Lucy Monroe - Satisfaction Guaranteed

A second later, Jayne came in. She was one of their deepest cover operatives. The world knew her as a highly exclusive exotic dancer, but in reality, she was one of their best agents. Beth had always wondered why she and Ethan never hooked up, but in the two years she’d worked for the agency, she’d never seen Jayne give any man even a second blink, much less a look.

Alan sauntered in behind her, talking to Drew. Drew wasn’t a regular field agent but was so conversant in the world of high-tech that he was invaluable to the agency in his role as information gatherer. He knew when things were going down and spent hours every day tracking the movement of technological information worldwide.

Alan was smart to be picking Drew’s brain about his first case, as she was sure he was doing.

“What’s that look for?” Ethan asked.

Her gaze skittered back to him. “Look?”

“The one you’re giving the new guy. For someone who denies interest, you sure are watching him intently.”

“I’ve been watching everyone as they come through the door. I’m taking notes. Would you like to see?” she asked as she spun her mininotebook for him to see where she was logging each agent’s attendance on her spreadsheet. “It’s my job.”

“Well, you didn’t look at the other agents the way you looked at Hyatt.”

“If you must know, I was thinking he was smart to be picking Drew’s brain. Not every field agent realizes how important Drew’s knowledge is to the running of TGP.”

“I do.”

“I know you do.” Was this conversation as bizarre as she thought it was, or was she overly sensitive?

Agents were a strange breed.

“Why don’t you look at me like that?”

Because she was too busy trying not to look at him like she wanted to devour him, but she wasn’t about to say so. “You’re being annoying and I can’t figure out why.”

“Maybe the way you look at Hyatt bugs me.”

This conversation was definitely entering the realm of the bizarre. “I don’t look at him any special way, but if I did, I don’t know why it would bother you.”

“I didn’t say it would.” He frowned, as if he just realized how strange their conversation was. “The old man is late.”

“He always comes in last.”

“I swear he’s got the room wired and an alarm goes off in his office once everyone else shows up.”

She smiled. “No alarm. Just an IM. From me.”

“So, that’s how he does it. Sneaky.”

“Efficient.”

“You are that.”

“Who says it was my idea?”

“I do.”

“It just happens that you are right.”

“I usually am.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. The man was too confident for his own good.

Her father walked in, talking on the Bluetooth headset attached to his glasses. The room went quiet. Her dad cut the connection to his cell phone and took his place at the other end of the conference table.

“Listen up, people, we’ve got a lot to go over.”

The briefing went pretty much as she’d expected, right down to how hard it was to sit next to Ethan without ogling him. He kept invading her personal space, too. Using the pretext of reading her notes and then reaching across her to grab a mug and the coffee carafe from the center of the table and finally to point out that she’d missed something in her notes.

Which she never did, but her body was zinging with the electricity generated by his nearness to such an extent she felt like she needed a transformer before she blew a brain circuit.

“Okay, that’s about it, except the Prescott case.”

Ethan shifted beside her, his expression going cold. “I’m hitting a wall, but something is going to break soon.”

“It already has.” Her father tossed a newspaper on the table. A tiny ad in the employment section was circled.

Isaac pushed it down the table to Ethan, who read it. Beth peeked over his shoulder so she could, too. It read:

Eccentric millionaire seeks gofer to watch stock trends, oversee market investments, and keep employer apprised of personal stock movement as well as market trends. Position is part-time and in-house. Confidentiality a must as is experience in the field. Prefer applicants with quiet demeanor and ability to work without extensive supervision.

“He’s looking for a gofer?” Ethan asked.

“He calls it that, but the position sounds a little more specified.”

“In the newspaper?”

“He wants someone to watch his stocks and investments.”

“So why not go with an investment counselor?”

“It’s not all that uncommon for the superwealthy to want a private party to take care of their investments. There is the belief that if you work for more than one client, your loyalty to their financial welfare could be compromised.” Beth knew what she was talking about.

Prior to her father hiring her, she’d worked for one of the biggest stock brokerage agencies in the country. She’d hated her job and had jumped at the chance to work in a different environment. Even when her father had insisted she take basic agent training to work as TGP’s central administrative agent.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does if you’re investing millions of dollars rather than a few thousand. At that level, buying stock that earns an extra cent per share can mean huge income differentials.”

“So why does he call himself an eccentric millionaire?” Bennett asked.

“Probably because his lifestyle would be questioned otherwise. We know Arthur Prescott is all about money. He wants lots of it, and investing his ill-gotten millions is just another way of guaranteeing that he makes more.” When she was done speaking, Beth realized that she should probably have let Ethan answer that.

He was the agent assigned to the case after all.

He didn’t look irritated, though. He was thinking. Silently.

“So he’s looking for a glorified clerk?” Isaac asked.

“Not hardly. He’s looking for his own private investment counselor. Someone who is willing to work part-time, move to the small coastal town he’s living in, and work on-site.”

“How do you know he expects someone to move?”

“Because he advertised in the major Portland and Seattle newspapers, not the tiny gazette that services the small town about ten miles from his cliff-top home,” her dad answered this time.

“I can’t believe he advertised at all.” Ethan’s brow was still furrowed in thought.

And privately Beth agreed, but she said, “He must be pretty arrogant.”

“Or sure he can tell an agency plant from a real counselor.”

“That’s a difficult background to fake if he’s got any experience in the area himself.”

Her father nodded, his eyes glimmering with satisfaction. “Exactly. This kind of thing takes an expert.”

Ethan said, “Agents are trained to simulate expertise.”

“But there are some things that are harder to emulate than others and a genuine background in this field is one of them. In addition to that, the man wants someone who is nonthreatening. The bookish type, for lack of a better term.”

“You got all that from his request for applicants with a quiet manner?” Ethan asked.

“Yes. Didn’t you?”

Ethan sighed. “Yes. Actually, I did. But I can do bookish.”

James Bond? She didn’t think so. Beth burst out laughing and a couple of the other agents snickered.

Her father sighed while Ethan glared at her.

“I’m a good agent.”

“I never said you weren’t, but playing the humble administrative role is one I would dearly love to see you acting out,” Whit said. “Fortunately I have a better plan.”

“You do?” Beth asked her father, feeling wary for no reason she could discern.