Chapter 3 #2
She tilted her head, her fingers moving to her pocket again. “That’s decent of you.” She pulled out a small brass object that she turned over in her fingers. A compass, I realized. Old and slightly bent. “Most people would have just minded their own business.”
“I’m not most people.” I took a sip of my cognac, watching her over the rim of the glass.
Her eyes flicked over me, then back to my face. “Clearly.”
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.
She almost smiled as she set the compass on the bar, still fidgeting with it. “So what made you decide to play hero tonight?”
For some reason, I wanted to give her a real answer, not a one liner that would lead to throwing a phone number away in the morning. I could already tell that wasn’t what I wanted. Not from her.
“Call it instinct. I don’t like predators.”
She studied me for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “Well, thank you. I probably would have noticed something was off, but . . .” She shrugged. “Maybe not in time.”
“Asher,” I said, extending my hand.
She hesitated, then took it. Her hand was small but her grip was firm, and I felt the slightest callus on her palm. Not what I’d expected.
“Charlie.”
“Charlie,” I repeated, letting the name roll over my tongue. “Short for . . . Charlotte?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Only on my birth certificate and when my mother’s mad at me.”
I smiled. Actually smiled. “So, Charlie, what do you do when you’re not being rescued from sketchy situations in hotel bars?”
She laughed, a short, sharp sound. “I don’t make a habit of needing rescue.” She ran her finger along the rim of her glass. “I’m an engineer.”
My interest sharpened. “What kind?”
“The underwater kind.” She gave me a look that suggested she was waiting for my eyes to glaze over.
“Marine engineering?”
She nodded, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Specializing in safety systems for underwater construction.”
The pieces clicked together. Charlie. Engineer. Underwater safety systems. It couldn’t be a coincidence, after all the company leased the building across the street from this hotel, but I needed to be sure.
“Where do you work?”
She hesitated slightly. “HydroCore.”
Bingo. Charlie Winters. Whom I had assumed was a man. The engineer whose innovations had brought me to L.A. in the first place. And she had absolutely no idea who I was.
It did occur to me to just tell her, but I was running a business, and this was a big move for me.
“Impressive,” I said, keeping my expression neutral. “Small world.”
“You know it?” Her eyebrows lifted.
“I’ve heard of it.” Understatement of the century. “I’m in construction myself.”
“Really?” She leaned forward slightly, her interest visibly piqued. “What kind of construction?”
“All kinds,” I said, deliberately vague. “But I’ve been looking into marine projects recently. The engineering challenges are . . . unique.”
“That’s one word for it,” she said with a small laugh.
“Most people don’t realize how complex underwater construction is.
We work where humans weren’t meant to survive.
Every minute a diver spends down there, they’re fighting time, pressure, and the limits of their own bodies.
I want to make sure they win that fight. ”
Her hands moved when she talked about it—cutting through the air, shaping the invisible architecture of whatever she was building in her head. She had no idea she was doing it. I couldn’t stop watching.
“Someone you know?” I asked, my voice quiet.
She blinked, as if surprised by her own revelation. “My brother. Navy diver.”
I nodded, understanding. “That explains the dedication.”
“What about you?” she asked, clearly wanting to shift the focus. “What drives someone to build things that scrape the sky or reshape coastlines?”
“Who says that’s what I build?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “Your watch costs more than my car, your suit was definitely made for you, and I’m pretty sure you’re drinking a cognac that costs more per bottle than my rent. You’re not building garden sheds.”
I laughed, genuinely amused by her assessment. “Fair enough. But I started small.”
“Humble beginnings?” She tilted her head, studying me. “Let me guess—military?”
It was my turn to be surprised. “How did you know that?”
“You have a look.” She gestured vaguely. “Like someone who earned it, not someone who inherited it.”
“And you can tell that by looking at me?”
“I’m good at reading people too.” She took a sip of her drink, watching me over the rim with those intelligent eyes.
“Well, Charlie the mind-reader, what else can you tell about me?”
She set down her glass and leaned in slightly, accepting the challenge. “You’re successful, obviously. But not satisfied.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You work too much, sleep too little. You’re used to being the smartest person in the room, and it makes you impatient sometimes.”
I felt oddly exposed. “You got all that from a fifteen-minute conversation?”
“Am I wrong?”
“No,” I admitted, finding myself leaning toward her. “What else?”
Her eyes met mine, unwavering. “You’re lonely.”
The word landed somewhere I wasn’t guarding. Her laugh was easy and warm, but her eyes didn’t fully match it—there was something tired underneath, something she probably thought she was hiding. Before I could respond, a voice cut through the moment.
“Charlie! I thought that was you!”
A man approached our corner of the bar, sandy-haired and affable, with the easy confidence of someone who was well-liked without trying too hard. His eyes lit up when they landed on Charlie, but dimmed slightly when they shifted to me.
“Hey, Jason,” Charlie said, straightening slightly. “Late night at the lab?”
“Always,” he said with an easy laugh. “Richard’s got us running the sensor calibrations again.”
“All of them? But we just finished—”
“I know.” He shrugged, then extended his hand to me. “Jason Mercer.”
“Asher,” I replied, shaking his hand with perhaps more force than necessary. The guy worked with Charlie. At HydroCore. My company, as of tomorrow.
“Jason’s on my team,” Charlie explained. “Lead programmer for the sensor array.”
“One of Charlie’s many minions,” he added with a grin that said he didn’t mind. He looked back at Charlie. “A bunch of us are heading to Barney’s. You should come. We need your brain on this calibration issue.”
I felt an irrational surge of irritation. Were they involved? Charlie’s body language said no, but Jason’s obvious attempt to separate us made me wonder.
Charlie hesitated. “I’m actually here with Mia . . .”
“Perfect! Bring her too. We haven’t seen her in ages.” Jason’s gaze flicked to me, then back to Charlie. “Unless you’ve got other plans?”
Before she could answer, Mia returned, her timing suspiciously perfect. “Plans? Are we making plans?” Her eyes darted between the three of us, quickly assessing the situation. “Jason! How’s it going, lab rat?”
“Mia,” he said, his smile widening. “We were just talking about heading to Barney’s. You two should join.”
“Mmm, I don’t know,” Mia said, her gaze settling on me with undisguised curiosity. “Charlie was just getting to know her hero here.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes at the “hero” comment, but Charlie beat me to it.
“He’s not my—” she started, then sighed. “Asher, this is my friend Mia. Mia, Asher.”
“Charmed,” Mia said, extending her hand with a flourish. I shook it briefly.
“Likewise.”
“So, Barney’s?” Jason pressed, clearly eager to whisk Charlie away.
I was not only reluctant to end our conversation, but vehemently opposed to watching her walk out of this bar with him. “Actually, I was about to ask Charlie if she’d join me for dinner tomorrow night.”
Three pairs of eyes snapped to me with varying degrees of surprise.
“Were you?” Charlie asked, one eyebrow arched.
“If you’re free,” I added, maintaining my composure. I didn’t get a no very often, but Charlie was anything but a sure thing.
“I thought you said you had a big meeting tomorrow,” she reminded me, challenge in her eyes.
“It’ll be done by seven.” If everything went according to plan, I’d own her company by noon.
Jason cleared his throat. “Charlie, we really could use your help tonight.”
Charlie looked between us, clearly weighing her options. “Rain check on Barney’s, Jason? I should probably call it a night anyway. I have an early board meeting tomorrow.”
The same board meeting where I’d be announcing my takeover. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
Jason’s disappointment was palpable. “Sure, no problem. Next time.”
“I’ll walk you out,” I offered as Charlie and Mia gathered their things.
“That’s really not necessary,” Charlie started, but Mia cut her off.
“Actually, I forgot I left something in the ladies’ room. I’ll meet you outside in five, Charlie.” She gave me a pointed look before departing again, subtle as a sledgehammer indeed.
Jason took the hint. “I should get back to the guys. Charlie, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Bright and early,” she confirmed. After he left, she turned to me with a wry smile. “About dinner tomorrow.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said, standing to walk with her toward the exit.
“Pretty confident, aren’t you?”
“When I see something I want, I don’t hesitate.” And I’d known I wanted her immediately.
She paused, studying me. “And what exactly is it that you want, Asher-with-no-last-name?”
I held her gaze. “To continue our conversation somewhere quieter. To learn more about your work. To see if you’re as brilliant as you seem.”
“Smooth,” she said, but I caught the slight flush on her cheeks. “But I don’t date men I’ve just met in bars.”
“It’s just dinner,” I said, though we both knew it wasn’t. “Seven thirty? I’ll pick you up.”
“I didn’t give you my address.”
“I’m resourceful.”
We’d reached the hotel lobby, and through the glass doors I could see Mia waiting outside, pretending not to watch us.
Charlie hesitated, then nodded. “Seven thirty. But I’ll meet you here.”
“Here?” I gestured around the hotel lobby.
“You’re staying here, aren’t you? You entered from the lobby, not the street . . . and that crystal snifter isn’t typical barware.”
Perceptive. And she’d noticed me come in. “Yes.”
“Then I’ll meet you in the lobby at seven thirty on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“You tell me your last name over dinner.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Deal.”
She extended her hand. “Good night, Asher.”
I took her hand, but instead of shaking it, I turned it over and brushed my thumb across her palm. “Good night, Charlie.”
The slight catch in her breath was almost imperceptible, but I caught it. And from the way her eyes narrowed, she knew I had.
She pulled her hand away, gave me one last measuring look, and walked out to meet her friend.
I watched her go. Charlie Winters. The engineer I’d come to L.A.
to acquire along with her company. The woman whose work I’d been studying for months, whose innovations had convinced me to bet a significant chunk of my portfolio on marine construction.
In about twelve hours, I was going to walk into a boardroom and take over her world.
I should cancel dinner. I knew that. I knew it the way I knew load-bearing walls and structural limits—the kind of knowledge that keeps people alive. This was a disaster waiting to happen.
I picked up my snifter and finished the cognac.
I didn’t cancel.