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She had thoughtfully sent a selfie as a reminder of her identity. She was making duck lips while squeezing her tits together in a way she probably thought was sexy but was thirsty as hell.
I ignored the text and put the phone facedown on the table, hoping to reengage the conversation about the case.
“What’s her name?” Parker was smirking at me.
Fuck, why did that look have to be so sexy?
“Kate,” I said with fake conviction, then popped another bite of pork loin into my mouth.
She cocked a brow and pulled her lips to one side, clearly not buying it.
“Okay,” I said, putting my fork down in defeat. “It may be Katelyn. But definitely one of those two.”
She picked up the phone and swiped up, holding it in front of my face to unlock it.
“You should reply,” she said, giggling. “Don’t want to leave Freckles hanging.”
“I didn’t invite you to dinner for commentary on my social life,” I gritted out, reaching across the table for my phone.
But her reflexes were too good. She pushed her chair back, scrolling with her mouth agape.
“You call this a social life? Silver dress? Barista? Pink hair? These are your contacts?”
I dropped my focus to my plate, refusing to take her bait. I took enough shit about my sex life from my family. The last person on earth I wanted to discuss it with was the person I was desperate to hire to help my family.
She covered her mouth with her hand. “Botox girl? Jesus.”
I shrugged, chewing thoughtfully. After I swallowed, I gave her a smirk. “Her face didn’t move. Even, you know. During.”
“Gross.” She threw her linen napkin at me. “You know this is fucked-up shit, right? Reducing human beings to physical attributes? If you’re gonna stick your dick in someone, maybe ask her name when putting her number in your phone.”
She was enjoying this entirely too much. “I had no idea the low-rent PI also gave etiquette advice. I’m a lucky man.”
She cocked her head and grinned. “You’re welcome. Don’t charge for it either.”
“Please finish your overpriced dinner. I’ve spent more than enough time in your company already.”
She ignored me. She was thoroughly entertained by my pathetic life. “What should I put you in my phone as?” She tapped her chin, and then her face lit up. “Ooh, ooh. I know! Patrick Bateman.”
“Very funny.”
* * *
“Who did you go to first?” she asked, bringing her espresso to her lips.
I hesitated for a second. But given how disastrous this night had been, I didn’t have the energy to bluff.
“A few big shops. Some in Boston.”
She nodded, saying nothing.
“And Sheerin, Boyd and Marks.”
“They turned you down?”
Yes. They did. Most firms weren’t interested in investigating what the authorities had already determined was an accident. Some worked for other timber companies and had conflicts of interest.
“They aren’t right for this work. I don’t want a big agency with lots of wannabe rent-a-cops. I need a dedicated resource. A person who’s smart and thoughtful. Not a bunch of kids running google searches all day.”
