Page 80 of Direct Action

Unfortunately, that couldn’t happen.

“Last night I forgot to tell you something. But before I do, this information needs to stay between us.”

Chloe’s gaze bounced between me and Pete. “Okay.”

“That means you can’t talk to Poppy about it.”

Immediately her eyes went guarded and she held up her hand.

“Will this information harm Poppy now or in the future?”

“No.”

“Is this information about a man?”

I was beginning to wonder if I should’ve taken Pete’s advice, even though he told me not to. My need to unburden myself in fear she’d be pissed if she found out I’d kept it from her was now putting her in a bad place.

“Yes.”

“Let me rephrase, is this information about a man who Poppy’s been in a relationship with?” I was shaking my head preparing to answer when she tacked on, “Or about Beckett?”

“Beckett?” Pete asked.

“Yes. I’m not sure what’s going on there. She refused to tell me, and since she did, I’m not breaking the girl code since I’m only speculating, but I think she thinks he’s hot. And last night when Miss Watermelon Boobies was all over him, Poppy was pissed. So, if this secret has something to do with Beckett, I don’t want to know. And if it means I have to lie to her, don’t tell me. And if it’s something that would upset her that I knew and she didn’t, I don’t want to know.”

“Miss Watermelon Boobies?” Pete asked through a chuckle.

“What? Beckett didn’t tell you about her?”

I glanced at Pete. He shook his head, so I answered for both of us. “No.”

“He didn’t tell you there was a woman sitting next to him who was attempting to surgically connect herself to him?”

“Yeah, he told us there was a woman at the table who goes by the name Chantilly, who he thinks is a porn star, but he didn’t mention her boobs.”

“I can totally see that.” She looked thoroughly perplexed.

“See what?”

She didn’t answer. Instead she tapped her fingers on the table.

“Chloe, what can you see?”

“At first I thought she looked like a Victoria’s Secret runway model, but when I got close and saw the skintight leather dress, I thought she looked more like a dominatrix. But porn star, that totally fits.”

Pete grabbed his coffee off the counter and joined us at the table. When he sat in the chair across from her, he asked, “How does that fit?”

She glanced over at me and furrowed her brows. “I don’t know how to explain this without sounding crass and bitchy.”

“Chloe, just say it however you need to say it,” I urged.

“Okay.” She blew out a breath and started. “I need to bring up the boobs one more time because they’re relevant. You can ask Beckett. I’m not a guy, but those things were so big they weren’t attractive or sexy. They were attention-seeking watermelons barely stuffed into a bra. Which jibes with how she was behaving. It wasn’t the behavior of a woman who is openly sexual and enjoyed a little PDA with a hot guy. It was a woman desperate for attention. If Beckett would’ve told her to drop to her knees and blow him in front of the bar, she would’ve. If he told her to get on her knees under the table so no one could see what she was doing, she wouldn’t have done it. Now, I get people get off on voyeurism, but this wasn’t that. Maybe a better way to say it is she was desperate to perform. The attention she gets from her performance is what she’s after.”

“She could be an escort,” Pete threw out.

“Or a stripper,” I added.

“No.” Chloe shook her head. “She ordered a gin and tonic. I asked her if she wanted Nolet’s or Watenshi. She had no clue what I was asking. Which means she doesn’t know top-shelf liquor, which means she can’t afford it. An escort would educate herself on what to drink and how to order as not to embarrass herself or her date by ordering a well brand. A stripper might not know a top-shelf brand, but she’d understand what I was asking. Chantilly just stared at me like I was speaking in a foreign tongue. Len Taylor had to order for her.”