by Kyra Jacobs
Nate glanced over at the chicken scratch in my hand and typed the plate’s number into his laptop. “It appears that the BMW is owned by one Michael P. Frankston.” Pages shuffled. “Looks like he’s the VP of—”
“Marketing.” I lowered my binoculars and met Nate’s gaze. “That’s Grace’s old boss.”
“You mean your future boss.”
Future boss. I scowled and brought the binoculars back to my eyes. I liked being my own boss.
Mr. Frankston moved toward the front door across the lot, his stride even and sure. I found myself remembering how Grace had always raved about the man. She’d said he had it all—looks, money, a loving family. As he stepped into the building and disappeared from my view, I couldn’t help but wonder just how loving that family of his was, or if any of them were responsible for what had happened to Grace.
A little red sports car came flying into the lot next. The type of car that screamed for attention. We both watched as a slender brunette, her hair the color of dark caramel, oozed out of it a moment later.
“Hello, beautiful,” Nate murmured.
I shot him a dirty, sideways glance.
Ms. Brunette straightened up, smoothed her tight-fitting black skirt back into a more appropriate position, and clicked her keyless entry. Sunlight danced off her abundant jewelry as she tucked her keys back into the large designer handbag hooked on her elbow.
Fingers clicked on Nate’s keyboard.
“And that would be?” I asked.
He raised the binoculars back to his face, clearly enjoying the view. I watched as well, hating her more with every prissy little step she took. Once the woman had passed through the front doors, we both glanced down at the laptop.
“Vanessa Smith.”
“That was Vanessa?”
“Grace mention her before?”
“Yeah, she’s Frankston’s secretary. She and Grace worked pretty close together.”
A grin played at his lips.
“Don’t even think about asking me to get her number for you.”
His eyes widened in mock surprise. “I would never—”
“Liar! You would too. It’s written all over your face!” I snorted, then added in a mumble, “Besides, the way she drives, I’m surprised you haven’t pulled her over yet.”
“So am I.” He waggled his eyebrows, then jotted down her license plate number on the corner of a separate sheet of paper.
Men.
We stuck around a while longer, identifying a few more employees returning from their lunch breaks. After a ten-minute lag in traffic, Nate decided he’d seen enough. He backed his car out onto the main road and headed back toward town.
“So, do you always spy on unsuspecting businesses during your lunch break?”
He glanced over at me, a smirk on his face. “Now, that’d be a conflict of interest, don’t you think?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why do I get the feeling you’re the kind of guy who doesn’t always follow the rules?”
“I follow most of them. Let’s just say that I like to think outside the box sometimes.”
Just my luck—I’d partnered with a rogue officer. But as long as he covered my back, what he did at work wasn’t truly any of my concern. Or was it?
Nate pulled his cruiser to a stop in front of Marissa’s salon, and I made to leave.
“You ready for this?”
“Sure.” Ready for some answers? Yes. Ready to take a flying leap out of my comfort zone? Hell no.
He read through my bluff and gave me a grin. “You’ll do fine. Get in and get out. How hard can it be?”
* * * *
“How hard can it be?”
I was still in my room an hour later, standing half-naked in front of my full-length mirror, a mountain of clothes tossed onto the closet floor beside me. Where was Grace when I needed her? And why did I have to be so damned wardrobe challenged?
After what felt like an eternity—a painful eternity at that—I settled on a pair of black slacks and a silky fuchsia, long-sleeved blouse. I fluffed my hair, touched up my makeup, and splashed on touch of perfume. Then I slid into my open-toed sling-blacks, stepped over a sleeping Brutus, and headed out the door.
A job, I kept thinking as I drove. I’m on my way to apply for a job.
But I already had a job. And clients. Would I be able to pull off working two jobs at the same time? I sure as hell couldn’t let my business go. No, I needed something to come back to once Grace returned to work.
Because someday she would return to work. She had to.
I pulled into Maxwell Office Solution’s parking lot and steered toward the front of the building, hoping for an open visitor’s parking space. As luck would have it, I found an empty spot halfway down the first row. I turned the engine off and peered out the windshield at the architectural marvel that loomed before me.
Had it been located downtown, the building would have no doubt taken up a city block. Its entire facade was made of alternating steel and black glass, giving Maxwell a sleek, yet intimidating aura. I tried to imagine working at such a place, being a worker bee in this fancy hive. The thought had my stomach in knots.
Cubicle land just wasn’t for me.
My gaze shifted from the building to my keys, still dangling from the ignition. Part of me wanted to restart the car. To just throw it into reverse and get the hell out of Dodge. The other part knew I’d never be able to live with myself if I wussed out now. The mental battle raged on in my head until the ringing of my cell phone distracted me.
“Hello?”
“You didn’t call to tell me you were done.”
I sighed. “Because I haven’t dropped it off yet, Nate!”
Silence. “But, it’s almost four o’clock.”
I glanced down at my dashboard clock and grimaced. It had taken me an awfully long time to change my clothes.
“You’re getting cold feet.” It wasn’t a question.
Cold nothing—my feet were two solid blocks of ice frozen to the floor of my car. “No, of course not,” I answered, doing my best to sound light-hearted. “I just…couldn’t find anything to wear. And Brutus was absolutely no help in the matter.”
“Really? Did I mention that I’ve got a remote spy camera on his collar?”
“You what?”
He chuckled. “I’m just messing with you. There’s no camera on there. Not yet, anyway.”
“Real funny, Steele, real funny. I gotta go—I have an application to turn in.”
“That’s my girl. Call me when you’re done.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
I hung up and cast one last glance in my review mirror. My eyes focused on the stranger looking back at me, and I prayed my disguise would be enough to fool them. For all our sakes.
Chapter 12
“So, Miss Future Maxwell employee, how did your walk go?” Nate set a box from Pizza King on the table, then stooped down to give his pooch a belly rub. Since I’d seen him last, he’d swapped his uniform out with a black t-shirt and button-fly jeans that fit him oh-so-nicely.
Not that I noticed.
I reached into the fridge and grabbed him a beer, and a Coke Zero for myself—me and alcohol were still on the outs. “For the most part, it went pretty well. But man, when your dog’s done, he is done.”
Nate gave a hearty laugh. “How far from home did that happen?”
“About three blocks,” I said, and threw Brutus an ominous look. “He weighs more than he looks.”
“Holy crap, you carried him that whole way back?”
“Carry him? No,” I said, setting our drinks down. “Drag him? Maybe.”
Nate took a seat at the table and offered his dog a sympathetic look. “Sounds like she won the battle of wills this time, buddy.”
Brutus whimpered and settled in at his feet.
The celebratory pizza had been Nate’s idea. The preemptive calorie-burning walk had been mine. It worried me that I was thinking about calories again. Usually that only happe
ned when there was a new guy in my life. And right now there was no such thing.
“Well I had to do something with all that nervous energy.”
Nate cracked open his beer and raised it in a toast. “To your future career at Maxwell Office Solutions. May it be safe, successful—”
“And brief.” I winked.
“And brief.” He winked back, then downed a third of his beer.
“How long do you think it’ll take them to pick who they want to interview?”
Nate’s cell phone buzzed loudly somewhere below the table. He shifted to retrieve it from his jeans pocket. “Not sure, really. A few days, maybe a week at the most.” He flipped the phone open, glanced at it for a moment, then flipped it shut. “Shit.”
“Is something the matter?” I asked with a mouth full of pizza, curiosity winning out over manners.
He re-pocketed the phone and took a long draw from his beer. “No, it’s just…” He sighed. Drained the rest of his beer and snagged what was left of his piece of pizza off his plate. “Yeah, I gotta go.”
“What, now? But you—” I heard the disappointment in my voice and hoped it wasn’t as obvious to him. “Haven’t finished your pizza.”
“I’ll finish it in the car.” He raised the slice with a nod in my direction. “Congrats again, and thanks for the beer. We’ll have you in there in no time.”
I started to get up, but he motioned for me to stay put. “Sit. I know the way out. Enjoy the ’za, and call me when you hear from Maxwell.”
He headed for the front door, Brutus trailing close behind.
“Nate?”
He paused to turn his head back in my direction, blue eyes preoccupied. “Yeah?”
I hated the thought of being alone again, and fought the urge to ask him to stay. But I hated the thought of getting mixed up with a handsome, rogue cop even more.
“Thanks for the pizza.”
* * * *
Tuesday came and went without me hearing a word from Maxwell. Or from Nate.
So did Wednesday. And Thursday.
While I hated living in a perpetual state of anxious limbo, it couldn’t have happened at a better time. Because for some unknown reason, nearly all my clients went on a needy binge that week. They asked for updates, they asked for modifications. A few even requested quotes for expansion. I worked my tail off to keep caught up, just in case I got the call from Maxwell and the ball finally started rolling.
I headed to Metzler mid-morning Thursday, burned out on work and desperate to find some semblance of normal. In my purse I carried the latest edition of Cosmo and a few bottles of nail polish. It didn’t matter that my best friend was sleeping the fall away. I was running low on self-esteem, which meant I needed some girl time, and I needed it now.
An hour later, I was at Grace’s side, halfway through the magazine and waiting for her first coat of Passion Pink to dry. “Oh, Grace, here’s one for you and Matt. Nine New Positions to Make Him—”
“Jessica?”
I bolted upright. “Sharon! How, uh, are you?”
I moved to flip the Cosmo shut, and in my haste bumped the nail polish bottle. Thick, pink liquid poured out onto the table, then proceeded to spill down onto the leg of my favorite pair of jeans. “Crap!”
Sharon set her purse on a chair and hurried across the room to grab a handful of paper towels. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you! It’s just…your hair!”
“My hair?” I grabbed the towels from her and dabbed at my ruined jeans. Then it dawned on me that Sharon hadn’t seen me since my Monday transformation. No one had, except for Nate and a handful of my neighbors. “Oh, my hair.” I looked up and offered her a sheepish grin. “I just felt like doing something a little different.”
“A little different? Jessica, it’s…dark.” She took the soiled paper towels from my hands and handed me a few more clean ones. “But nice, of course. Has your mother seen it yet?”
“Nope. Figured I’d surprise her.” Technically, I’d hoped to get this undercover stuff done and over with so I could go back to looking like me and not have to surprise her. It would also keep me from having to answer a million questions about my new look.
“I’m sure you will,” Sharon said, and continued to stare at me like I was John Lennon back from the dead. “Did all this…” She waved her hand in the general vicinity of my head. “Have anything to do with that policeman you’re seeing now?”
Blast that infernal mothers network. “Oh, well I—”
“Policeman you’re seeing?” came another, deeper voice from the doorway. Matt stopped in his tracks. “Damn, Jess! What did you do to your hair?”
My visit to Metzler had suddenly turned into an impromptu meet-and-greet session. I threw him a dirty look and made a mental note to go back to my usual mid-afternoon time slot. “I decided to do something a little different with it for me, thank you very much.”
He shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat. So, who’s this cop you’re dating? Anyone I know?”
You could say that. “No.”
There I was, lying again. But I couldn’t admit that he did—it would only have Sharon calling my mom that much faster. I crossed the room, discarded my remaining paper towels, and sighed at the sight of yet another nail job gone awry.
“So, what are you doing here, anyway?”
“I always swing by on my lunch break to peek in and see how Grace’s doing.” His gaze shifted to our sleeping beauty, and the playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth faded. “I keep hoping one of these times I’ll walk in and she’ll be sitting up, waiting for me.”
Poor Matt. He looked like a little boy whose puppy had run away: sad with a side order of terrified, but topped with a healthy dollop of hope. He walked over to Grace, kissed her forehead, and whispered sickeningly sweet nothings in her ear. Sharon and I stood back and watched, hoping to see a sign of recognition appear on her face. Or any sign at all to indicate she’d heard him. But none came. After a few minutes, Matt sighed, and walked back over to me.
“You hungry? I’m gonna grab a quick bite at the BK down the road on my way back to work. You’re welcome to join me, if you like.”
“Sure, why not? I am kind of hungry.” I reached to collect my things and then stopped. “But wait!” I cried, looking down at the pink stain all over my right pant leg. “I can’t go like this!”
He rolled his eyes and grabbed my arm. “It’s Burger King, Jessica. Besides, I’m dying to hear all about this new boyfriend of yours.”
Oh, crap.
* * * *
“I’m telling you, Matt, I made the whole thing up.”
He grinned at me over the top of his Whopper. “Uh-huh. You know what I think? I think it was a Freudian slip. Somebody has a monster crush on Officer Steele,” he said in a sing-song voice.
“Shut up,” I hissed and ducked a little as I scanned Burger King for any recognizable witnesses.
“Oh, and she’s got it bad.” He plunged into his burger, somehow managing to preserve a smirk while he chewed.
“Yeah, alright. So he’s kinda cute. Lots of guys are.” I stabbed at my grilled chicken salad. And its fat-free raspberry vinaigrette. Stupid calorie counting.
“Ah, but you don’t usually notice the cute ones.” He cast a knowing glance down at my salad. “Or eat rabbit food.”
I felt color flood my cheeks and hated that there was nothing I could do to hide it.
“So, what, did he ask you out or something?”
I crunched noisily on a forkful of greens and considered my options. If I admitted my true reason for being involved with Nate, Matt would try to talk me out of it. And after three days of hearing nothing from either Nate or Maxwell, it wouldn’t have been hard to do. The other option was to fib. Again.
“No. So, what have you been up to this week?”
Matt stopped chewing and lowered his burger. “You’re hiding something.”
I shook my head, feigning innocence.
“Yes, you are! Jess, what’s going on? You lied to your mom, completely changed your look, and now you’re hiding something from me.”
“No, I—”
“Matt?”
I looked up to see a short, curvy brunette walking toward our table. “Matt Harris, is that really you? It’s Daphne, Daphne Smith—from business ethics class. Remember?”
“Oh, uh, hi, Daphne,” Matt replied, looking like a deer in headlights. A trapped deer in headlights. Something told me Daphne was a talker.
I said a quick “ThankyouGodforthedistraction” prayer and looked down at my wrist. “Oh, shoot, look at the time! Matt, I really must be going.”
“Don’t you dar—”
“Here, Daphne,” I said, rising abruptly. “You can have my seat. I’m sure you and Matt have a lot to catch up on.”
Matt shot me a nasty look. “You can explain later,” he growled.
I picked up my tray, gave him a wink, and headed for the door. “Don’t count on it.”
* * * *
“No, Mom, I did not pick the first box I saw on the shelf.”
It was Friday morning, and the second time in two days my mother had called to interrogate me about my unexpected change in appearance. Thank you, Sharon.
I glanced over at my bedside clock and scowled. Mom could have waited to call until at least nine, for Pete’s sake. Now Brutus would be up and I’d have to get out of bed and take him out.
“This is just so unlike you, dear. First you start dating a cop, now you’re a brunette. You two must really be getting hot and heavy.” She paused. “Are you using protection?”
“Mother!”
“You’d better be. Because don’t even think about moving back home with a bun in the oven, young lady. Why, Marie Steven’s daughter went and got knocked—”
“We are not having this conversation!” A beep signaling an incoming call came to my rescue. “Gotta go, I have a client calling on the other line.
“Okay, dear. But promise me—”
“Good-bye, Mother.” I clicked the Send button on my phone, cutting her off. “Hello?”
“I’m calling for Jessica Hartley, please?”
“Speaking.”
“Miss Hartley, this is Molly Gillenwater calling on behalf of Maxwell Office Solutions.”