“Mason came by my office to congratulate me on that solved case.”
Her brow furrowed. “Which one?”
“The lady who came to my office. You hacked the power company account.”
She finally nodded. “Oh, yes. That one. Right. It was on the news at midnight. They used your tip and caught him.”
I slapped my hand on the table. To her credit, she didn’t even flinch. “I didn’t leave a tip.”
“Sure you did. Two days ago. I told you about it. You’ll probably get a commendation or a thank-you letter or something out of that one.”
“Shelly…”
“You did a really good job on that case.”
“Shelly!” I tried again. “You can’t do that. You have to communicate with me. You have to tell me things and let me decide if they’re things I want to attach my name to. Then you have to respect that decision.”
“That makes no sense,” she said. “None at all. It was a good tip.”
“Shelly, you can’t work for me anymore.”
She glared at me.
“You’re fired.”
“I don’t work for you, so you can’t fire me.”
“If you don’t work for me, then you shouldn’t come to my office.”
Her face scrunched in confusion. “You have to admit I’ve been helpful.”
My office had never been cleaner, my invoices had never been better caught up, and she’d even installed virus software on my computer. Along with a game of solitaire. “That’s not the point. You’ve stepped across the line. My reputation is at stake.”
She pointed toward her chest. “I did?”
“God, Shelly,” I growled. “You make me so goddamn angry. Do you listen at all?”
She looked everywhere but at me. “I listen well. I hear everything. I just have trouble understanding how people feel about things, okay? I see the facts and they all make sense to me. But what never makes sense is how people feel. So if you feel something, particularly if you feel something strongly, you’ll have to tell me.”
“I feel strongly like you shouldn’t be working for me.”
“Give me one reason why not.”
I could think of about ten, just to start. “You have invaded my space.”
“How does that make you feel?” she asked, her voice getting louder.
“It makes me feel helpless. Like I’m working in chaos. And I hate chaos.”
Her brows drew together. “Oh,” she breathed. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. It wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to help.”
“Why do you want to help so badly?”
“I want to make Lynn proud of me,” she replied.
“Lynn is already proud of you.”
She shook her head. “She’s trying to be. But I constantly see her bracing herself, waiting for me to mess everything up.” She looked vulnerable all of a sudden, and damned if I didn’t like vulnerable Shelly almost as much as I liked kick-ass Shelly. My heart squeezed. “Can I keep working if I promise to talk to you about things rather than just doing them?”
“Is that a promise you can keep?”
She nodded.
I got up, drained the last of my coffee, and rinsed my cup in the sink.
I suddenly felt like a failure. I’d come here to fire her, and I hadn’t. What was she doing to me?
“You can’t call in any tips from my cases. But you can come to me with your theories. Then I’ll decide what I will and will not do with them. Do you understand?”
She nodded vigorously, reminding me of an eager puppy.
I stuck my hand out and she pressed her palm against mine and shook my hand like she was pumping a well.
I already regretted my decision.
“Are you going to work?” she asked, as I walked toward the door.
“Yes.”
“What case?”
“I have to go surveil stuff,” I said, trying to use the same words she’d used before.
She rubbed her hands together. “Oh, can I go with you? I want to learn to surveil stuff. Please.” She jumped up and danced from side to side.
“I don’t need help.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t. Give me five minutes to get dressed.” She dashed toward the other room.
“I suggest something you can run in,” I called to her. She gave me a thumbs-up without turning around.
I watched her ass as she walked away from me. I was going to regret not firing her. I could already feel it.
Chapter 10
Shelly
Clark didn’t say a word as we drove across town. Instead, he stared straight ahead and pretended like I wasn’t around.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To surveil stuff.”
“Where?”
“At the surveilling location.”
I turned toward him a little, bending my knee so I could look at him. He had a strong profile, a square jaw, and a five o’clock shadow no matter the time of day. His head was slick and smooth. “Do you shave your head every day?” I suddenly blurted.
He spun quickly to face me. “Nosy much?” He jerked his eyes back to the road.
“Was that nosy?” He wasn’t angry, because I could see that a corner of his mouth was quirked up into not quite a smile.
“Yes.”
“Is curiosity a bad thing?”
He suddenly looked at me. “Do you shave your legs every day?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “Usually, yes.”
“And your armpits?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Am I being nosy?”
“I don’t know. Are you?”
He heaved out a sigh. “I was being sarcastic.”
“Oh.”
“You couldn’t tell?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“My questions didn’t seem too intimate?”
“Not at all.” Suddenly, the gears aligned in my head. “Was my question about shaving your head an intimate question?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not like I asked if you shaved your balls this morning.”
He choked, lifting his hand so he could cough into his fist. “Shelly,” he said on a groan.
“What?”
He chuckled. “Don’t ask me about my balls.”
“You just asked me about my armpits.”
“Armpits and balls are miles apart.”
I sat quietly, thinking about what he was trying to explain. “Yes,” I suddenly said.
He swiveled his head to look at me quickly. “Yes, what?”
“Yes,” I said. I winced. “Well, I don’t have balls, but I shave that same area. Does that make things seem more even? Now I don’t have to feel bad about asking about your head, right?”
He shut his mouth, the grin that had been lurking around the corners of his lips suddenly gone. He settled into his seat a little more firmly. He said nothing. Not a word.
“I just messed up, right?”
“Yes,” he bit out.
“Okay.”
For the next ten minutes, we rode in silence. He said nothing, and I was afraid to say anything at all. I wanted to impress him, not offend him. But I seemed to be much more adept at the latter.