She hmmphed and faced forward again, but the look on her face said she couldn’t really argue his point.

“So? How was the rest of your night?” he prodded.

“Well, I didn’t mispronounce anyone’s name for the ten o’clock newscast and actually managed some decent banter with my colleagues between segues, so Lizbet won’t have any new ammunition to shoot me with on Tuesday.”

“Your nemesis again?”

“Mmm.” She might have meant the response to be matter of fact, but the tension in her mouth and the way her fingers tightened against her thighs made him wonder if she was imagining choking someone. “Dark hair that belongs in a Miss Clairol commercial. Five-three. Lots of curves and knows how to use ’em.”

“You don’t sound like you care for this person.”

Cassie shrugged and kept her gaze trained on the shops sweeping past. “I don’t trust her. She flirts with the guys on our team to get ’em to help her with things and seems to get off on cutting people down just to undermine their confidence.”

“She’s done this with you?”

She scoffed. “It’s her favorite pastime.”

“Does it work? In undermining your confidence, I mean.”

Quiet filled the car’s interior, only the soft hum of the Audi’s engine breaking the silence. While her face was in profile, her mood seemed too dim. “It didn’t used to, but lately...yeah, she gets me every now and then.”

“And the difference between now and before?”

She let out a long, heavy sigh, then swiveled her head to meet his gaze. “She’s gunning for my weekend spot. I know it. She knows it. And unfortunately, she’s the one killing it with stories lately.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen this woman on your station. What’s her last name?”

“Montlake. Lizbet Montlake.”

An easy enough name to track down and research if a man were so inclined. Given the way the woman upset Cassie, Kir was suddenly very inclined. “Sounds like a soap opera character.”

Cassie snickered at that. “Oh, drama is her middle name. Particularly, if she can use it to high-jump to the next rung on her career ladder.” She huffed out an I’m done with this topic breath and stared at Kir. “Enough about me. Tell me about your night. Have you recovered from your birthday weekend?”

Considering his birthday weekend had been spent dealing with the death of one of his men, that answer was a resounding no. But she didn’t need to know that. Instead, he recounted of the uneventful hours he’d spent well after midnight running through the varied finances of the businesses he and his crew were responsible for.

“Not at all the way I’d picture a man like you spending a Saturday night,” she said as he pulled up in front of the unpretentious establishment he’d chosen on Common Street. Located in the street level of a gray high-rise building, most people would walk right past Merchant coffee shop if not for the simple white sign hung above it. Their reputation, though, was solid and the destination remote enough on a Sunday that he wouldn’t have to worry about too many patrons to overhear. “Is this where we’re going?”