Chapter Nine
Roe
So, you know that saying about how women should run all the intelligence in the world because we can find out things about people (men) that no one else can?
Yeah, I guess that gene skipped me.
Or, which felt entirely possible, Milo “Grant” simply didn’t have any sort of social media presence. Or he used a weird name or something like that.
I couldn’t find anything about him or his many siblings.
I mean, I even devolved into looking at the social media pages of hundreds of fancy Italian restaurants to see if I could find a Milo who liked or commented on their content.
No luck.
“Now I have a headache,” I told Alley, whose one eye flicked over at the sound of my voice, then stared at me with complete disinterest before she went back to cleaning her one good ear.
I guess I had to go into my first day of being a spy completely oblivious to who my ‘handler’ was.
I made my way into my bedroom, gathering a garment bag, my makeup, and slipping into sneakers to go with my jeans and tee outfit.
There was the slightest bit of warmth in the air. I knew it was ‘fake spring,’ but I was soaking up the heat from the sun as I made my way out of my apartment and started the walk toward the casino.
And while I did that, I went ahead and tried to figure out what the hell being a corporate spy might entail.
See, I’d spent most of my free time trying to figure out who Milo was. And almost no time at all trying to lay out a plan for how I was going to get him the information he was looking for.
I tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that Milo couldn’t possibly be expecting results on my first day back to work. It was going to be a process.
I was going to have to find a good time to get into his office. Then snoop. All the while praying he didn’t have cameras in there.
And I was going to have to be open to more private events. As much as my voice (and, you know, soul) hated that idea.
I’d just finished with my mascara when the door opened.
Then there was Frank.
His gaze flicked up to my head. He hated the look of curlers in my hair. It probably reminded him of his mother or something. But it was funny to watch the way his nose crinkled up as soon as he saw them.
“There was a gift out front for you,” he said, producing a small white box.
“Oh, thanks,” I said. I made sure my fingers didn’t brush his as I took it from his hand.
As expected, Frank didn’t leave me in private to open my gift.
He was far too jealous for that.
And I think it irked him that I refused his early attempts to give me gifts but accepted ones left by guests.
It was surprisingly heavy for what appeared to be a jewelry box, but when I opened it up, there was a beautiful necklace with a hefty diamond. One that my trained eye (thanks, Grandma) immediately clocked as real.
“Is that a diamond?” Frank balked.
“Seems like it,” I said, lifting it from the box.
“Let me see that.” He charged forward, snatched it from me, and brought it close to the mirror. Then, in the corner, ran it across the glass.
Sure enough, there was a scratch.
It was real.
And, depending on the clarity, that thing could be up to ten grand.
While he was somewhat distracted by that, I carefully slid the box further away from him. Because it was still heavy. There was something in it. And it was hidden under a false bottom.
If it was from Milo, I needed to make sure Frank didn’t see it.
“Who would send you this?” he asked, waving it in my face like an accusation.
“I was just going to see,” I said, reaching for the little off-white envelope sitting inside.
I slid out the notecard inside.
“Well?” Frank asked. His face was getting ruddy. His jaw twitched.
“‘Loved your performance. Hope to catch it again.’ It’s signed… Eric,” I told him. I didn’t have to fake the pinch of my brows when I looked up at him. “Do you know an Eric?” I asked.
“You don’t know him? You didn’t fuck him?”
Okay.
The gasp that escaped me was a little exaggerated. So was the way my hand went to my chest.
But, well, sometimes men were a little dense. You really had to put on a show to get a point across.
“Are you… are you accusing me of what I think you are?” I let hurt and shock slip into my voice.
Frank’s gaze slid to me, taking me in for a second, then deflating like a balloon.
“No! No. No, of course not. I know you’re a good girl.”
Oh.
Blech.
I wasn’t sure there was anything more disgusting than being called a ‘good girl’ by a creepy older man.
“I don’t even know an Eric,” I insisted. “I mean, I meet so many people. But I don’t think I even had a conversation with an Eric.”
“I know Eric,” Frank said, jaw going granite. “And I’ll be talking to him about this.”
He waved the necklace and looked ready to pocket it.
“I can’t keep it?” I asked, making my eyes go round and my lips pout.
I hated fawning.
But it worked like a charm on my boss.
“You girls and your shiny things.”
It took actual work to keep myself from grimacing at him. Just when I thought he couldn’t dig to deeper levels of misogyny, he brought out a shovel.
“I suppose you can keep it. It’s Eric’s loss. But I shouldn’t have to tell you that accepting gifts from men can set a bad precedent. They might start… expecting things in return.”
No shit.
That’s why I’d never taken one from you.
“Just this once?” I asked, my voice going softer as my eyes went rounder.
“Oh, how can I deny you anything?”
How could he, indeed? When it wasn’t even his damn place?
“Here,” he said, handing it back to me, his cold fingers lingering on mine for just a second too long. “Can I have the card, though?”
“Sure,” I agreed, quickly handing it to him.
He needed to leave.
I had to figure out what else was in the box.
Then, you know, finish getting ready for my show.
“That’s my girl,” Frank said. “Don’t forget the red lip. You know how much I like that.”
Unfortunately, I did.
I’d once overheard him say he had some kind of kink for getting head from women with red lipstick on because the stain lingered.
Weirdo.
“Always,” I agreed, giving him a smile that I kept plastered on my face until he was out of the room.
“Ugh,” I grumbled, shaking my shoulders like I could shrug off the whole interaction.
I made my way to the door, listening for a second to make sure he was gone, then ran to the vanity to pull the false bottom out of the box.
And there was a phone.
He sent me a phone?
I powered it up to find he’d already programmed it with his number. And had put a couple of notes in the app about things to keep an eye out for. But he was careful not to put any names down or anything.
I clicked a message and sent it over.
Who is Eric?
I barely got a chance to glide on my lipstick before the answer came through.
- Trying something out. Just play dumb if anything comes back to you.
I unrolled my hair so as not to seem too eager to reach out to him again.
I’ll bring the necklace to the next meeting.
The answer was swift and final.
- No, it’s yours. Keep it.
The logical part of my brain said to hold onto it just until I was sure he wouldn’t demand it back. The other part was already a little bit in love with it and wanted to keep it, however stupid that might be.
My memory flashed back to the time I spent with my grandmother and how she would take out several different velvet jewelry boxes and pull each piece of jewelry out, one by one, and tell me which man got it for her and why. And how in love with her he was.
I had exactly two nice pieces of jewelry. One was a gift from a designer when I was modeling. Another was a gift from my grandmother when I got signed.
So far, no lavish gifts from random men who’d fallen in love with me.
But one nice necklace could be a cool souvenir to talk to my future grandchildren about.
Oh, this? I got this for spying on a casino owner for a shady, handsome stranger!
They’d probably think I was lying.
I kind of liked that idea.
I checked to make sure the phone was set to silent, then added an intricate passcode to it before shoving it in the little tampon and pad zipper of my purse.
Then I slipped on my dress, my shoes, fluffed my hair, and made my way down the hallway.
I wasn’t going to go into Frank’s office before the stage. After was the best time if I was even going to chance it on a night when he already had a little upset.
I got on the stage and started my first set, glad to have something to focus on other than Frank and Milo.
Until, of course, the doors opened in the middle of my second set.
And there was Milo.
Looking just as good as the last time I’d seen him. Better. He’d forgotten to shave his stubble, and I found the shadows only made him more attractive.
He made quick eye contact with me. Then his lips curved up ever so slightly when his gaze slipped to the diamond resting against my chest—heavy, oddly grounding.
But he didn’t linger.
Instead, he made his way over to the bar, ordered a drink, and sat down.
Then, for the next two sets, his gaze oscillated between me, the gathered crowd, and his own phone.
Eventually, Frank came back in during my last set, huffing, jaw tight.
I had a feeling that poor “Eric” had no idea what the hell he’d done to piss off Frank.
When Frank made his way to the bar, there was Milo. Being all charming and newly familiar.
The two of them shared a drink and a conversation.
Then, like it was the plan all along, he and Frank made their way to the door.
Milo held the door for Frank.
But the real reason was clear when he glanced back at me.
His gaze held.
And I could practically hear his words in my own head.
Now’s your chance.
So much for trying to take it slow.