Page 13 of Crossing the Line
“Ay!” Marisol burst into a litany of blistering Spanish.
“I’m not stubborn as a two-headed mule,” Waverly said primly, topping off Marisol’s coffee. The woman grabbed her coffee cup and rose stiffly.
“I want no part in this!” She muttered her way to the door complaining about mule-headed girls and blind men. Waverly watched her go. As much as Marisol pretended to bluster, she knew the adoration went both ways. Waverly was certain if she ever called Marisol from the scene of a murder she’d committed, her Mari would show up with a nice Persian rug and a roll of duct tape.
Marisol, still muttering, wrenched open the front door with a Latin flourish of temper. Xavier was on the doorstep poised to knock.
“Señora Cote.” He stepped back as the woman bustled past.
Marisol made a show of crossing herself. “God be with you,” she said, shaking her head fiercely.
If Xavier was bemused by the woman’s exit, he didn’t show it. The consummate professional, his face remained impassive as he took the chair next to Waverly at the table. Yesterday obviously hadn’t dampened his determination to ruin her life. He stared her down, and Waverly met his gaze with disdain.
“I’m Kate,” Kate announced, breaking their silent battle of wills.
“Xavier,” he said, offering his hand across the table.
Kate grinned, shaking with enthusiasm, and Waverly kicked her under the table.
“I’m Waverly’s personal assistant and whipping post,” Kate said, sticking her tongue out at Waverly.
“Waverly’s personal security and personal floatation device,” Xavier answered with a ghost of a smile.
Waverly rolled her eyes. Kate had been Waverly’s right hand for three years after they met on a movie set where Kate was working as a haggard, underpaid production lackey. She’d called an associate producer with a God complex and wandering hands a “weasel-faced asshole” and been unceremoniously fired.
Waverly hired her on the spot.
“We were just going over Wave’s schedule for this week,” Kate said, ignoring Waverly’s disapproval. “I can cc you when I email her the finalized calendar.”
“That would be great, thanks. What can you tell me about your email server?” Xavier asked, eyeing the carafe of coffee.
Waverly slid it and an empty mug to him. He poured and sipped while Kate gave him the details about the IT company she worked with for the website and email.
“We’re going to want to keep any communications about Angel’s schedule or plans or whereabouts on a secure server,” he said, rolling down his sleeves.
“Angel?” Kate snorted.
“Don’t start,” Waverly grumbled.
She felt the weight of Xavier’s attention on her. “I’d like to have our cyber team take a look. I don’t have to tell you that email servers get hacked every day.” He looked at her pointedly.
“Are you waiting for me to confess to having a treasure trove of naked pictures?” Waverly cocked her head. She poured a glass of the ever-present green juice and slapped it down on the table in front of him.
“This is serious business,” he reminded her.
“And this is the price of doing business, X.”
Those tawny eyes flickered. He raised the glass in a mock salute and drained it. “It’s not as horrific as you make it out to be,” he told her.
Waverly downed the last half of her juice and resisted the urge to shudder.
“God, how do you drink that crap?” Kate gagged. “It’s like someone stomped on soggy lawn clippings.”
“That’s the wheatgrass,” Waverly told her, washing down the juice with a belt of coffee. “X here helps with my daily quota and then I don’t have to lie to Louie and dump it down the sink. So, meeting adjourned?” she asked hopefully.
“Actually, I think we should hear an update from X Factor here,” Kate suggested.
At Waverly’s stare of death, Kate shrugged. “What? He’s here doing stuff. I think we should know what that stuff is.”
