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"You don't need to do that," she mutters. "Actually, I kind of never want to go out in public again."
Pursing my lips, I ask, "Sounds like something big happened."
She sighs again. "You could say that."
"Tell me."
"It's not the same without you here. It's so much better to talk about these things face to face."
"Well," I say, "you can either wait a few days until I'm there or tell me now over the phone. I'm sorry, I just can't be in two places at once."
"I wish you could. I wish you could teleport down here to surprise me. Are you sure you're not outside my door right now?"
I chuckle. "You would know it if I was, Denise. I can't keep myself away from you when I'm in town."
She pauses, and I can picture the wonderful blush that has probably crossed her cheeks. "That's true," she says quietly. "I guess I was just hopeful."
"I have to work, honey. That's how I can afford to come there to see you in the first place. Now tell me what's going on. Please."
"Don't rush me."
"Okay," I say. "Take all the time you need. I'll be here."
Glancing at the door, I peek at the gap between it and the carpet to see if anyone's standing outside. Not that we're not allowed to take calls at work. But there's a good reason for the saying about business and pleasure.
Business and pleasure.
Hell, I've screwed that one up already, haven't I? Dating my client's sister? Nowthat'sa family dinner I'm not looking forward to.
Denise takes a deep, rallying breath on the other end of the call. As I wait for her to find the words, I check my emails and see the updated Tinsley Simon account.
I open the files and start to skim them, my eyes darting back and forth as the list goes on and on for pages. I lean closer to the screen as if getting a new angle will dispel some optical illusion.
What the hell has Tinsley been doing?
It looks like she spent tens of thousands on her wedding dress and a couple hundred thousand on the venue.
That's to be expected.
But two hundred thousand dollars on a new car? Several hundred dollars on a bunch of new big-screen TVs? Even more money spent on gaming devices? None of that sounds like her.
I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. What the hell is going on? Either Tinsley's gone spend-crazy, or someone else has access to her accounts.
Forgetting I'm on the phone, I buzz my secretary. "Amber?" I say, holding the button down. "Get Tinsley Simon on the line for me. Or her agent. Thanks."
"Is this a bad time?" Denise asks in my ear, and I remember she's there.
"Everything's fine," I say, not wanting to worry her. "Just managing accounts. The usual. Now tell me what's going on."
And while I can still hear the hesitation in her voice, she at least has finally found the words.
"You didn't hear about this at the time," she says, "but about a month ago, we had a really rude customer in the store. She came in, made a huge fuss and tried to return a cake she said didn't have enough filling. I tried to offer her a replacement, but she's one of those people who would rather humiliate me than find a solution."
"Did she come back?" I ask.
"In a way," Denise grumbles. "She told me she had some social media followers and tried to use that clout against me. But as it turns out, she's a pretty big mommy blogger with over a quarter million followers."
I blink. "She makes what kind of blog?"
