“Sure, because I can see why you’d need night-vision goggles for selling knickers,” John said. “Look, stop messing around in Scotland. You’re needed here. We’ve got business piling up. I’ve already paid a designer to make the business cards—Prentice and Benson, International Security.”
“You mean Benson and Prentice,” Lake corrected.
John ignored him.
“This is what we talked about, remember? You, me, doing what we do best. Only this time we get money and fame.” He paused. “And some of those tall, sexy women that hang around with billionaires.”
Lake barked out a laugh.
“If they’re hanging out with billionaires, they aren’t going to go for the hired help, are they?”
“Not hired help. Highly skilled security consultants,” John said snootily. “Plus, it’s the trend to go for the bodyguard. Even Heidi Klum is doing it.”
“Have you been reading women’s magazines again? What did I tell you about that? It shrinks your...”
“Yeah. This coming from the guy who’s selling pretty pink undies.”
“Only until I get this shop in the black again. Then it’s a quick sale and on to better things. I won’t be here long enough for anything to shrink.”
“Three months,” John reminded him. “If you don’t have the money to buy into the partnership by New Year’s Eve, I’m going to have to offer it to someone who does and that would break my heart.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it would,” Lake said with a grin. “Send my gear,” he ordered.
There was a grunt at the other end of the line. Lake wasn’t worried. They both knew that John would be hard pressed to find someone with better skills than Lake. But that didn’t change a deadline. Whether Lake was in or out, the business would have to start in the new year—there were clients waiting.
As he hung up the phone, the door to the tiny kitchen crashed open and Betty tottered in. Lake raised an eyebrow slightly.
“You still have a key?” He reached for another mug.
“I own the building. You lot just lease the shop,” Betty said as she thumped a plastic carrier bag on the counter.
“You and I are going to have a little talk later about what exactly owning the business means,” he told her as he handed her a mug of coffee.
If Betty was bothered by the implied threat, it didn’t show. She sniffed the coffee and scrunched up her nose.
“This isn’t tea.” She handed back the mug. “What do you think I am, a Yank? Make me a cup of tea.”
Lake flicked on the kettle. He’d been a warrior long enough to know that picking your battles was the key to victory.
“I brought breakfast,” Betty said.
She opened the plastic bag and the room was filled with the smell of hot, spicy meat pies. She thrust a Scotch pie at him.
“That’s a heart attack waiting to happen,” he told her.
“That’s the kind of rubbish I get from your sister.” She mimicked Rainne’s voice. “My body is a temple.” Betty rolled her eyes.
Lake took the pie.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to eat it,” he said. “But you can’t live on this crap.”
Betty s
coffed.
“I’m eighty-six, son, and I’ve had a pie a day for as long as I can remember. You bloody well can live on these.”
She took a huge bite to make her point. Lake smiled slightly as he made Betty a cup of tea. They took their breakfast into the living room.