Page 92 of Diego

“She’s a broker.”

“I gathered that.”

“New to Meridian.”

“I know.”

“Then what are you asking me?”

“You know what I'm asking you.”

I do. But I'm not going to give it to him.

“She's very good at her job. Excellent, actually. Better than Shaw gave her credit for.”

He lifts a brow. “Oh?”

“Better than him, that's for damn sure.”

“Good enough that you're buying a property she showed you after one day.”

“Good enough that I nearly bought three.”

His eyebrows climb.

“I’m exaggerating,” I admit. “Slightly.”

“That good?”

“Yes.” I sit forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “She understood what I wanted better before even meeting me than Randall did after sitting across from me and asking questions directly. Security, privacy, family, maintenance, how I actually live. She paid attention.”

Lorenzo watches me for a second too long. I immediately regret that last sentence.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

He smiles. “You really are defensive this morning.”

“I’m not defensive.”

“As you wish,” he says, annoying me.

“Look, all you need to know is that she's damn good at her job.” I stand because this conversation has officially outlived its usefulness. “And all I want from you is someone to inspect the warehouse, dig into the building, look into the cellar. And while we’re at it, we need to look closer at this Randall Shaw. I want to know how he runs Meridian when he thinks no one above him is paying attention.”

Lorenzo’s amusement fades enough for him to nod. “That we’ll handle sooner rather than later.”

“Good.”

I turn toward the door.

“Diego.”