“This mysterious favor.” Cade stretched an arm across the back of the booth. “What is it you need from me?”

“A name.”

“Whose name?”

Brooke lowered her voice, careful to make sure that none of the restaurant staff could hear her. “The name of an employee who hacked into Sterling’s expense account database.”

That seemed to pique his interest. “I’m listening.”

She filled Cade in on the details, pausing momentarily when the waitress brought their cocktails. He listened without interrupting, occasionally taking a sip of his drink, as she laid out the details of the investigation conducted by Sterling’s VP of security, and then explained how they’d gotten stuck after determining the hacker’s IP address.

“Keith talked to an agent at the FBI office, who said it could take a while before anyone got back to us. I was hoping, maybe, you could speed up the process for us.”

She waited hopefully as Cade considered this.

He set down his glass. “I’m not going to talk to the FBI about this. It’s—”

“—too insignificant of a case,” Brooke finished for him. She continued on, undaunted. “Look, I understand that this is small potatoes in the grand scheme of investigations the FBI and U.S. Attorney’s Office handles. This jerk—whoever he is—didn’t take any money or steal anyone’s identity or anything.” She leaned in. “But nevertheless, he broke into company records with the sole purpose of humiliating my boss. And yes, I consider Ian a friend so that ticks me off on a personal level, but it’s more than that. This hacker is a bully. Only instead of writing his homophobic crap on the bathroom walls like he probably did in high school, he’s taken the twenty-first-century approach and spewed his insults via an online database.” She locked eyes with Cade. “I’m not expecting you to press charges, or even make an arrest. But I’d at least like the guy’s name so I can fire his ass.”

When she was done with her speech, Cade rested his arms on the table. “If you would’ve let me finish my sentence, the reason I’m not going to bring in the FBI is because I think this is something the Secret Service should handle.”

Brooke sat back in the booth. “Oh. The Secret Service. Of course.” She cocked her head. “Because, in addition to protecting the president, the Secret Service has jurisdiction over . . . something I probably learned in law school but am totally blanking on now.”

“Crimes involving U.S. financial institutions.”

She snapped her fingers. “Yes. That.”

“Your bully hacked into a Citibank database,” Cade said. “It’s not exactly a national security issue, but I’ll ask a Secret Service agent friend of mine to look into it. You said you have the IP address?”

“Yes, right here.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and handed it over.

“Good.” Cade slid the piece of paper into his briefcase. “Give me a few days. You’ll be able to fire his ass soon. And the rest of him, too.”

Brooke smiled at that, pleasantly relieved—and a little surprised—that it had been that easy. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Cade pointed, suddenly changing the subject. “You’ve finished your drink.”

“So have you.”

“Another round? My treat this time.”

As if sensing the nature of their conversation, or perhaps simply attuned to the fact that the—gasp—general counsel was sitting with an empty glass before her, the waitress stepped up to their table. “Can I get you both another drink?”

“We were just discussing that very question,” Cade said, still with his eyes on Brooke.

Just say no. Brooke had gotten what she’d come for that evening, and now it was time to grab her briefcase, get up out of that booth, and walk away.

And from the daring look in Cade’s eyes, she knew he was waiting for her to do just that.

Never one to back down from any challenge, at least not one coming from the mighty Cade Morgan, she turned to the waitress. “Another round would be great, thank you.”

Cade smiled slyly as the waitress hurried off. “You better pace yourself with that bourbon there.”

Brooke eased back in the booth, not the slightest bit concerned. “I wine and dine people for a living, Morgan. You just worry about yourself.”

* * *

OKAY, FINE. SHE may have been a little buzzed.

Just a smidge.

Clearly, that had to be the case, because she felt warm and good and—shockingly—was enjoying being around Cade.

They’d been at the restaurant for over an hour. A while back, the manager had come by to say hello to Brooke and had sent over a complimentary selection of antipasti. Brooke had ordered a glass of wine with that, and Cade had gone with another bourbon, and then somehow they’d just rolled into dinner—a hand-tossed pizza straight out of the restaurant’s wood-burning oven.

“I have to give credit where credit is due,” Cade said, helping himself to another slice. “You guys at Sterling know your way around food.”

She took another piece herself. No disagreement there. “There are far worse places to work than for a restaurant company.”

“Is this the way it is every time you eat at a Sterling restaurant?” Cade asked. “Everyone hopping around, making sure you’re happy?”