“You’re the reporter, Mr. Robinson.”
“By the way, where’ve you been, Lizzie? I’ve been trying to find you for months.”
Lizzie winked again, and Ted got weak in the knees. He wondered what it would be like to take this bombshell to bed.
“If I told you that, then I’d have to kill you. Now, if there isn’t anything else, I’m running late. I don’t want Ms. Whatever-her-name-is to get her panties in a wad. If I’m not out in an hour, send in the troops, okay?”
“Gotcha. Can I quote you on that, Lizzie?”
“Of course. Will you gentlemen be staying on when the sale of the Post goes through?”
Ted looked like he was sucking on a sour lemon. “I hope so.”
Lizzie leaned closer to the reporter, and whispered, “I can make it happen, Ted. I’m overseeing the final legalities. I have an idea. Let’s do lunch before you write this up. I like the Squire’s Pub. Oneish or thereabouts.”
“You shitting me, Lizzie? How’d that happen?” Excitement rang in Ted’s voice as he hopped from one foot to the other. “I’ll be there.”
Lizzie shrugged her elegant shoulders. Never modest, she said, “Because I’m the best of the best, that’s why. What other reason could there possibly be?”
Ted was in such shock he was speechless for the first time in his life. So speechless he didn’t make a move when he saw Jack Emery and Judge Easter walk through the doors behind Lizzie.
When he finally found his tongue, he looked at Espinosa, and said, “Holy shit! Did you just hear what I heard? I think we should buy some hip waders because there’s going to be a bloodbath around here sooner rather than later.”
“Yep.”
Erin Powell saw her coming, and so did the others. She cringed inwardly while outwardly hoping the others weren’t picking up on it. That was wishful thinking on her part. She hated, absolutely hated, the smirks on her fellow agents’ faces. Except for Bert Navarro, who looked like he was studying the Mona Lisa with a critical eye. She had yet to deal with Bert concerning last night’s activities.
“Good morning, people,” Lizzie said in her best low, sultry, come-hither voice. “I understand you wish to have a dialogue with me. I’m here. Time is money in my business. So, I’d appreciate it if we could get right to it. Oh, yes, one other thing. Do not ever, ever, ever, ever pull crap like this on me again, or you’ll be in the Mojave stapling papers.” The voice was now so sensual and earthy-sounding that all the agents, Bert included, wore sappy expressions as they rushed to escort her to the conference room, to get her a comfortable chair, and make offers of coffee.
“Can I run out and get you a latte?” Landos asked.
Lizzie batted her inch-long eyelashes, and replied, “Agent…”
“Landos, Joe Landos,” the agent said, falling all over himself.
“That would be just lovely, Agent Landos. Thank you for being so considerate.”
Landos was out of the building faster than greased lightning.
Lizzie looked around and made a face. The room was spartan, folding chairs, long metal table that was scratched and scarred. In the middle was a huge coffee stain that no one had bothered to clean. The walls were blinding white, the floor battleship gray. She eyed the chair and made a pretense of checking for dirt so that her five-thousand-dollar Armani suit wouldn’t get dirty. She finally sat down but ever so gingerly on the edge of the chair. The minuscule skirt hiked up so far the agents looked away discreetly.
“How’s it going, Lizzie?” Bert asked with a show of familiarity.
Lizzie offered up her dazzling smile, and said, “Ask me when I leave here, sweetie. Now, tell me, what can I do for you fine gentlemen and…uh, lady?”
Bert knew immediately what Lizzie was doing. She’d drawn her line in the sand and would not deal with Erin. Lizzie never dealt with women. As in never. She’d decided she would deal with Bert, and that was that.
Erin sensed
“By the way, where’ve you been, Lizzie? I’ve been trying to find you for months.”
Lizzie winked again, and Ted got weak in the knees. He wondered what it would be like to take this bombshell to bed.
“If I told you that, then I’d have to kill you. Now, if there isn’t anything else, I’m running late. I don’t want Ms. Whatever-her-name-is to get her panties in a wad. If I’m not out in an hour, send in the troops, okay?”
“Gotcha. Can I quote you on that, Lizzie?”
“Of course. Will you gentlemen be staying on when the sale of the Post goes through?”
Ted looked like he was sucking on a sour lemon. “I hope so.”
Lizzie leaned closer to the reporter, and whispered, “I can make it happen, Ted. I’m overseeing the final legalities. I have an idea. Let’s do lunch before you write this up. I like the Squire’s Pub. Oneish or thereabouts.”
“You shitting me, Lizzie? How’d that happen?” Excitement rang in Ted’s voice as he hopped from one foot to the other. “I’ll be there.”
Lizzie shrugged her elegant shoulders. Never modest, she said, “Because I’m the best of the best, that’s why. What other reason could there possibly be?”
Ted was in such shock he was speechless for the first time in his life. So speechless he didn’t make a move when he saw Jack Emery and Judge Easter walk through the doors behind Lizzie.
When he finally found his tongue, he looked at Espinosa, and said, “Holy shit! Did you just hear what I heard? I think we should buy some hip waders because there’s going to be a bloodbath around here sooner rather than later.”
“Yep.”
Erin Powell saw her coming, and so did the others. She cringed inwardly while outwardly hoping the others weren’t picking up on it. That was wishful thinking on her part. She hated, absolutely hated, the smirks on her fellow agents’ faces. Except for Bert Navarro, who looked like he was studying the Mona Lisa with a critical eye. She had yet to deal with Bert concerning last night’s activities.
“Good morning, people,” Lizzie said in her best low, sultry, come-hither voice. “I understand you wish to have a dialogue with me. I’m here. Time is money in my business. So, I’d appreciate it if we could get right to it. Oh, yes, one other thing. Do not ever, ever, ever, ever pull crap like this on me again, or you’ll be in the Mojave stapling papers.” The voice was now so sensual and earthy-sounding that all the agents, Bert included, wore sappy expressions as they rushed to escort her to the conference room, to get her a comfortable chair, and make offers of coffee.
“Can I run out and get you a latte?” Landos asked.
Lizzie batted her inch-long eyelashes, and replied, “Agent…”
“Landos, Joe Landos,” the agent said, falling all over himself.
“That would be just lovely, Agent Landos. Thank you for being so considerate.”
Landos was out of the building faster than greased lightning.
Lizzie looked around and made a face. The room was spartan, folding chairs, long metal table that was scratched and scarred. In the middle was a huge coffee stain that no one had bothered to clean. The walls were blinding white, the floor battleship gray. She eyed the chair and made a pretense of checking for dirt so that her five-thousand-dollar Armani suit wouldn’t get dirty. She finally sat down but ever so gingerly on the edge of the chair. The minuscule skirt hiked up so far the agents looked away discreetly.
“How’s it going, Lizzie?” Bert asked with a show of familiarity.
Lizzie offered up her dazzling smile, and said, “Ask me when I leave here, sweetie. Now, tell me, what can I do for you fine gentlemen and…uh, lady?”
Bert knew immediately what Lizzie was doing. She’d drawn her line in the sand and would not deal with Erin. Lizzie never dealt with women. As in never. She’d decided she would deal with Bert, and that was that.
Erin sensed
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