It took Zach a moment to process that look of hungry anticipation on Flint’s lean face.
Hell.
As Flint’s bright hazel gaze held his own, Zach realized Flint was thinking he’d changed his mind about selling the agency. There was no reason to feel guilty about that misunderstanding, but somehow, he did.
“Did you want to step into my office?” he asked.
Flint shrugged. “Sure.”
“Would you like a coffee, Flint?” Brooke piped up.
“No thanks.”
Zach stepped into his office, closing the door behind Flint.
“I think theremightbe a slight misunderstanding,” Zach began.
He was interrupted by Mr. Bigglesworth, who—never a fan of anyone or anything that might steal Zach’s attention—made a big production of leaping from the chair in front of the desk across the room and onto the narrow bookshelf, where he proceeded, secret-agent style, to blend into the tidy row of houseplants. His giant sea-glass gaze peered through the foliage.
Flint looked taken aback. “What the hell was that?”
“That’s my cat.”
“That’s not a cat.”
“He certainly is.”
“Nope.”
“Yep. In fact, he’s purebred.”
“That?Purebred? No way.”
“He has the papers to prove it.”
Flint snorted. “Then he forged them.”
Against his will, Zach laughed.
This seemed to encourage Flint, who said, “Admit it. You found him going through garbage cans in a back alley, and he sold you some sob story about a pair of bulldogs mugging him for his fur coat.”
Who knew Flint had a sense of humor? Zach said gravely, “He’s not a client. He’s an associate.”
“Of course he is.” Flint sighed and dropped into the chair vacated by Mr. Bigglesworth. “Okay. What’s the big misunderstanding? Or should I guess?”
“Sorry, but this isn’t about selling the business.” Zach squeezed in behind the desk and sat down. “It’s about hiring you.”
Flint’s obvious disappointment gave way to surprise. His brows shot up. “Hiringme? For what?”
“For surveillance work. The Beacher case is…well, to do it properly, we need more manpower.”
Flint’s smile was sardonic. His large hands fastened on the arms of the chair, and he started to rise. “Sorry. I’ve got my own caseload.”
Zach blurted, “I’ll pay you two hundred dollars an hour—and it’s not that many hours.”
Flint lowered himself to the chair again. He eyed Zach skeptically. “Go on.”
“You already know it’s a complicated situation.”