Page 163 of His Temporary Assistant

Because it wasn’t a game. These were real people and real lives being shattered.

But if Dex was willing to take on additional cases, why not ask him if he wanted to wade into the fray? I’d just have to get him drunk enough to feel amenable. It shouldn’t be too hard. Mary and Harvey’s estate was valued in the high seven figures, and she claimed the fucker—her term not mine—was hiding even more funds offshore. Dex would be more than handsomely paid for his trouble. I just didn’t want the hassle.

I fed Smoky and gave him fresh water and futilely tried to get him to sit on my shoulder like he did with Ryan. The only thing that made him warm marginally toward me was an extra helping of Chunky Beef Tips—and my lie that Ryan would be home soon. At that, he gave me a head bonk and an actual rumbling purr.

It lasted approximately thirty-eight seconds, but I wasn’t choosy.

On my way to the bar, a text came in.

Miss Moon: My mom found my dildo.

I almost drove off the road. Since I was in the dealership’s SUV for a weekend test drive, that would not have been good.

I waited to respond until I pulled up next to Dexter’s sleek vintage Stang at Lonegan’s.

PMS: Did you tell her it was ornamental?

Miss Moon: Like ur fountain?

PMS: Sure. Both utilize moisture.

Miss Moon: U r an actual pig. A cute one, but a pig.

PMS: You should see if she could knit you a sock for your moon.

Miss Moon: Actually, that’s a good idea. She does sleeves 4 the rl thing. They r a hot ticket item.

PMS: WHAT?

A picture came through of a knitted cylindrical-ish pouch in hot pink with a bulbous bottom…head in lime green.

PMS: That’s worse than a Pussy Papa. Also, who the hell buys that?

Miss Moon: You’re sure you don’t want one? Pretty please?

PMS: No.

I pocketed my phone as I walked into Lonegan’s and bumped fists with my brother.

No women were in sight. At least anywhere near Dexter.

“Well, well, look who has a big-ass grin on his face. Is all fixed on the path to insanely fast true love? Did I mention insanely?”

I slid onto a stool beside him at the bar and motioned to the bartender, our old friend Callahan Brinkley. Tossing a towel over his shoulder, he smiled and held up a finger before gesturing to the customers he was serving.

“We’re making progress.”

Dex put a hand next to his ear. “Is that bells I hear?”

“Jealous?”

“I’m happy for you. You deserve a good woman, Pres. I mean that.”

I clapped his back. “Thanks, man.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Plus, she’s imminently fuck—”

At my arched eyebrow, he smiled smoothly. “Fucking fantastic.”

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