A city life adventure. I can do it. See you there.
Her life had been more like a series of carefully thought through decisions that’d left her bored and frustrated, because she was born in a small town where nothing much happened except economic hardship, but those days were over. Now she was a reporter for the Courier and the editor-in-chief knew her name and the Heartbeat of the City, the Defender of the People Jack Haley was going to answer some questions.
Shit, she had nothing to wear.
Jack would wear a suit. Even her best outfit wasn’t Elaine’s-ready. Elaine’s had chandeliers. But her deadlines for the day were met, and though she should be researching for tomorrow, online shopping looked a lot like research and express delivery was even better for you than properly aligned chakras, besides everyone did it. The mailroom was constantly complaining about personal deliveries.
A day later, she was sitting in a booth at Elaine’s in her new Cooper Street Can’t Get Enough wrap dress in Barely Plum, waiting for Jack to stand her up. The restaurant was impossibly classy, the dress was a keeper, but the colleague was a late-ass, rat-faced piece of work who’d probably dumped her again.
She’d nervously chewed through two breadsticks and waited an agonizing thirty minutes before he swept in, the wind in his hair and the tape off his brow. He stood at the maître d’ station and took in the room, definitely looking for someone who wasn’t Derelie, because he answered her wave with a nod, but made no move to come to the booth. When he did come, pocketing his earpiece and doffing his suit coat, she could see he’d had that brow stitched.
“What happened?” She pointed to her own brow.
“I thought you knew I boxed.”
He’d put her in a cab and instead of returning to the office, he’d gone out to get smacked in the face. Okay then. “How do you want to do this? We can go back and forth or do a complete set and then swap, whatever you prefer. Do you mind if I take notes?”
He blinked twice, then closed his eyes on an outbreath that was all exasperation. “We’re not here for that.”
“We’re not?”
“I thought you... Hell. I’m on a stakeout and I—”
“What, like a cop?”
“Same idea without the weapons.”
“Then what am I doing here?”
“You’re backup. I can’t sit in a restaurant like this for hours on my own without it looking suspicious.”
“I’m, what, a fake date?” She’d bought the dress for herself, for Elaine’s, it wasn’t a date dress. If she’d thought this was a date, she’d have gotten the Betty Basic Black dress that showed she owned kneecaps. If she’d thought this was a date, she’d have swallowed her aligner instead of simply leaving it at home.
“A decoy.”
Ah, that made sense, and way to go, coming up in the world. A decoy was at least one step up from a punishment.
“But I didn’t explain myself and so you thought—and you look—ah shit, Honeywell.”
“What?” No blush. Not even the hint of one. Such a pro. She looked down at herself. “This old thing? Who are we staking out?” Oh god, she was in a new dress, at Elaine’s, on a freaking stakeout. Take that, career, breathe that in and let it blow sky high through your limbic system.
> “Bob Bix. A man who won’t take my call, and hopefully a few of his buddies.”
That’s who Jack had been looking for. “But he’s not here?”
“Not yet. But I had a tip-off he’d be here tonight.”
“What do we do if he comes?”
“We eat. I watch. You go home. I go back to the office.”
She laughed. “No, really, what do we do?”
He pushed his hand through his hair. “The veal is good.”
“You’re not joking.”
“Nope.”