Page 54 of Maneater

We’re in our comfy sleep clothes, sitting on my bed, while Rory types up our daily report on what we’ve found, who we talked to, and current suspects. Gabriel will review it tomorrow morning, edit it, and send a censored version to the client, primarily focusing on our current suspects and the reasons and methods we’ve used to narrow them down.

While she does that, I’m trying to figure out how to tell Rory what happened in the coatroom as well as what I found out.

“Oh, it looks like we have an update from Gabriel,” Rory says, reading over her email before reading a line out loud. “Intel Annette wanted to send your way after seeing your most recent suspect list was that Horace Greenfeld recently purchased a very large share ofDaydream Resorts. It seems his loss is their gain, as he decided not to pursue his own chain but instead invest in theirs.”

I look at Rory, intrigued. “So is he no longer a suspect?” I ask.

She shrugs. “It would seem that way. I can’t imagine that he would want to devalue his purchase after he’s already done. Before, yeah, so it would be cheaper, but not after.”

“We can probably back-burner him at the very least. If anything happens where he’s obviously lied, then bring him back, but for now, we have enough to worry about.”

I nod in agreement, then take a deep breath, knowing this is a perfect segue. Before I can find the courage, though, Rory turns her body away from her computer, looking at me fully with a motherly expression on her face.

“Hey, Josie?” she says in a gentle tone.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

I decide my best bet is playing stupid. “What?”

“You disappeared, then came back twenty minutes later, nearlywhistlingto yourself, lipstick a mess.”

My jaw drops open. “You didn’t tell me my lipstick was a mess!” I nearly shout, and she smiles.

“It’s not that the lipstick was all over; it’s just that it was nearly gone.”

I groan and put my head in my hands. I should have brought my lipstain; it’s totally kiss-proof. But I didn’t think to, because I don’t do this.

I don’t kiss my marks.

I’ll flirt, I’ll tease, I’ll imply, I’ll touch an arm and show cleavage, but I never cross that line. I never blur things because, in this job, your focus needs to be absolutely precise.

When I lift my head, she’s staring at me still, raising a knowing eyebrow as if I’m a petulant teenager caught with a hickey.

“Okay. So…” I start, taking a deep breath and remembering the super hot moment in the coatroom. I haven’t given myself much space to think about it since I had been at the cocktail party, and then we had the huge break with the camera feeds, but now that I have the space to… Still, I owe an explanation to my partner, so I continue. “I saw Horace and Regina coming our way, and also Gene and Jenny. Regina waved Horace into the party and said she was going to the bathroom, which was clearly bullshit because she stopped in a corner to watch Gene and Jenny, then put something in her phone. She tried to get into the party right after, but?—”

“Bags weren’t allowed in,” Rory says, picking up the thread.

“Exactly. So she put her bag in the bag room, and I went to…investigate.” Her eyes go wide, and I hurry to explain. “There was no one in the room, I swear. But I did find this,” I say, reaching for and scrolling on my phone to show her the photos I took.

“Fuck. So the leakisher.”I nod. “Have you sent these to Gabriel yet?” I shake my head and watch as she sends them to herself. “I’ll add them to the daily report,” she says, moving across the room to her computer to do just that. “Continue,” she orders.

I sigh. “And then Rowan came in.”

Her body stills, and she looks up at me. “Did you distract him?”

“I tried,” I say, then drop my face in my hands when she raises an eyebrow. “I tried flirting, but he’s immune to my charm, Rory.”

She lets out a snort of a laugh. “No, he is not.”

“Yes, he is!” I say, throwing my hands into the air. “That’s why I had to kiss him. To distract him from asking too many questions about my being in the room!”

“Youkissed him?” she asks, finally stopping her typing and looking up at me. It’s not so muchshockon her face, but more like awe. She knows this isn’t what I do: I don’t kiss my marks. I don’t kiss suspects. I don’t kiss leads. I’m all talk and no follow-through, only ever flirting and nothing more.

“He walked in on me investigating! Kissing him was my diversion.”

“Jesus, Josie!” she says, more laugh than reprimand. “So he caught you going through her bag?” I shrug.