Loverboy (The Company #2) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,68

you want that story, you’ll have to get it out of Max or Duff. You’ll laugh your butt off, I’m sure.”

“And when I called that reference for you in California—”

“Just one of Max’s agents. Sorry,” he says.

That icky feeling comes back—the one that makes me feel certain I’m doomed to be duped by fast-talking men. “Were you even in California? Where did the lies begin?”

He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “I’m in San Jose about three quarters of the time. I hate New York.”

“And this apartment?” I ask, leaving the palatial bathroom. Even in the predawn darkness I can tell that Gunnar’s place is beautiful. If it’s even his. “Where did it come from?”

“It’s mine. I bought it. But it’s empty most of the time.”

“But why?” I ask.

“Well, it’s an investment.” He walks over to a nice maple dresser and opens a drawer. “And my company is based here. I don’t just work for Max. I own a stake in The Company. But that’s not really what motivated me to buy this place.”

“Then what did?”

“Owning a sweet pad in the city was a bucket list item. I spent the first twenty years of my life getting stomped on by rich New Yorkers. So owning a piece of the pie felt like revenge. But maybe the joke’s on me, because the taxes and the condo fees aren’t cheap.”

“Revenge on who, exactly?” I grab my shirt off Gunnar’s bedroom floor and try to shake it out.

“Rich assholes in general.” He shrugs, and then removes his towel to step into a pair of boxer briefs. “It’s not the most logical thing I’ve ever done. But this is a great neighborhood.”

God, that butt, my hormones sigh. The most perfect butt in New York City.

Still.

“I just need four minutes to get dressed and then I’d better scoot off to work,” I tell him.

“I’m at your service,” he says, looking over his shoulder to give me a slightly dirty wink. But his smile is warm.

I’d better stay far, far away from that smile. It’s dangerous in so many ways.

“What’s his name?” I ask Gunnar as we walk along the still-darkened Soho street. “The guy on the sixteenth floor. And what did you want from his room?”

“We know him as Xian Smith,” Gunnar says. “The tech community knows him as someone who brokers the manufacture of electronic components in China. But Max and I have some theories about his real motives.”

“What kind of theories?” I press.

Gunnar chews on his lip. “It’s better if you don’t know too much about it. But Max is a foremost expert in cybersecurity. And network security is meaningless if your hardware is corrupted. We’ve spent a lot of time investigating hardware hacks this year.”

“Fine. So what was that thing Scout put in her bra?”

“Surveillance hardware. We’re trying to figure out who Smith is working with. What he does all day. What his real name might be. All that fun stuff.”

“So you hacked him.”

“Yup.”

“Even though you think hackers are horrible people.”

“Some of them,” Gunnar counters, nudging my hip. “Don’t take his side just yet. He’s also responsible for murder in cold blood, as well as a factory fire in China.”

“Is he the one who’s posting murder messages on my cafe WiFi? He didn’t look familiar.” I pull out my keys, because we’ve reached the front door to my building.

“It’s not him,” Gunnar says with a sigh. “But Max thinks it’s related. That’s really all I can say. Except for this.” Gunnar stops walking as we reach the front door of the pie shop. His gaze makes a quick scan of the empty street, and then he puts his hands on my shoulders. “I will keep you out of it, Posy. It’s my problem to solve. I kept you out of the loop because I thought it would be over soon. I wanted you to focus only on pretty pies and coffee drinks. That was a mistake, and I’m sorry. But I will keep all the assholes away from you.”

“Okay.” I look up into those pale green eyes and see intensity there.

“I’m sorry that any of this ever visited your shop. The murder posts began two weeks before I showed up, though. I didn’t walk this through your door, I promise.”

“Okay,” I croak. “Thank you.”

Then I’m stunned when he pulls me into a quick, tight hug. “You can put me to work in your kitchen.”

“What? I thought you were just walking me home.”

“Well, I’m up now. I don’t know crap about making pies, so