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“You need to go to the hospital.” She says as she helps me into the passenger seat.
“I probably caught something. I just need rest.”
She runs around to the driver’s side. “Why not get checked just in case? I can bring you and stay with you the entire time.”
“I’m fine.”
We are silent as she drives across the street to the apartment building. She parks in the handicap spot right at the front door. “I’m going to go back and pick up Rhett, if you are alright.”
“I’m fine. Thank you for driving me home and spending thousands of dollars to win me a date with your brother.”
As soon as I get out of her car, my vision blurs, and I fall to the ground.
Chapter Twelve
JOSEPH
I pacein front of my car, walking from one end of the restaurant’s gravel parking lot to the other.
He’s late.
“I hate when fuckers are late.” I grumble to myself as I glance down at my dust covered shoes.
Fucking gravel. Who doesn’t have a paved parking lot these days?
The meeting should have started fifteen minutes ago. He might be a highly recommended private detective, but my time is worth more than his.
I can hire three or four average private detectives for the price I agreed to pay him. I get back in my car when a black 1967 Chevy Impala pulls into the parking lot, looking like they are auditioning for an episode ofSupernatural.
A short, balding man steps out of the car wearing a too-tight pinstripe suit that costs more than his car.
I scoff to myself. He clearly thinks highly of himself and tries to use his expensive clothing as a bargaining chip, but it won’t work on me. Getting out of my car, I make my way over to him.
“Are you Joseph Marino?” He asks as he gives me a once over.
“I am.” I hand him the envelope containing everything he asked for.
“Is this her picture and information I asked for?”
Is he serious? What else would be in the envelope?
“Yeah.” I bite my tongue to keep from insulting the man.
He flips through her photograph, a picture of her car, and any and all information I could get on her. Surprisingly, it was a lot harder than I thought it would be.
Dad’s been in a mood since our argument and has been in his home office all week. His office at the arena has been locked, and I don’t have a key. I’m sure I could pick the lock or even get a copy of the key, but I didn’t want to risk Francesca or Alexandra seeing me.
“So, Alexandra Ferguson is the woman you want me to look into?”
“Yes.”
“And she works at the Savannah Sharks arena as an assistant to your father, Arturo Marino?”
“Yes.” I reply dryly. All the fucking information is in that envelope. Why is he asking me?
He hums for a few moments before shoving all the papers back into the envelope. “Why do I need to follow your father’s assistant?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Because that is what I’m paying you thousands of dollars to do. Do you always question your clients like this, or is it because of my family name?”