Problem is, if I cut my losses, where do I find another expert to share their knowledge with me? Knowing there’s little choice, I heave a massive sigh. I guess that answers that question then.
Carefully, placing my mug down on the occasional table beside me, I drop my feet to the floor and scoot toward the edge of my seat. Taking a mental deep breath. Extending my hand to him, I wait for him to take it. He hesitates for a moment before taking it, a frown creasing his brow.
“Let’s try this. Hi, my name’s Agatha Traeger.”
Unsure if he’d accept the olive branch I was holding out with bated breath, he finally shakes and says, “Hi, I’m Jessen Ambrose.”
“Would you prefer I call you Mr. Ambrose, or would Jessen be okay?”
This time the pause is longer, but again he surprises me with a reply. “I’m generally know as Lucky to most people, but you can call me any of those. Whichever works for you.”
I nod. “Jessen it is then.” Scooting back in my seat, I tuck my legs under me again. “I’d like to clear the air if I may. Will you listen with an open mind?”
This time he just nods.
“I couldn’t believe my luck when I heard you give testimony at the Armatrout bail hearing, and you said your occupation was a sniper for the Navy, SEAL division. When I approached you and you decline to talk to me, I respected your decision and left it at that.
“I happened to mention to my assistant that I was having trouble finding a sniper that I could interview. She told me she had a contact and to leave it with her. Never, in my wildest dreams, did it ever occur to me that you would enter the equation. To be honest, I thought you’d changed your mind. It’s literally just a weird twist of fate that you were the one asked to help me out.”
When I’m done, I sit back and wait. I’ve made my case. I’m not begging this stranger to believe me. If he’s determined to think the worst of me, that’s his choice. It’s difficult, but somehow I manage to sit there without fidgeting while he contemplates what I’ve said.
Jessen gets to his feet and moves over to the bank of windows, but I doubt he’s seeing the magnificent view beyond. He rubs at his neck absently, almost as if the motion helps him to think or process. For long, silent minutes, he stands there, his gaze having finally dropped to his feet.
When I’m about to jump to my own and grab another coffee, or something – anything – to keep my hands busy, he turns. The first thing I notice is he doesn’t look so mad, and his body posture isn’t quite as rigid. I feel my own tension ease some.
Eyeing him across the room, I wait for him to speak. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, then resumes his seat.
“I’m sorry.”
Those two little words hang in the air between us, and I’m convinced they’re not ones he uses very often in this context. Sure he’d uttered them early, but that was more a verbal shrug than actually expressing remorse. This time I really do think he means them.
“Okay …” I’m not sure what else to say. He’s not giving me much to work with. I’m uncertain whether he’s apologizing for being an ass from the time he got here or for blaming me for setting him up.
“If my team had gone out on a mission based on how much solid intel I had on this meeting, we’d have all come home in body bags. That’s to say, I came barging in here all piss and vinegar based on supposition and suspicion. And for that, I owe you a huge apology. So, I’m sorry.”
Wow. Handsome, sexy, and eloquent. Damn, that’s a lethal combination. Based on that apology and the look on his face, I’d say honest and honorable too. As my brain scrambles for a suitable reply, he gets to his feet and lets himself out. The door closes softly behind him. All I can do is stare at it, slack jawed.
Unexpectedly, the buzzer breaks the silence. Snapping my mouth shut, I go over to check my spy hole and burst out laughing. On the other side of my front door stands a rather different looking Jessen Ambrose – the stiff and angry man who stood at my door minutes before transformed.
Opening the door, I repeat my earlier greeting, giving him a smile. “Hi.”
“Hi, Ms. Traeger. I’m Jessen Ambrose. I’m sorry I’m a little late for our interview. I had a matter that needed some clarification.”
His antics have me laughing with delight. “No problem. These things happen. You’re here now. Please, come on in.”
He steps into the condo again as if it’s the first time. “Beautiful place you have here.”
“Thank you. Please, sit. Can I offer you something to drink?”
“That would be great, thanks. A glass of water is fine.”
“You sure that’s all you want? Can I not interest you in some of the finest coffee you’re ever likely to find?”
A grin lifting the left corner of his mouth, he replies, “Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”
The complete one-eighty this man has just done has me a little off kilter. I can’t help getting caught up in the playfulness of it, though, thankful that he’s been as forgiving. If I’d been in his shoes, suspecting someone of going behind my back to force me into something I didn’t want to do, I’m not sure I’d be so quick to forgive.
Returning with a mug for each of us, we sit silently, appreciating the fabulous coffee.
