Page 40 of Pretty Poison
“Why did I ever think he was adorable?” Shelly asked Peter.
“Beats me,” Peter replied. “Seriously, Rocky, I know this leaves you in a bind with your cases and your podcast commitments.”
“Don’t you worry about it. You need to focus on taking care of the little mama and fussing over your bundle of joy.” Staying busy would keep Rocky out of trouble and prevent him from getting into trouble with Asher. “What do you think about hiring Avery as a freelancer for our cyber investigations? We both love the software he developed, and he’s a whiz at ferreting out information on the web.”
“I was just about to suggest the same thing since most of my workload is the cyber stuff you can’t stand. Why don’t you talk to Avery and see if he’s interested and find out how much he’d charge us? I’m okay with paying per billable hour or by the job. Bring him on board now to work these cases since we’re short, and we can always renegotiate if the arrangement isn’t working for either party.”
“Sounds good.”
“One last thing,” Peter said. “I’m supposed to have a meeting with a new client this afternoon. If you’re busy, Trudy can meet with her to gather information and go over our pricing schedule. This relationship has the potential to be lucrative for our firm, so I want to avoid rescheduling it.”
“I’m free, so don’t worry. Keep me posted on the baby, okay?”
“Will do.”
After they disconnected, Rocky did something that felt both foreign and familiar to him. He prayed.
“Oh my God,” Trudy said when Rocky walked through the door of Baxter and Jacobs. It was one of those frosted glass numbers with the severe black lettering, which Rocky thought looked retro and sleek at the same time. “Did Peter call you?”
“He did,” Rocky replied, hoping he sounded as excited as their gal.
“Isn’t it the best news?”
“It is,” Rocky agreed.
He felt slightly better after praying, but it wasn’t the relief he’d hoped for. He still felt powerless and afraid. There wasn’t a single thing he could do to ensure Shelly and the baby would be okay, but he could step up and make sure the agency caseload was appropriately managed. That would give Peter peace of mind so he could be a good husband and dad.
He and Peter were as different as night and day in both their personalities and professional approach. Peter had the financial resources, intelligence, and people skills to run a successful business, but being a private investigator required additional tools. It wasn’t enough to be smart; you had to stay two steps ahead of the person you were investigating. The job required gut instincts, dogged determination, and the type of resourcefulness they don’t teach you at pricey universities. Luckily, Rocky had both of those things.
He would never forget the night Peter had found him drinking away his sorrows on a barstool soon after returning from Vegas. Rocky worked on his dad’s construction crew from dawn to dusk to keep his body and brain busy. Every inch of him ached but nothing more than his heart or the gaping hole in his chest where it had once been. He’d thought Peter was hitting on him when he’d first introduced himself. Rocky had looked him up and down, noting the polo shirt, khaki pants, and expensive leather loafers. Peter’s wedding band glinted in the dimly lit tavern. Was he trolling for a dirty lay before he went home to his missus?
“Go home to your wife,” Rocky had sneered.
Peter smirked. “Planned on it, but I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Talk?” Rocky asked. “That’s new.”
Realization slowly dawned on Peter’s face, and his surprise turned into laughter. “I’m not hitting on you,” he said a few moments later.
“This is a gay bar,” Rocky pointed out. “You can understand my confusion.”
“Is it?” Peter asked, then pivoted to look at the patrons. Same-sex couples moved together on the dance floor, and others were playing pool. The rest either chatted and laughed with friends or were drowning their sorrows in ice-cold beer like Rocky had been attempting to do before the interruption. “Huh,” Peter said. “I guess it is.”
“Why are you here if not to fuck me?”
Peter tipped his head. “Is that all you think people want from you?”
“Pretty much.”
“Not tonight. I’m here to talk business,” Peter said. “Why don’t you let me buy you dinner?”
Narrowing his eyes, Rocky had said, “This still feels an awful lot like a proposition, pal.”
“It is, but I have a business proposal for you. Peter Baxter,” he’d said, extending his hand.
Rocky had studied it, then looked down at his own. Dirt and dust covered the scrapes and cuts in various stages of healing. “You don’t want to shake my hand.”
“But I do,” Peter insisted.