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“Being in a miserable marriage.”
She offers a hint of a smile. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Her lips press together as she appears to consider what she’s about to say, whether she wants to dig her claws in or let it ride, although it’s easy to see she’s decided. “But Bethany is such a gem.”
“I knew there was something that caused me to marry her.” It was Bethany who’d hired Nadia. I never would have. She’s become a permanent fixture in this tiny office, a reminder of what once was and isn’t anymore. In hindsight, I should have seen her employment as a sign, the earliest sign that Bethany was slipping away. I hadn’t. Nadia was a parting gift.
An interesting—if not fitting—gift, because Nadia is, to put it mildly, a younger, less angry version of my ex-wife.
Though I suspect that will change with time.
Nadia turns on her heel and flings her dark hair from her shoulder. Then she turns back, narrows her gaze, and lifts one brow toward the ceiling. “Tell me, what’s changed?”
The way she says it all forceful-like makes me think she’s testing me. Nadia is a very frustrated young woman, easily the type to go to Sex Addicts Anonymous just to pick up dates. Her contained rage serves the work we do here well. I’ll give my ex-wife that much. Even if, in the end, the joke was on me. “What do you mean?”
“You were unhappy then,” she shrugs. “You’re unhappy now.”
“I’m not unhappy.”
She shrugs, offers her signature eye roll, and then struts toward the door. “If you say so.”
“I say so,” I call after her, but she doesn’t look back. She closes the door, her nose turned upward, making it clear she’s made her point and the conversation is over.
After she leaves, I sit and stare at the stack of papers she’s left for a long time. I don’t pick them up. Instead, I watch them closely as though they’re a pit viper ready to strike. That’s exactly what they are.
Planning a birthday party is not my forte, and that’s putting it mildly. However, guilt is a powerful motivator and I’ve been warned, this is my year. I once thought I could get away from this type of demand with a divorce, but it’s clear now that was wishful thinking at best, naive at worst.
To stall, I scan my email, checking various news sites. When that offers up nothing useful, I go back to staring out the window at the rain. In the end, no matter how many ways I find to procrastinate, the stack of papers remains. I know that sooner or later, someone will ask me about my progress, so I lift the documents and flip through the pages.
I find a huge list of everything from a petting zoo to pottery to rock climbing. There are basic packages, and, of course, the upgrades. I have no idea how one is supposed to choose. Or what the proper way to say “Happy birthday! I’m sorry your sister couldn’t be here and it’s my fault. I hope the balloons and the cake and the creepy clown make up for it” might be.
Whatever the case, the notion that I should handle this is absurd. I have a business to run and bills to pay. The simple solution would be to swallow my pride and let Nadia handle it. That’s what I pay her for, and at least that way, when it goes wrong, I’ll have someone to blame. Hell hath no fury like my ex-wife. But there’s something in me that refuses to give in, something that understands I need to face the issue.
I set the party planning aside and turn back to the crime scene photos. I thought solving a murder was hard.
Chapter Three
Ali
Flyover states
The flight is long, but she manages to catch up on work, putting the finishing touches on the talk she has scheduled tomorrow.
Even better, she met someone new. Andrew, hedge fund manager, youngish, single, and best of all, looking for something without strings. What a relief. Something she can work with.
She stretched out her legs to their full length. First class has its perks. David’s treat, of course, since it was his fault she missed her previous flight. Ali fell in love with the look in his eye as he handed over his AmEx. Like it was nothing.
To him, it really is nothing. If David has trust issues, they’ve yet to show. Which is why she is glad she used a proper alias, one that she has proper documentation for. It could have gone very differently if she’d chosen not to dot her I’s and cross her T’s.
And yet, occasionally, the truth does come out. Not only does her work frequently put her in the public eye, Ali is self-aware enough to know that nothing stays secret forever. You can hide some things. But you can’t hide everything. Thankfully, she has a solution and a straightforward answer if it comes to that. She’s notfamousfamous oranything. Although, in her experience, even a little can go a long way.In the event she’s caught red-handed, which has only happened once or twice, Ali has used it to her advantage, explaining that she wants to be known forwhoshe is first and foremost and not for what shedoes.
How very wholesome. It can also be kind of sexy when framed the right way. People, men especially, eat that sort of thing up. Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.
Ali’s ability to reinvent herself has allowed her to run her hustles. It has allowed her to live many lives. And she has. Which makes the first-class ticket a bit of a shame. She’s always found that the interesting stories come from the people in the back. Sure, the legroom up front is nice. But, like most things, it comes with a price.
Thankfully, there’s Andrew seated next to her. Andrew with his big eyes, expensive shoes, and endless tales of foreign lands. She appreciates the way he tries his hand at subtlety, even though it’s obvious it’s not the usual game he plays. There is something endearing about the way he glances at her laptop and smirks. When he finally catches her eye, he nods at her screen and the title of her talk:Foreplay is f*cking fun.
“And suddenly,” he says. “I have so many questions.”
