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Waverley stepped in carrying a pad of paper and pen and took a seat in the chair across from him, propping the pen up to her mouth, making it impossible for him not to notice how plump her lips were or the raspberry stain that made her face appear more flushed and bright.
“First, Ernie Homer was wondering if you’d have something for him soon. I checked his case folder in your system files but didn’t see anything has been updated since he first came in last week.”
“That’s because I haven’t had a chance to update some of my files.” Actually, he hadn’t updated any of the case files he’d been working on over the past month.
“If you want to leave them with me, I’d be happy to do that for you.”
He hesitated. Having her do this for him would save him from having to pull an all-nighter. And it was one of the things that Poppy would do for him regularly. It also was what he was paying her for.
“Yeah, sure,” he said and shuffled through some folders he kept on his desk, pulling things together as he went before handing her the stack.
“I’ll get started on these right away. Also, Mrs. Dolowitz called again. Wants to know if any time has opened up for you to find Oscar.”
Of course she had. He really needed to step up his hunt for that stupid cat if he was ever going to get any peace from the woman. “Not in the foreseeable future.”
“Really?” she asked, seeming surprised by his reaction. “You don’t think there’s anything we can do to help her? She’s offering to pay.”
“There’s nothing that I can do to help her. I have other cases that have to take priority, not the least being locating your ex.”
Her brown eyes widened. “You’ve already started looking for Spencer? Have you found anything? Maybe I can help you out. I was married to the guy for eight years.”
“Easy there. Let the pro handle things. You don’t want to tip him off and scare him away.”
She seemed to consider that. “Can you at least share what you’ve found so far? I promise I won’t tell anyone or do anything with the information. I just…I just want to know.”
He couldn’t blame her. He supposed a little info couldn’t hurt. “For now, I’m just trying to infiltrate Spencer’s inner circle, see if anyone’s talking about him or hinting about knowing where he might be.”
“Infiltrate his inner circle?” She sounded impressed. “How are you doing that?”
“Social media. Notably Facebook and Instagram.”
“Facebook. That’s how you’re trying to track down Spencer?” she asked, sounding more skeptical.
“You’d be surprised what people will say and post on there. And there seems to be a small group of friends that Spencer has kept up with over the years. Do you know Ronnie Jackson, Bryant Foley, or Greg Momsen?”
“You could say that,” she said slowly. “We all went to Northwestern together and it’s where I met Spencer. I wish I could say that we lost touch since graduation, but we all still get together at least once a year, the guys usually more often.”
He nodded, mulling that over. “I’m going to send you a friend request from one of my alias accounts. Go ahead and accept the friend request, but don’t say or do anything more,” he said and brought up the account. “There. It’s from an RJ Reynolds.”
“RJ Reynolds? That’s not a little too close?”
“I keep the Reynolds as a precaution in case anyone recognizes me since it easily passes for a first or last name. You accepting my friend request will help add credibility to the requests I made to Spencer’s friends. I’m guessing that people like Ronnie, Bryant, and Greg are all about networking and might jump at the chance to bring in one more person to their friends list.”
“Okay, I guess that makes sense.” She stood, rearranging the folders in her arms so they didn’t fall then she walked toward the door, her graceful hips swaying. “I’ll go confirm your friend request and get started on updating your files. Let me know if you need anything else.”
He grunted his agreement as she left the office, leaving him again to his thoughts.
It was still too early to tell, but maybe having Waverley around helping him out wouldn’t be as bad as he’d feared. That is, if she could deliver what she was promising as a capable receptionist and he could keep his head on business and not ogling her hips, her lips, those eyes, or hell, anything else about the woman.
Because Waverley Abbott was not just a client but also an employee now.
Both roles that were in the top unwritten rules he lived by for his personal and professional life, gleaned from his time in the force after seeing things blow up on other cops.
Number one: Never date and/or sleep with a partner, a coworker, or anyone else related to your place of work.
Number two: Never date and/or sleep with a witness, a suspect, or any central person in any investigation.
Then there was rule number three, one that he’d learned from his own school of hard knocks. Don’t date and/or sleep with a woman outside your social class. A woman who could never be satisfied with sharing a life with a former cop and small-town PI like himself.
