“I’m Catherine May,” she said.
“I know.” The man eyed her speculatively.
That he knew her and she didn’t know him was a bit disconcerting. Cat waited for him to continue.
“My name is Rand.” Even his voice had polish.
“Did you have an appointment?” She couldn’t imagine Zen missing a meeting with this man. He appeared too important.
“I never schedule time. I simply show,” he informed her. There was no conceit to his words, merely fact. “I’ve known Zen for years and consider him family. He’s a brilliant financier. Those he employs are at the top of their game. You specialize in asset acquisition. Zen claims you ‘have edge.’”
“I’m a woman working in a man’s world,” she said frankly. “I push twice as hard to prove myself.”
“You’re very young.”
“Age doesn’t always bring wisdom.”
“You’re also quite beautiful and could talk an investor into buying the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“Are you in the market for a bridge?”
One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “I’m in the market for information.” He shifted his stance, and Cat caught him leaning more heavily on his cane. He appeared to have a bad knee. “Might we meet for a few moments now?”
“My office is on your left,” she offered. “The coffee is hot and the chairs are comfortable.”
He nodded, then motioned for her to precede him, a man of gentle manners. Two steps inside, and her schipperke darted out and attacked Rand’s cane. The pup believed it to be a large stick. Foxie’s sharp little teeth clamped onto the base, and she snarled in her attempt to drag the cane backward.
Not a good first impression. Cat’s cheeks heated as she scooped up her dog. Canine pinpricks marred the wood. Very expensive wood. “I’m so sorry,” Cat apologized. “I’ll pay for a new cane.”
“The cane is antique,” Rand told her. “The craftsmanship comes from the Italian masters collection. The handle is a horse’s head of finely tooled silver; the bottom has a hand-applied horn tip.” He pursed his lips, calculating. “You owe me five thousand dollars.”
“I’ll write you a check.”
“No damage done, my dear,” he said easily. “The cane now has character.”
The man’s face had character, too, Cat noted. Crow’s-feet fanned at the corners of his eyes and deepened at his mouth. He had a notable scar along his jaw and a shorter one under his chin. He had a tan, but didn’t look weathered. He had very few wrinkles. He was quite handsome for his age. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t place the face. The shared resemblance would come to her.
Clutching Foxie close, Cat returned to her desk and gently placed the pup in her carrier. The schipperke started scratching at the mesh as if attempting a prison break. Cat quieted her with a dog biscuit.
“Foxie’s not usually in the office,” Cat explained. “She’s taking part in my ten o’clock business meeting. She’s only here for a few hours.”
A potentially destructive few hours, Cat realized. Foxie had chewed one rubber edge off the floor mat under her chair. The pup never swallowed the items she chewed; she spit it out, all over the carpet.
“Please have a seat.” Cat offered Rand any one of the three gray leather chairs before her desk.
He took the one in the middle, facing her straight on.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Black, please.”
She poured a cup and allowed him time to settle in. She took her own seat behind her desk, a horseshoeshaped workstation built by her carpenter father. The oak had been sanded but left in its natural state. A sheet of pale cranberry glass had been cut for the desktop. The glass cast a rosy glow onto the file folders, calculator, calendar, and note cubes.
Rand took one sip of his coffee and got down to his first order of business. “I expect client confidentiality. Our exchange doesn’t leave this room.”
Cat nodded, curious now. Zen Driscoll allowed absolute discretion, as long as nothing illegal went down.
“I require the financial status of the Rogues organization,” he next stated. “I sit on the board of directors of several banks in the city, but have no connection to Richmond First, the institution that holds Guy Powers’s note.”
The Rogues. Baseball. He’d gotten her attention. She sat a little straighter, her thoughts fully on the team. “I have several contacts at the bank,” she assured him. “Is the organization in trouble?”
“Serious trouble, if my sources are correct,” he said. “I don’t want speculation, I want documentation. Contact me with facts and figures only. We’ll proceed from there.”
“Give me a day or two. I’ll see what I can discover,” said Cat. “Once I have the particulars, how shall I reach you?”
He drew back his suit jacket and slipped a business card from the satin inside pocket. He set the card on the corner of her desk, facedown. “My private number. You’re officially on retainer.”
Cat let the card lie. “Were you a sportsman, Rand?” She wondered as to his interest in the professional baseball team.
Again, the curve at the corner of his mouth. “I enjoyed lawn tennis as a boy and the occasional game of croquet.”
“May I ask what your primary interest in the Rogues is?”
“Baseball is the all-American pastime.”
He’d avoided her question nicely.
Cat let it pass.
“Thank you for your time, Catherine.” Rand took a final sip of coffee and rose from his chair. “Tell Zen you’ve got my situation under control. He need not worry.”
Rand moved unsteadily toward the door, his knee once again giving him trouble. “Two knee replacements and I’m still wobbly.”
Cat caught his sigh. She offered her arm and he took it. “Are you driving? Shall I call a cab?” she asked.
He shook his head. “My chauffeur is waiting.”
They walked down the hallway together, slowing at the door. He released her arm and took a step back. “I trust few people, Catherine May, but there’s something about you I like. It’s not the fact you earned a perfect score on your SATs in mathematics or that you have a master’s degree in economics from Cornell. You have a strong sense of family and solid values. We’ll make a good team.”