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Chapter Ten
Ethan
When I request she see me in my office, Nadia feigns a headache. I offer her two aspirin and the corner seat. I have to buzz her three times, but eventually she comes sulking in and slinks down into the chair. She rubs at her temples, while giving me the death stare. “We got another call from Spectrum,” she says, dropping her hands into her lap. “They’re going to shut us off if we can’t pay them half by Monday.”
“Great. Okay. I’ll figure it out.” I jot a note down on the notepad beside me:Call the internet company.Then I meet Nadia’s eyes. “But that’s not why I called you in here.”
She blows her bangs away from her face and juts out her bottom lip. “You’re laying me off.”
“Of course not. Why would you think such a thing?”
“You can’t even afford the internet,” she says, shrugging.
She has a point, which I ignore by scooting back from my desk and kicking my feet up on it. I lean back in my chair and cradle the back of my head in my palms. “Let me ask you something, Nadia. How do you meet men?”
She glares at me with a sly grin. “I don’t think this is workplace conversation. Are you itching to get sued?”
Been there, done that. But that’s a topic for another time, which is probably never. “What do you know about creating a dating profile?”
She relaxes into the chair. Her interest is piqued. “Well, that depends. Are you desperate to get laid or are you trying to catch a killer?”
“The latter, definitely.”
“Oh. In that case—” she starts, pausing as a mischievous look passes across her face. “Why not just copy the profiles of the victims? Perhaps our killer has a type. Most of us do.”
“Right. That’s what I was thinking,” I lie, realizing that after nearly half a century I still have so much to learn about women. Ninety-nine percent of the time, nothing they do or say makes any sense. Even as I searched for commonalities between the victims, Nadia’s suggestion hadn’t crossed my mind. Who wants to date the same person over and over? But then glancing up I remember that my assistant is a carbon copy of my ex-wife, and things make a bit more sense.
I swivel my computer monitor around so that Nadia can see the screen. She stands, comes over to my side of the desk, and flips the screen back around. “You know I hate to strain my eyes,” she says, leaning over me.
It’s the same distance, I almost say, but I don’t waste my breath.
She rests her elbows on top of my desk and sprawls out. “Better.”
She squints as she reads. When she’s finished, she sighs and stretches out, her lanky frame further invading my space. I wait for her to say something but instead she rubs at her temples. I can tell she isn’t impressed with what I’ve written. Nadia is not one to hide her emotions well.
“That’s just what I have so far.”
She glances at the computer and then back at me before breaking into hysterical laughter.
“It’s not that bad,” I say. “I’ve seen worse.”
“Wait,” she chokes. She pushes off the desk and holds one finger up. “It’s just—” She tries to get the rest of the sentence out, but she can’t contain her laughter. Her pale skin flushes, and soon her face and neck have broken out in red splotches. “I can’t believeyougot accepted on Beacon.”
“Well, I did.”
“With a bio like that?” Her eyes widen. “Wow.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It screams middle-aged dad.”
“It doesn’t say that. I don’t mention my kids anywhere.”
“You don’t have to. It’s in the context.”
As usual, I have no idea what she’s talking about.
Again, she’s consumed with laughter. “I’m sorry,” she snorts. “I just can’t get over the fact that they let you in.”
