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“Weird,” she muttered as she walked into her kitchen and pulled open the cabinet door where she kept her coffee. “Definitely weird.”
She wished now that she’d taken the trouble to put on a little makeup that morning.
WHEN SHE CARRIED a tray of coffee and cookies into the living room a few minutes later, Tara found Blake still absorbed in the drama taking place on her TV screen. He’d removed his hat, which now rested on the arm of his chair, and she could tell that he’d fluffed his dark golden hair by running his fingers through it. It tumbled onto his forehead, looking so good that Tara’s mouth went dry. Unfortunately it also made her even more aware of how limp and lifeless her own must appear in contrast.
She had considered him an extremely attractive man since the first time she’d seen him at the law firm a couple of years ago. And he was, without a doubt, charming. He’d never failed to stop by her desk with a smile, a few bad jokes, some light flirtation.
Though she had always secretly looked forward to those infrequent visits, she’d made an effort to keep them in perspective, telling herself that it was okay to enjoy his attentions as long as she didn’t make too much out of them. After all, Blake stopped by everyone’s desk, not just hers. She’d known all along that she wasn’t the type of woman a sexy, adventurous, footloose P.I. could be interested in.
And she most definitely did not want his pity now, if that was why he was here.
He glanced up and smiled when she entered the room, and he motioned toward the TV. “These people will never learn, will they? If you’re going to tell a lie—make damned sure you don’t get caught in it.”
Tara lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s the moral lesson the writers were going for.”
“Moral lesson? Tara, it’s a soap ope
ra.”
“True.” She set the tray on the coffee table as she conceded his point, pushing aside cartons of congealed Chinese food to make room. “I, er, my apartment isn’t usually this cluttered. I’ve been...”
He waved off her stammered explanation. “Don’t sweat it. Housekeeping isn’t high on my list when I’m taking time off work, either.”
“I’m not exactly taking time off work. I was fired.” Tara hated having to admit the humiliating truth, but she suspected that Blake, with his connections to her former law firm, already knew. How else would he have known to find her here on a weekday afternoon?
His mouth full of cookies, Blake waved his hand dismissively again. He swallowed before saying, “Vacation. Fired. What’s the difference?”
She supposed he was trying to make her feel better. He wasn’t.
“There’s a very big difference,” she said bitterly.
He shrugged. “The point is, you have some free time on your hands, right? Or have you already found a new position?”
“No, not yet.” She hadn’t even put out the first inquiry yet. The thought of having to admit to prospective employers that she’d been terminated from her last job because of her own obstinacy made her sick to her stomach.
Tara McBride had never had to beg for a job in her life. College scholarships, honors and awards, impressive offers of employment—they’d all come to her. She hadn’t needed to ask.
She had never failed...until now.
“Great.”
Blake’s enthusiasm seemed rather callous. She frowned at him. “I’m glad you’re so happy about it.”
He chuckled. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive. It’s just that I need some help on a case, and I was hoping you would be free to give me a hand.”
Tara wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “A case? You’re kidding, right?”
“No.” He took another sip from his mug. “You make great coffee. Did you bake these cookies? They’re good.”
“No, I got them at a bakery,” she answered absently. “Blake, I’m not sure I understand. If you need clerical help, I’m really not...”
He shook his head. “I know you’re way too overqualified for that. I need you to do a bit of undercover work with me.”
Now she knew she must have misunderstood him. Blake was a private investigator. She was a tax attorney—or at least, she had been until two weeks ago. How could she help him?
“Does this case involve tax fraud?” she hazarded.
“No. What bakery?”
