Mr. Rothe - Lynn Hagen Page 0,6

by my office in thirty minutes. After that I had a ton of paperwork I had to get done, a hearing I needed to prepare for, and a dinner date at five.

“I could have a carrier bring it to your house.” It was the only option if Fitch needed his wallet today.

“You’re not that slick. I’d have to tell you my address.” It sounded as if a television was playing in the background. “Emerson just got here. We can be at your office in a half an hour. Is that okay with you?”

He still didn’t think about the fact that his address was on his ID. I found that amusing.

“If it’s in my backseat, I’ll leave it at the reception desk.” I hung up and called Andrew, telling him to search the car and if he found Fitch’s wallet to bring it upstairs.

That was all the time I had to devote to Fitch. My client would be there soon, and I had to get his paperwork together. I owed Fitch a debt, but if he wanted to treat me like a stranger out to get him, so be it. It wasn’t as if I’d been searching for him today. And it wasn’t as if I’d saved him from those thugs. Or the fact that I’d been willing to pay to have his wallet returned to him.

It wasn’t as if I’d been anything but kind to him. Fitch was nothing to me, yet the fact that he didn’t trust me got under my skin for some reason.

Chapter Three

Fitch…

I honestly thought Gabe would meet me somewhere, that his business card had been fake, like Emerson had claimed. Instead I got out of the car and stared up at the building, impressed with how sleek and modern it looked.

We walked inside, through the front entrance, after taking ten minutes trying to find a parking space and then another five trying to find change to feed the meter. We’d parked out front instead of in the lot in the back.

Emerson spotted the cafeteria and tried to steer me toward it.

“We’re here for my wallet, not to eat.” I yanked his arm and led him toward the bank of elevators. “Stop thinking about food all the time.”

My cousin, the only rail-thin guy in our family, could eat an entire buffet of food and not gain any weight. All I had to do was look at a donut and I gained a pound.

Life was so unfair sometimes.

“I’m stopping on our way out,” Emerson said as I looked at the directory on the wall. “It smelled good in there. In a building like this, I bet they have some good food.”

Russo and Associates was on the top floor. Now I was really impressed. Maybe that fancy suit hadn’t been for show. I just bet it cost more than what I made in a year.

“Tell me you aren’t hungry,” Emerson said while I stabbed at the elevator button.

“I’m not.” I totally was, but I was watching what I ate and highly doubted cafeteria food was healthy. But Emerson was right. The food had smelled divine.

The elevator doors opened, and others joined us. I was surrounded by men and women in suits, making me feel out of place with my tattered jeans, a shirt that read “I’m just a squirrel trying to get a nut,” and my Van sneakers. I even had plastic bracelets on my wrists, forming the color of the rainbow.

At least Emerson was wearing a polo shirt, which made him seem more dressed for this atmosphere than I was. The people around us had coffee in their hands and had their noses stuck in their phone, but one guy had a stack of folders in his arms, looking as though he’d drop them at any second from the way he kept shuffling them around.

One by one they exited until it was just me and Emerson.

“I’m breaking out in hives just thinking about working at this place,” Emerson said.

My cousin worked at a tattoo parlor. He was inked up and, in my mother’s words, looked like a thug. Emerson had tried constantly to get me into his seat, but I was too terrified of needles to get even a small tattoo. The process looked painful as hell.

I knew because I’d sat at Emerson’s work more than once and seen young women cry, and even big guys. It was pain I wasn’t willing to endure.

The elevator doors slid open, and I gasped. The windows allowed the bright sunlight