Seducing powerful men into telling her all of their secrets is Scarlett Ambrose's specialty. Ace Hardwood is probably no exception.
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The gorgeous, confident and charismatic Scarlett Ambrose is perfect candidate to help Terrence Burke take down the...
"She was poetry in a world that was still learning the alphabet."
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The air stilled.
Scarlett had not yet released the breath she took.
Ace still looked down at the papers in his hand, not at the girl on the staircase.
Boldly, Scarlett got to her feet and stepped down the rest of the way until she stood in the room where Ace sat. He was yet to raise his head to look at her.
Scarlett ambled on to the couch, taking a seat opposite her boss. She was quiet for a while, gazing around the room. The soft jazz music that surrounded them had mellowed Scarlett's usually hyper countenance. Her shoulders relaxed and her head lolled to the music before she caught herself and stopped.
"Why do you work on the weekends?" she asked, her words rolling off her tongue smoothly, in keeping with the mood set by the music.
Ace's voice was deep, low and soft when he replied, "The devil doesn't take breaks."
"Did you just call yourself the devil?"
Ace made a low sound, but neither agreed nor disagreed.
"Doesn't it get lonely? Being here all alone, after working all week?" Scarlett brought her legs on to the couch and crossed them.
Finally, Ace flickered his bright green eyes on to the beautiful woman who sat in front of him. One corner of his mouth was slightly upturned. He, too, was the most relaxed Scarlett had ever seen him. "I'm not alone. You're here."
Scarlett gazed at him through clear blue eyes. "Now. I'm not here always."
Ace offered no explanation; he simply smiled. His gaze fell back on to the document on this lap.
Scarlett exhaled softly. "June twenty-fourth."
"Hmm?" Ace flipped a page.
"Your birthday. Is it the twenty-fourth of June?"
A smile overcame Ace's face before he shut his file. "Why the twenty-fourth of June?"
Scarlett shrugged. "Just a random guess." Ace shook his head.
"October fifteenth." He shook his head again, still smiling.
"April first?"
The slightest laugh escaped him as he shook his head. "Only three hundred and sixty-three more options to try."
"Three hundred and sixty-two," Scarlett reminded him, "I also know it's not the twentieth of May, because that's the fake date you gave all the girls who called."
