I could let that be the end of our conversation, but with my brain a little mushy from a lack of sleep and way too many carbs, I tap out a reply.
Me: Do you still want to know what I’m wearing?
Good one, Brandon. Slot straight into creeper mode, you fucking creep.
I stop inwardly lecturing myself when Melody’s reply sends my cock from semi-aroused to painfully thick in an instant.
Unknown number: I’d rather see for myself.
Before I can reprimand myself for not wearing underwear, the message screen on my phone is replaced by an incoming FaceTime request.
As my thumb hovers over the connect button, I scan my room. Don’t ask me why. There’s nothing in here but a giant bed, one I’m-so-fucking-alone-I-only-need-one-bedside-table and me in dowdy sweatpants that don’t have a chance in hell of hiding my raging boner. I can see the outline of my cock, and I’m under a bedspread for crying out loud.
Panicked Melody’s call is about to ring out, I hit the connect button. Well, that’s the excuse I plan to use when this backfires in my face. After licking my dry lips, I raise my phone in front of myself like this is something I do often. The novelty of this type of communication is showcased in the worst way when I peer past the person taking up a majority of the screen to seek Melody behind Agent Russell’s smiling face and dark locks.
When I fail to find any indication that Melody is anywhere in the vicinity, I stray my eyes back to the pair peering at me curiously. Agent Russell tries to play off my confusion with a playful taunt. “Sweats. Good choice. I was hoping you had changed into something comfortable before digging in. A stretchy waistband is very much a requirement for all the food I purchased.” When I remain staring at her like a fish out of water, she twists her lips. “Was it good?”
I do a weird head nod shake thingy. “It was okay. I didn’t touch the abalone, though.”
“Not a fan of shark?”
My nose screws up. “I don’t mind the occasional serve of flake. It was the snails I was disinterested in.”
With a laugh, Agent Russell sinks deeper into a padded material that resembles the headboard I couldn’t be fucked buying for my bed since I never invite anyone into my room to see it before hugging an empty glass of wine into her chest. “I’m not a fan either, but the cook from the Chinese restaurant one block from your apartment assured me it was your favorite.”
“You asked the cook at a Chinese restaurant that I’ve never dined at what my favorite dish was, and he told you the most expensive item on the menu. Hmm, makes sense.” Her laugh is cute, but regretfully, it does little to ease my confusion. “Is there a reason for your call, Agent Russell?”
She rolls her eyes. “Will you please call me Phillipa? Every time I’m called Agent Russell, fellow agents shit their pants, assuming my father is on the prowl.”
I can’t help but smile at her comment. She slurred on a handful of her words, proving she wasted no time in opening a bottle of wine when she left here, but that isn’t the reason I’m laughing. Her reply is the exact reason I legally changed my name to Brandon James.
When she fills her glass to the very brim with red wine, my brow quirks. “Long weekend?”
She blows a strand of dead straight hair out of her eyes before muttering, “You could say that.” She takes a generous sip of her drink, amplifying the plumpness of her lips. “I was suspended earlier today.”
“For?” The genuine shock in my tone can’t be missed. It would take someone with balls of steel to put the daughter of the Director of the Bureau on leave.
An understanding hum vibrates from my chest when Phillipa breathes out, “Crombie. He died on my watch. I failed to find out why, so until the investigation is over, I’m on paid leave.”
“Just because he died on your watch doesn’t mean it was your fault.” If that were the case, Melody’s affair would be my fault. I told Mr. Gregg I wouldn’t let her out of my sight for a minute. I didn’t keep my promise.
Phillipa leans in close to the screen. “That’s not what Melody said.”
“She was defending me. She doesn’t know any different.” And neither do I, but I’ll keep that snippet of information to myself.
The rustle of a deep sigh bellows down the line. “She had some good points, though. I was so gung-ho to place the burden onto someone else’s shoulders, I went on a witch hunt.” She drags her hand across her eyes that appear as tired as mine. “I didn’t plan for our interview to take the route it did, I just got worked up. Her wit stunned me.”
“If it makes you feel any better, her intelligence often catches people by surprise.”
Phillipa’s lips purse. “It doesn’t, but thanks for trying.” I discover the real reason for her reaching out when she says a few seconds later, “Talking about Melody, did you open the envelope I left with you?” She gags when I hold up the still-sealed document. “Have you never heard curiosity kills the cat?”
“It’s lucky I’m not a cat then, isn’t it?” She laughs again. I really wish she wouldn’t as it’s giving me the wrong idea. Not sexually. I’m just seeing her as more of a friend than a foe. “Do you want me to do the big reveal now or later?”
“Are we still talking about the envelope?” She slaps a hand over her eyes as her cheeks inflame with heat. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. My college girlfriends always told me I got randy when I was drunk. I never believed them.” She peers at me through her cracked fingers. “I do now.”
My lips twitch, but I can’t fathom a reply. I’m such a novice of dating, I had no clue what she meant until she mentioned getting randy while drunk. “I have rules—”
“Don’t worry, so do I,” she interrupts. “No fucking on the first date, and he has to be at least four inches taller than me. You’re only three.”
