, finishing it as the waiter swung by to get drink orders—iced tea for John and whiskey for Greg.
“While I read the email request for the meeting, I’d like to hear from both of you in person as to why you’re approaching Torres Industries,” he started, taking control of the situation. “Your company seems to be in good standing, even if it’s fairly new.”
He leaned back in his seat, prepared to listen. The one thing he’d gotten sick of the most when he’d ascended into the CEO position was the sheer amount of lip service people paid him. Maybe old folks like his dad liked to reside over people like a lord and his peasants, but Dan hated that attitude. He just wanted people to be real with him. In an ideal world, he’d prefer not dealing with them at all, but he had entered the wrong industry for that.
John leaned forward. “We’re looking to expand,” he began. The man had a straightforward tone rather than the normal slick he’d been dealing with, which somehow set off his warning bells. Maybe it said something for the amount of douchebags he’d been dealing with that a regular response raised his suspicion. John continued, “There are limited avenues we can explore where we’re at, and out of the companies we’d been looking to hitch our wagon to, yours has reputation and longevity behind it.”
Dan restrained his sigh. He’d been hoping for something refreshing, but the man offered more of the same. “You have to understand, we get thousands of proposals a year. Why would your company be a good acquisition? Given the fact you’re new in the field and barely tested, you don’t have the permanency other proposals do to be a beneficial addition rather than a drain.”
Greg crooked an eyebrow at him, something like surprise flashing in his eyes. Dan maintained his cool, sliding his thumb along the porcelain of his cup. Everyone continued to underestimate him, but he had no problem proving them wrong.
John opened his mouth, but before he could continue, Greg locked eyes with him.
“Because you’re new,” he said, the blunt words dropping into the air like a bomb.
Dan blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that response, and neither had John based on the dirty look he flashed his partner.
Dan didn’t respond, waiting for Greg to continue. The man didn’t shrink at the silence, though in all honesty, he didn’t look like a guy who cowered from anything.
Greg’s lips curled in a hint of a grin, and his gaze never faltered. “You said it yourself. You’re taking the hands-on approach because you’re new to the role and want to establish the direction you’re leading the company. If you continue with the older companies like the ones who formed in a different era, you’re going to get more of the same attitudes. We might be new and untested, but we’re malleable, flexible in a way the other companies wouldn’t be.”
Well, damn.
John gave his partner another look and shook his head, a grin spreading on his face. “I’d argue with my friend here, but he’s making a damn good point.”
Dan had half-expected the guy to backtrack rather than defending his coworker, but he admired the solidarity. And he was blown away by Greg—his audacity and his willingness to be candid.
The waiter swung around with their drinks, including a fresh cup of coffee. Dan seized the temporary interruption to collect himself. His immediate impulse was “thank fucking God,” but people expected more decorum from the CEO of one of Chicago’s heavy-hitter companies. One thing was sure—Greg Locksley was the exact shake-up he’d been looking for.
Dan poured some cream and then placed a few hefty spoonfuls of sugar in. As he stirred, Greg’s gaze lingered on him.
“How are you supposed to taste the bitterness under all the sugar and cream?” The teasing note in Greg’s voice stroked at Dan’s libido. Hell, almost everything this man did made his brain switch to sex.
Dan couldn’t help his smile as he lifted the steaming liquid to his lips. “Life’s too short and chaotic not to indulge,” he responded, his tone coming out more of a purr than intended. He coughed, wishing he could backtrack. Not like he was out at the company. “You’ve raised a valid point, enough that I’m willing to bring you into the office for a real discussion. Any acquisition has to be approved by the board, but if we nail down some details and everything about your business stacks up, you’ll have the full weight of my support behind you.”
John offered a grin as he took a sip from his iced tea. “We appreciate you giving us the chance. We know we’re newer, but we’ve reached the point where we either expand on our own or find a company to connect with.”
“We’re looking forward to working with a company that’s looking to move ahead instead of backward,” Greg said before taking a swig of whiskey. “I’m guessing this conversation might’ve gone much differently if we’d been meeting with the original guy?”
Perceptive, perceptive. A wry grin spread on Dan’s face as he shook his head. For the first time in far too long, someone got it—got him. “I need allies of my own in shaking up the company,” he responded. Around someone like him, the duct tape had been peeled from his mouth, and he could speak at last. “There are plenty in the company who would prefer things stay the way they always were, but unfortunately for them, my father placed me in charge.”
Greg’s gaze smoldered. “Then I’m looking forward to shaking things up with you.”
Dan sucked in a sharp breath. Damn if that wasn’t a come-on. He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his business cards. In the grip of madness, he jotted his cell number on the back. As if someone bolder, braver possessed him, he handed the card right into Greg’s open palm.
“Feel free to contact me if you need anything.” His gaze locked with Greg’s. Based on the faint smile lingering on the man’s face, his double meaning landed. His heart sped like he’d taken a hit of cocaine. If he doubted the attraction was mutual, one look from Greg confirmed he wasn’t imagining things.
John reached past his partner to crack open the briefcase and pull out one of the folders. “We’ve got some figures here we didn’t include in the initial email, but they should be some help.” To his relief, John didn’t even glance their way or make any mention of the loaded exchange.
Dan took another sip from his cup, trying to shake himself out of the stupor. He should be interviewing prospective acquisitions, not hitting on them, and sure as hell not handing out his personal number. If his lack of a dating life had seeped into his work, he needed to go on a Tinder spree, a blind date, or something more drastic. Even though he was supposed to be the one in the position of power, in charge, Greg Locksley had flipped him on his head in mere minutes.
His stomach flip-flopped. The idea of Greg ignoring his number to go on his merry way made his nerves simmer, but it paled in comparison to the prospect of what might happen if he called.
Five
Grif stared at the toothache-white ceiling of his room. He leaned back against his mattress, his bed a minefield of tousled blankets, World War II memoirs, and the array of lockpicking tools he’d been playing with the night before when he couldn’t fall asleep. Tough to catch shut-eye when the liquid running through his veins consisted of 50 percent coffee.
He flipped a quarter into the air. Heads, he’d call Danilo Torres. Tails, he’d keep their relationship strictly professional.
Grif continued to toss the quarter in the air again and again. Once they’d returned to the Outlaws’ HQ, he’d ditched the suit for a pair of sweats. They’d secured their in, so the rest of the day’s work could be done slacking behind a computer screen. He heaved a sigh. Dan Torres wasn’t the musty old jackass he’d expected. The guy seemed earnest and genuine. Plus, he’d watched the guy leave. The way Dan’s muscled ass filled out his trim suit could fast turn into a fetish.
Grif snatched the quarter out of the air and smacked it on his arm. Decision made. He tossed the coin to the ground and stretched from the bed to reach for the pocket of his suit jacket, which hung off the chair by his desk. He stretched further, almost teetering off the edge as he snatched his phone.
This was the smart move to make. He’d have an inside angle on the company, and maybe he could even finagle access to his private files. After he indulged in some other private access, that was.
Grif dialed the number and sank back into his bed to stare at a ceiling so pristine he wanted to splatter paint across it. As soon as the phone began to ring, the first pinpricks of adrenaline trickled through his veins, a surefire sign his dick had taken the wheel.
“Hello?” That delicious voice sounded on the other end.
“For all the swanky fixtures and fancy lingo at Penn Luxe, their meals don’t do a whole lot to whet an appetite,” Grif responded, dragging the tip of his finger along his phone case. He swung his foot back and forth in front of him; tick-tock, tick-tock.
“Greg Locksley,” Dan responded, a hint of wonder in his tone. Hot damn, he couldn’t help but imagine the guy on the other end, all soft brown eyes and bronze skin he wanted to bite. “I wasn’t sure if you would call.”
“I wasn’t sure either.” He hadn’t lied—game time decision and all.
“Look, I’m sorry. We were at a business meeting—it was inappropriate. I can’t be asking out prospective clients.” The worry in his tone contradicted every dirty deal whispered about Torres Industries. Grif was dead-on with his reads, and this guy didn’t fit amongst the sharks circling for chum in corporate.
“Well, that’s an easy solve. I’ll ask you,” he drawled. “Meet me at Polished Knives tonight. Seven sharp.”
“Is that a date, Mr. Locksley?” Dan’s tone turned coy, the sound enough to get his blood pumping.
“Well, it’s sure as hell not another business meeting,” he responded. “See you there, gorgeous.” Grif didn’t give him the chance to respond, ending the call. He rolled up from the bed and tossed his phone onto the mattress. Time to strip out of these sweats and slide into something suitable. Tonight, he had a date with their mark.
Polished Knives was one of those dark, sultry places with enough glossy surfac
es to convince almost anyone that blood hadn’t stained them. Grif had been one of the people making the messes back in his beater days. Unlike a lot of the thieves’ joints in Chicago that gave off a “fuck right off” vibe, this one managed to blend in with average society.
“Hey, J-Bass.” Grif lifted his fingers in salute before striding past the bouncer.
The hulk of a guy leaned against the side wall, his arms crossed and a sketchy look in his eyes. “I know that look in your eye. Don’t tell me you’re bringing another booty call to this place, G. You’re going to give us a bad reputation.”
He snorted, following through with a middle finger. “I’ll quit when they stop showing up for the slaughter,” he called as he sauntered past the backlit bar, all cream, polished obsidian, and pine. The bottles of scotch were on full display, the lights making the amber liquid glow. Black vinyl booths stretched throughout the entire place, and Edison bulbs overhead cast the perfect amount of dim lighting to blend the lines between murky and intimate.
J-man and Scarlet had voiced their complaints at his excursion, but he’d been able to dodge out before Alanna and Tuck returned, saving him from even more reaming out. The only thing he risked was an STD, but he’d brought condoms to solve that. He wouldn’t blow their cover, and he’d already established this date wasn’t about business.
Grif slipped into the corner booth tucked away in the opposite end of the place, the one he always claimed when he visited Polished Knives. He hated having his back exposed. He sank into the black vinyl booth, and his fingertips skimmed against the wood grain of the pine tables, the variation in the yellowed wood even more distinct with all the shadows begging to dive into the cracks. Within seconds of sitting, Kelly swung over with his normal scotch, neat.
Midnight Heist (Outlaws Book 1) Page 3
