Page 7 of Roughing
I stared at the looming piles of paper and groaned. I’d barely made a dent in this mess, even after several hours of working on it.
The old-style business phone rang, and I reached for it.
“Gone Missing Detective Agency,” I said brightly. If I knew how to do one thing well, it was customer service after all the years of working in my parents’ coffee shop.
“Oh, good, you’re still there.” Carla sounded breathless and harried. I glanced at the time, shocked to find it was after six p.m.
“I wasn’t sure what my hours were.”
“We don’t have hours in this line of work. We do what we have to do when we have to do it.”
Consider me lectured. I bristled and bit back a sarcastic retort. I didn’t accept authority well, but I wasn’t about to get fired on my first day on the job. “I understand.”
“You’re free to go home. I expect you at the office by eight a.m.”
“I’ll be here.”
Carla abruptly ended the call without saying goodbye. I grimaced and placed the landline back on its cradle. Who had landlines anymore? Obviously, this company did.
I glanced outside through the small window, surprised at how dark it was, especially at the back of this building, which opened onto an unlit alleyway. For the first time, my nerves jangled with warning. My car was parked in that alley, and my stalker ex could be lurking in the shadows, ready to attack at any time.
I shook off my fears and labeled them as ridiculous. This was my first day on the job. He couldn’t possibly know where I worked. I’d been very careful on my way here, making sure I wasn’t followed. In this somewhat deserted area of town, there weren’t many cars or people out and about. I’d have noticed him.
Shaking off my uneasiness, I reached for my purse and my phone. Only then did I notice my text messages. Everly and Inez wanted to know if I got the job. My parents invited me to dinner tomorrow night. My hockey-playing brother wanted to meet up when he was in town next week. Last but not least, three texts from Briggs that merely stated, “Call me.”
I rubbed my forehead wearily and debated my next move.
Ignore them all, go home, and take a nap, or go out and celebrate the new job while venting to friends about my boss.
My phone vibrated in my hand. Briggs.
He probably wanted what he always wanted. To hook up. Nothing more. Nothing less. While the arrangement had originally suited my needs too, lately, I’d kept my distance. Not only was his surly attitude grating on my nerves but he’d been suspended from the team for picking a fight with my ex at a charity gala.Who does that?
His uncontrollable jealousy had humiliated me in front of countless Portland society matrons and art connoisseurs. I was so furious I hadn’t spoken to him since, even though I missed the hot, animalistic sex we both craved so much. The two of us were like junkies needing our next fix, and that fix was each other.
Seething, I answered his call. “What do you want?”
“Hey.” His usually gruff voice softened and melted me into the floor. When he was like this, I was putty in his hands, but not this time. I’d resist his particular brand of bad-boy charm.
“What do you want?” I repeated, letting my annoyance carry across the miles.
“How about dinner?”
I prepared an appropriate rebuff, but nothing came out. Instead, I was speechless. He’d never asked me to dinner before. Usually we met for sex and nothing else. Eating a meal together required communication and getting to know each other, which I had zero interest in.
On the other hand, my bank account was in the minus digits, and I wouldn’t be getting a paycheck for at least two more weeks. My refrigerator was as empty as most of the warehouses in this area.
“Just dinner?” I asked.
“Yeah, I owe you.”
“You owe me more than dinner.” My anger rose to the surface.
“I know. You choose the place.”
“McCrane’s.” I chose the most expensive steak-and-seafood house in Portland, with amazing water views, incredible custom cocktails, and desserts to die for.
“You got it. Are you home?”
