I smiled at his compliment, and he shot me a devious grin. His phone rang, and he grabbed it from his pocket. "Speak of the devil," he said, looking down at the screen before bringing it up to his ear. "Yo, dude, what's up?" He paused; listening to the person on the other line I assumed was Dalton. "Yeah, she's right here." Asher's arm stretched across the table, and he handed the phone over to me. "He wants to talk to you."
I raised a brow, and he shrugged. "Hello?" I said, into the speaker.
"I know you enjoy torturing me by ignoring my phone calls, but we're working together, so you're going to have to suck it up and hit the answer button," he said from the other end.
I looked down at our table, noticing my phone wasn't out. "Shit, my phone's in my bag. I guess I didn't hear it ring." I snagged my purse from the chair beside me and pulled my phone out. Fifteen missed calls from him.
"I've tried calling you a hundred times," he replied, clearly pissed off and exaggerating. Fifteen was far from a hundred, buddy.
"Okay," I drew out. "What's up?"
"Turn on your TV," he demanded, tempting me to hang up on his rude ass. I wasn't too keen on taking orders from people.
"I'm not near a TV," I fired back.
"Where the fuck are you?"
"Dinner." The line went silent, and I pulled the phone away, double-checking he was still on the other line.
"With Asher?" He finally asked.
"Considering he just answered his phone, I would think that’s pretty obvious."
"Why the fuck are you doing that?" He growled.
"Why am I eating? The same reason everyone eats: I'm hungry, and I don't want to die."
A groan came from the other end. "I thought after today, you wouldn't be having your nightly dates with him." Holy shit! Was he jealous?
"We aren't having that conversation right now," I grumbled, annoyed and ignoring the curious looks coming from Asher. "What do you need that's so important?"
"Ivy went public."
I almost dropped my phone down onto my plate. "What?"
"Yeah, she fucking went public and blabbed to anyone who would listen to her about her sleazy affair with our beloved governor. The office is in a fucking uproar. You need to get your ass here now." Great, I was sure Wilson was killing puppies at the moment and hanging them up as extra accents to his office.
"Fine," I muttered. "I'll be there soon." I hung up and handed Asher's phone back to him. "Ivy talked," I informed, grabbing the strap of my bag and hoisting it over my shoulder.
Asher cursed under his breath and motioned toward the young waiter for our check. "The hottest ones are always the dumbest. Dalton should've banged her, made a sex tape and used it as blackmail or something. I thought he was supposed to be good at this shit."
I looked at him, baffled as he dragged his wallet from his cargo shorts and threw some cash down onto the table. "You can't be serious?"
"That’s what they do around that joint," he said, getting up from his chair. "If you fuck with them or their clients, they'll ruin your life."
"Would you do that?" I asked, opening the door to the BMW he drove whenever he visited. Kenneth had bought it for me, but I felt more comfortable in my Honda coupe I’d bought myself from working at a department store in the mall last summer.
"Fuck no. That's why I work in the IT department. I knew my dad wouldn't let me off the hook, so I took the easy way out."
"You dig up the blackmail for them," I fired back.
He pushed the ignition button, and the engine roared to life. "True, but I don't threaten anyone or do the actual blackmailing. I just hand over the goods."
I bit back a laugh. "Oh, I get it. You're like the people who manufacture or 'cook' the drugs, but don't feel bad when people overdose because you weren't the actual dealer who handed it over to them," I said, resulting in a glare from him.
"Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds pretty shitty. So, let's just say it my way," he muttered, turning into the street. "Look, I want to play football for a living, not play detective. I'm just doing this for a few weeks then I'm outta here."
We found Dalton in his office, slouched in his chair with his head resting on the desk. The TV in the corner of the room was playing but on mute. I read the words "Governor Gentry's Mistress Speaks Out" scrolling across the bottom of the screen with a picture of John on one side and Ivy on the other.
He brought his head up and looked at us. "Nice for you to finally show up," he grumbled, grabbing the remote and clicking off the TV.
It'd only been a few hours since I'd left the office, but he looked like hell. His hair was disheveled, most likely from dragging his hands through it in frustration; I was sure Wilson had come in before us and ripped him a new one.
"Dude, that's so fucked up," Asher said, plopping down into a chair.
"She played us like a fucking fool. I want you to find me everything you have on her, and I mean everything. I want to know every single time she went to the doctor. I want to know if she ever got in trouble at school. Contact her damn preschool boyfriend if you have to; just get me something to fix this fucking disaster.”
Asher snapped up from his chair. "On it," he said, squeezing my shoulder in passing before walking out of the room.
Dalton let out a noisy breath and grabbed a stack of papers in front of him. "Time for damage control."
"Damage control?" I repeated. "What exactly does that entail?" Were they going to release all of her naked pictures and expect that to fix everything? "The doubt is already there, and she's shattering her own image in the process. Maybe John needs to come clean, apologize to his family, the people, blah, blah, how all of those politicians do it." I'd watched the news enough to know how things like this went down.
"You’re right, that would be easier." I perked up. "But he refuses to come clean." My shoulders slouched down. Well, shit, there went that clever idea. "He'd probably have the girl offed before he'd let anyone know the affair actually took place."
My throat burned. "Okay, that’s seriously disturbing." If Ivy ended up dead, I knew who was to blame.
"I hate this place," I grumbled, standing in front of the familiar door as Dalton knocked for the second time that day.
The door swung open. "You again," Ivy snarled, apparently in the same mindset as I was. She stood in the doorway, her legs planted wide and her fingers spread out along her hips. Thankfully, she had on clothes this time: a tight, jean mini-skirt and a crochet halter-top with bare feet. Her blonde hair was pulled back behind her ears, and her eyes were glossy, like she’d been crying.
I laughed and pointed at myself. "Oh, you remember little old us? The people you made a deal with then completely screwed over?" I snarled, not giving Dalton the chance to even say anything. I'd let him take the lead last time, and it just screwed everything up.
A smile formed on her lips, like I amused her. "I see the quiet girl actually has some sass," she threw back. If it was another time, I probably would’ve appreciated her half-assed compliment, but I was too pissed off at the moment.
"Not sass, honey, an intolerance for untrustworthy, lying traitors. FYI, I despise my job, and your actions have made me come in after hours. Therefore, I'm pissed the hell off." I shoved the door open with my hand and bumped Ivy in the side on my way into her apartment with Dalton on my heels. I might've been little, but I wasn't one to back down to anyone. "Now, tell me why you did it."
"Don't push me again," Ivy warned, slamming her door shut, and I shrugged.
Dalton stepped in front of me, blocking Ivy from seeing me roll my eyes at her. "I told you I wanted ten million," she said, flipping her long, bottle-dyed hair over her shoulder.
"You did, but then you agreed on three. Or did you forget about our conversation because of your alcohol problem?" Dalton asked, jumping into the conversation.
Her face scrunched up. "Alcohol problem? I don't have a damn alcohol problem."
Dalton bit back a laugh and opened up the folder in his
hand, scattering pictures back down on the table the same way he had last time we were there. "That's not what we heard." Ivy stomped our way and looked down at the pictures, these ones different from the nudes. "Look at all of these lovely pictures we have of you drinking it up and partying. I don't think too many people would want a girl like this going into their political campaign." His finger motioned toward a picture of her where her skirt was pulled up to her waist, and she was dancing on top of a bar in her bra. "This one sure is nice."
Ivy pushed him out of the way and snatched the picture up. "This was college spring break!" She scooped up another picture. "And this one is five years old! I was a freaking teenager! You can't sit there and tell me you didn't do anything stupid on spring break."
I shrugged, looking away from her. I'd done plenty of stupid shit on spring break; I just wasn't dumb enough to put myself in the public eye so everyone would know. "Do you honestly think anyone is going to care how old they are?" Dalton asked. "They only care they exist."
She threw the pictures in her hands down onto the floor. "Release them. I don't care. I have nothing else to lose."
I caught a growl come out of Dalton's throat. "Who paid you?" he accused out of nowhere, and my mouth shot open as I gasped.
Ivy shuffled backwards. "What are you talking about now, asshole?"
Dalton stalked her way. "Who was the highest bidder you sold yourself to?"
Ivy reached around him, grabbing a handful of photos on the table and shoving them into his chest. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but I think it's time for you two to get the hell out of my house."
Dalton opened up his arms, and the pictures scattered down onto the hardwood floor. "Don't worry, we've got plenty of other copies. I'd consider yourself fucked. And enjoy your house tonight because your time is limited in it.”
"Fuck you," Ivy seethed, stomping behind us and throwing open her front door. She pointed to the hallway, and I looked at Dalton, waiting for a signal of what to do. He reached his hand behind him, grabbing my hand and walking toward the angered woman settled to the side of the doorway.
"Good luck," he commented, engulfing me into his arms and blocking me from her body as we walked out the door; it slammed shut behind us.
"Thank you for protecting me," I said, keeping my hand in his and heading back to the elevator. "But I so could’ve taken her.”
He squeezed my hand. "I don’t doubt that. But I put you in that situation of us having to go back over there. It’s my responsibility to take care of you. I didn’t want her fucking with you, or we’d have a whole other set of problems on our hands.”
My cheekbones rose at my bright smile; I'd never had anyone protect me like that before. I'd grown up without a dad, so I was always on my own. "You think someone really paid her to turn on him?”
We stepped into the elevator. "I don't think so; I know it. Ivy's a smart girl. She knew exactly what she was doing."
"Who do you think it was?"
"That's the hard part. The governor has a long list of people who'd love to see him fall from his high horse. Welcome to our next project." We walked out of the elevator; he nodded toward the guy at the counter he’d paid off and held open the door for me.
"Project that starts tomorrow?" I asked, hopeful.
He smiled, unlocking his car and opening the passenger door for me. "Nice try, cuteness, but no."
"Aww, man, this job is completely ruining my summer," I groaned, buckling my seatbelt.
He got in on the driver's side and slammed the door shut before smiling over at me. "Come on, don't you enjoy hanging out with me?"
I scrunched up my nose. "Eh, not so much." I leaned forward and turned up the music as he laughed in the background.
I turned into Detective Gabby when I got back to Dalton's office. He'd gone to talk to his dad and told me to wait in there for him. I was a nosy person; I couldn't help it. I opened up the largest desk drawer first and frowned at my findings. The only items in there were a few envelopes, some business cards and a pack of gum. Fail. I bent down, opening the one under it, hoping to find something incriminating but nothing. Damn it. I needed something to turn me off from him.
"Finding anything interesting?" A voice boomed out, and I jumped, slamming my hand shut in the drawer and crying out in pain. My hand was screaming in agony, but I had to make myself look innocent. Shoving my hand back into the drawer that had assaulted me, I picked up the first thing my achy fingers could grab.
"Nope, just looking for," I glanced down at the object in my hand, "gum." To further prove my innocence, I snagged a piece, unwrapped it and shoved it into my mouth. "Mmm, this is my favorite flavor," I grumbled, pointing to my mouth and nodding. Okay, just because I was nosey didn't necessarily mean I was any good at it.
Dalton chuckled, shutting his office door before locking it and heading my way. Grabbing the back of my chair, he rolled it back behind the desk. Taking my hand, he pulled me up and replaced my ass with his before dragging me onto his lap. I squirmed, my ass pushing right into his crotch to get free and froze up when I felt his sudden excitement.
"Relax," he whispered, running one hand along my thigh and brushing my hair off my shoulder with the other. He rotated his hips under me; like he wanted to make sure, I knew how much I was turning him on. Little did he know, the feeling was definitely mutual. Dalton's hand slid up my skirt. He was ready to finish what we'd started earlier, but I couldn't let that happen. I stopped his hand before it reached my tender core and drug it away.
"Dalton, we can't do this." I didn't want to stop him, but I knew it was the right thing to do. "Anyone can come in here. Plus, we can't do this, period. We're co-workers. That's it. Now stop trying to seduce me," my voice turned into a whimper at the end.
"You really want me to stop?" he asked, a hint of sadness in his voice.
"I do," I answered, my voice breaking at my lie, and he groaned. Whatever we had going on had to stop. He released his hold on me, and I got up to sit down in another chair. "What did your dad say?" I asked, changing the subject.
He moved around in his chair, grabbing his crotch and re-positioning himself. I was sure talking about his dad would fix his arousal problem. "The usual," he answered, avoiding looking my way.
"Ah, so he said you better fix it or die." He chuckled. "So, what do we do until we find out who the life-ruiner is?"
He stood up, and I noticed the bulge in his pants going down. "I talked to Asher. He said six million dollars was deposited into Ivy's account from an offshore one. The account number belonged to one under the name of Celine Dion."
I snorted. "You really think Celine Dion, the singer, wants to ruin the governor’s life? Yeah, right. That woman has better things to do with her time." I knew I was talking like I knew Ms. Dion personally, but I definitely didn't see her as the culprit. She seemed much too smart to have anything to do with John.
He laughed at my response. "No, I don't think the real Celine Dion has anything to do with our case. People usually use fake names on offshore accounts to protect themselves."
"Oh," I replied, suddenly feeling dumb. Why didn't I know that? I felt like I had watched enough crime movies to know that.
"We're going to brainstorm here." He picked up a large corkboard and set it against the wall on a table at the other end of the room. He opened a few folders sitting on his desk and began pinning pictures onto the board.
I stood up and examined the photos. "Who’s this?" I asked, pointing to a headshot of a guy who looked to be in his late twenties.
"That's John's brother, Malcolm," he answered, proceeding to put up more pictures.
"You think his brother did it?"
He shrugged. "You never know, babe. We have to look at everyone. Malcolm wanted to run for governor, but his family wouldn't allow it since John's the oldest brother. Sources say he's bitter and would love nothing more than to see his brother get screwed."
"He definitely got screwed, all right," I mutter
ed, resulting in a laugh from Dalton. I pointed to another picture. "And this guy?"
"He ran against John in the last election."
I examined the board then grabbed the stack of pictures he hadn't posted yet. "Why aren’t there any women on here?" I asked. "Maybe he had other mistresses or something."
He grabbed a photo from the stack in my hand. "Mistresses normally don't have millions of dollars to hand out to other mistresses."
I huffed. "Sexist much?"
"Not sexist babe, just observant. Normally, when a woman is a mistress, she has something to gain my sleeping with a wealthy, married man."
"Like my mom?" I fired back, my lips curling.
He frowned, lowering his brow. "You know I didn't mean it like that."
I rolled my eyes. "Right."
He stopped pinning and turned around to look at me. "I'm being serious. I have no problem with your mom. I was just saying, in general. Your mom and this case are completely different, okay?"
"Sure," I muttered sarcastically and headed back to my seat before twisting back around and snapping my fingers as a thought came to mind. "Maybe John was the mistress, or mister, or whatever you call guys in that situation. He could’ve been having an affair with a married woman. She found out he had another lover and paid Ivy to expose him in spite.”
"I have no doubt the man has a long list of mistresses, but I don't think it was one of them who went to Ivy. They usually want money in the end, not to give it away to their competition."
"Or that's why she did it. She didn't want the competition. If she paid off Ivy, John’s wife would find out and probably leave him. John would cut off Ivy for telling on him and selling him out. Then the woman gets to keep John for herself and probably needs to be admitted into a psychiatric ward, as well.” He looked at me skeptically, and I gave him a playful grin. "What? I'm a girl."
The skeptical look morphed into a grin, and his eyes ran down my body. "Oh, babe, I'm fully aware of that. I definitely haven't forgotten."
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