Page 1 of Maneater (The Mavens #1)
ONE
JOSIE
Sometimes, I feel bad about ruining the lives of men.
Sometimes, I catch glimpses of a different version and see past the carefully crafted one meant to pull unsuspecting people into his web.
Those days, despite the research we’ve done to ensure our client is in the right and that the man I’m currently trying to pull evidence from is, in fact, a piece of shit, I feel the tiniest niggling of guilt about deceiving them to get their deepest, darkest secrets with a simple smile and a bat of my eyelashes.
Not this time.
“I have a bitch of an ex-wife. Well, not quite an ex-wife yet, but we’re in proceedings.”
I smile and nod, remembering that the file says he had filed for divorce while his wife was away, taking care of his sick mother, claiming she hadn’t been meeting his needs .
And now he’s trying to claim he doesn’t have the money to pay her a good amount of alimony. We already gathered evidence that he’s cheating on her, but we’re pretty sure he’s hiding money to conceal it for the divorce proceedings.
“That must be really hard,” I say with an apologetic frown. This is probably the worst part about my job: having to win over the grossest specimens of men and stroke their egos just enough so they slip up. He takes another too-large bite that makes me want to gag before I smile and nod.
“And now she’s trying to sue me outta house and home for alimony. The bitch has never worked a day in her life!” My mind flashes to the file I left at my apartment, which declared she was climbing the corporate ladder before he told her he didn’t want her to work—insisted on it, even.
I let my eyes go wide, and my lips drop into a shape of disbelief. I know I sold my faux shock to him when his eyes shift to the full, pink lips I lined in the car on the way here, when he nods and continues.
“But don’t you worry,” he says, a small, proud smile on his lips, now greasy with his dinner. “I’ve got that handled. Won’t let that bitch bleed me dry.”
God bless her for leaving, because I don’t know if he knows how to call a woman anything but a bitch. I don’t plan to stick around long enough to find out, not when he’s already so pliant in the palm of my hand.
“Oh?” I ask, an elbow going to the table, my head tipping as I rest it on my hand, dark hair spilling as my tits come together, making my cleavage nearly ludicrous.
“My accountant’s been protecting me for years, making sure something like this wouldn’t happen. You know…diversifying.” There’s a knowing twinkle in his eyes, like I’m just supposed to know what that means, and, as is my specialty, I play dumb.
Evidence is only good if it’s direct and straight from his own mouth.
We could go after the accountant, probably get a warrant and find the money he’s hiding, but something tells me this asshole would claim ignorance, say he had no idea all along, and still find a way to duck out of paying his ex-wife.
“Diversifying?” I ask, brows together, lips pouting. “So, like, all of your money is tied up in stocks or real estate or whatever?”
His eyes are locked on my tits, and in that moment, I know I won. Even more so when he leans in a bit, his tie falling into his plate of red sauce. I fight the grimace that wants to win.
“No, no, putting money in overseas accounts. Untrackable, untraceable, unable to be used against me.”
“Oh, wow,” I say. “That’s so smart!” I twirl a lock of my silky, dark hair around a finger and smile at him.
“Well, that’s what I am, you know. Smart, rich, and good-looking.” He’s already batting zero for two, and when I look over his shoulder to see Rory nodding, indicating she got the recording, I know he’s about to be zero for three.
That admission was exactly what I needed, my assignment for the night complete.
As an investigator at Mavens Investigations, it’s my job to get whatever evidence our client needs.
This time the plan was simple: I was to bump into our target, Jackson Wilson, on the street, and flirt my way into a date where I could talk to him more.
Then on that date, I was to bat my eyelashes and flip my hair and flirt with this scumbag all evening, plying him with liquor and a great shot of my cleavage until he confessed he was hiding money from his soon-to-be ex-wife.
After barely five minutes with the man, I quickly became aware of why he was an ex . He’s a terrible human.
Eager to get out of his presence, I glance over his shoulder, spotting Rory in the server’s uniform that we got, her long blonde hair pulled into a tight bun, and give her the signal: a flip of my hair and then a roll of the stud earring in my right ear.
She nods before she puts on a fake smile, grabs a tray filled with water, and makes her way to us as Jackson continues to babble on and on about his accounts in various countries, the homes he owns, et cetera, making a further attempt to impress me.
“Is there anything—oh my goodness!” Rory gasps, stepping back as all of the glasses—and the large pitcher of water, because Rory never does anything half-assed—come tumbling down onto the table—and me.
The rush of freezing cold water chills me to the bone because, apparently, she had to be more realistic by making it ice water .
Pushing my chair back with a loud screech, I stand, brushing the ice cubes out of my lap.
The very corner of Rory’s lips tips up, and I have to fight the all-consuming urge to roll my eyes.
“What the hell!” my date yells, a dark glare moving to Rory before staring and reaching for the ice cube that fell in my cleavage. I step back, swiping it out before he can put his grimy hands on me.
“Oh, I am so sorry ,” Rory gushes, reaching into her apron for some napkins and handing them to me. The flimsy cocktail napkins don’t do anything, and she sets the tray onto our table over our meals. This is over, anyway.
“I want to talk to your manager,” Jackson says.
“It’s so okay; I—” I start.
“It absolutely is not ,” he roars.
“Of course, I’ll get you my manager right away,” Rory says, her blue eyes turning to me.
I give her a smile and then a tight one to my date before announcing, “I’m going to the bathroom to try and dry off.”
“I can come help—” Jackson attempts.
Ew.
“No, I think I can manage,” I say, grabbing my bag and my cell before moving toward the back of the restaurant. Once I’m in the dark hall, I go left to the kitchen instead of going right toward the bathrooms.
“Hey, Josie!” the chef says, then takes in my drenched clothes. “Looks like Rory got you good.”
“It was iced,” I grumble, moving toward the staff rooms as their laughs echo behind me.
We use this location, owned by a friend of our boss, Gabriel, often, so the staff know what to expect when we’re here.
Once in the break room, I grab the outfit Rory left for me and change, pinning my thankfully dry hair up with a clip before shrugging my bag over my shoulder.
Then I’m out the back door.
With my phone to my ear and keys in hand, I beep the lock to my car as I make my call.
When he picks up, I don’t wait for a response before speaking.
“Mission accomplished. We’ll have a debrief and audio proof to you in.
..” I check my watch. “…four hours? Rory has the recordings, and her shift still has two more hours.” I smile at that, because at least I get to leave.
She has to make her shift as a waitress seem realistic .
“Good job, Maven. Go dry off. You’ll have your next assignment tomorrow.”