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So what had Van found in her purse that had her running out without so much as a goodbye? Was the woman closeted? If so, she’d done a poor job of hiding that at the restaurant and an even worse job on the bed.

“It’s not that,” Jamie muttered to herself confidently as she riffled through her bag. Nothing incriminating, just the usual things—phone, wallet, tampons, pen, notepad, lipstick, business cards from people she’d talked to.

“Fuck.” She went back through the items and flicked open her wallet. “Well so much for anonymous.”

Her driver’s license had slipped around in the tumble off the bed and the horrid photo of herself stared back. Her real name stared up at her in large bold print along with her birthday and address from three apartments ago. A stark reminder that even in her mid-thirties, she still hadn’t figured out what the hell she was doing with her life and was still living paycheck to paycheck. She wasn’t the favorite kid in her family, that was for certain.

But why would knowing that send the woman running?

Was she married? Because there had been no damn ring on that finger. Jamie had checked, multiple times.

“Unless she knows who I am.” Biting her lip, Jamie rifled through the items again before shoving them all back into her purse. That excited pull she got at the start of a new story built inside her chest. It was the adrenaline she lived on. If Van had found out who she was, then Jamie could do the same. She wasn’t an idiot, and she knew exactly how to find the information that she wanted.

And her tenacity and stubbornness for finding that information was what made her so good at her job, and a royal pain in her boss’s ass.

She had long ago gotten used to being called a hack or a liar. But she knew the truth of things. And she never made up something she couldn’t prove. People simply refused to give her the chance to show her proof. And showing her cards without being made to had never been something she was willing to do.

Taking her time and laying out her plans, Jamie stood up and smoothed her hands over her dress. She could do this. She could figure out exactly what had sent Van running and then she could decide what she wanted to do with that information. Or not—she could do nothing for all she cared, or she could do absolutely everything and destroy Van with a few clicks of her fingers against the keyboard.

Jamie smiled, pulling the strap of her bag over her shoulder and stretching her lips wide as she pulled the door closed behind her, key card firmly in her grip. Her face, reflected in the closed elevator doors, still held her telltale blush of sex, but she could use that to her advantage as well. A girl well fucked just wants to be well fucked again, doesn’t she?

Stepping up to the counter, Jamie plastered on the softest smile that she could. She could play girl next door like she lived it. “I’d like to check out.”

“Okay,” the young gentleman behind the counter said. “What’s the room number?”

“Room 312.” Jamie rattled off while she twirled her still damp strand of hair around her finger and leaned over the counter to give the young man an ample view of her cleavage. She would use whatever means it would take to get this information.

“You’re all checked out.” He grinned up at her, his gaze definitely dropping to her breasts.

“Oh, here’s the card.” Jamie slid the card across the desk and moved her fingers right before he could accidentally touch her. “Do you mind if I get the receipt? I like to keep records of what goes on my credit card statement.” She gave a gentle chuckle to him. “My daddy always told me that I should be as fastidious as possible when it comes to finances.”

“He sounds like a wise man.” The man bent his head and typed away on the keyboard.

Jamie had to swallow that lump. Her dad wasn’t a bad guy, but they certainly didn’t always get along either. She was the screwup kid, after all. And she’d live into that role for as long as she could, because someone had to be the scapegoat.

“Here you are.” The paper was curled at the top and the bottom from the printer.

Jamie grinned at him, taking the paper between two fingers as she skimmed it for the name. Her stomach plummeted. Cold washed through her. That had to have been it. Her screwup personality had lost her a good fuck again. Breathing heavily, Jamie looked up and nodded at him, still keeping that same soft smile plastered on her face, although she was no longer feeling it.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded at her and stopped paying attention. Taking the paper and shoving it into her purse, Jamie walked out of thehotel lobby and into the chilly, damp air. Her heart hammered against her ribs, nearly to the point of pain.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Whipping out her phone, Jamie debated whether or not to call the only person who could calm her down, but she stopped herself. Nope. This was her own screwup, and she was going to deal with it on her own. She didn’t need someone else telling her how bad she was.

Biting her lip, Jamie stepped into the parking lot and headed for home. She never would have imagined that she would pick uptheSiena Frazee at a tapas bar. Not the big name, open queer, powerful and professional-to-a-fault Siena Frazee who repped the biggest queer outing story that Jamie had been trying to uncover for years now and failed miserably every single time.

“Really?” Jamie laughed, edging toward maniacal. “Siena Frazee?”

Who’d have thought that would happen?

“Earth to Jamie!” Jessie’s voice filtered through to Jamie, and she jerked her head toward her sister.

“What?” Jamie asked, a little snippier than she meant. She scanned the classroom to see if there were any hints as to what she had missed.