The world is my oyster.
“What’s the weirdest case you’ve handled?” Ronnie asks. His tone changes and pulls me from my daydreams of Kate. I never know how to respond to those dreams anymore aside from drinking heavily, so I’m glad for the pull. “I’ve always found your job so interesting.”
“A few years ago, my client accused his wife of catfishing. It sounded insane at first, because they were married for a decade, you know? Turns out she lied about being an immigrant bride. The whole thing was an act. She didn’t come from the Ukraine, she came from Minnesota of all fucking places.”
“From Minnesota to the Ukraine, eh?”
“She nailed that fucking accent, Ronnie. That was definitely one of the weirder cases I’ve handled. Not going to lie, though, it was fun as hell. Discovering her secret identity was the most fun I’d had researching in ages.”
“I bet the reveal was even better.” Ronnie grins.
“I wish the damn thing was televised. It was the most beautiful fall from grace I’d ever seen. Top-five moment, hands down.” I say. “The husband was so grateful I got to the bottom of everything, he gave me a massive bonus.”
“Wait, wait.” Ronnie shakes his head. “Was the bonus like a hundred grand and a trip to Paris on his private jet?”
“That’s the one!” I nod. “God, that was a great trip, too. Took my boys with me and we tore up the town. Of course, I blew most of the money on that trip. Gambling, top-shelf booze, Amsterdam. We lived it up. The rest went to student loans. Should have dumped the whole thing in, I suppose, but fuck, it was a great trip.”
“I remember reading about that. Had no idea it was you. Well done, Eric. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.” I extend my fingers out a bit in a show of humility, even though I bask in the complement. “What about you? Surely you’ve seen a ton of crazy doing what you do.”
“Name it, I’ve seen it.” Ronnie nods. “Actually, the weirdest shit is usually from people trying to make something out of nothing. When they try to stack situations against their ex, you know?”
“People do that?” I ask. Guilty as charged, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Given your industry, are you really surprised?” Ronnie cocks an eyebrow. “There was a high-profile divorce going on a few years back that we got pulled into. The husband tried to frame the wife for having an affair. Except the dumbass had pictures taken of himself. He paid me, so I circulated them, but it became very clear very fast he was the guy in the pictures.”
“Allen Rodgers. I remember that.”
“Yeah. Our staff PI actually catches a lot of spouses sneaking around with each other. They try to get in one last fuck before the papers are signed. Far as I understand it, the other spouse lets them in to try to settle, but it never works out that way. I don’t know how you deal with this industry, man.”
“I don’t either.” I offer a thin smile, but the wheels in my brain started wheeling. Tension was always tight between Kate and David, and I confirmed with her doorman he’d been over to her place with a bouquet of roses. It was the nail in the coffin for me. Could I fault Kate for sleeping with her ex to make the process less chaotic?
I shake it out of my head while Ronnie outlines his contract. I can’t slide back to Kate. I’m so close to being done with them forever. But if she was put in a position where she felt like she had to sleep with him…
“As you can see, it’s pretty air tight. We are successful at what we do for this reason. We don’t reveal sources and sources don’t reveal us.”
“Yet people still find you.”
“Only when we want to be found.” Ronnie offers a toothy grin. “I’m not going to lie, I’ve wanted some McArthur dirt.”
I look at the contract, but all I can see is Kate’s distressed face. David taking advantage of her so she won’t lose her livelihood. There’s always more to the story… isn’t there?
“I’ll look this over and get back to you.” I extend my hand. “Thank you for your time.”
“Look forward to hearing from you soon. Time is running out.”
It is. Which means I’ve got to figure this shit out fast.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
KATE
It’s shocking how quickly life can change. People walk across the street and end up dead every day. Someone comes home from work and finds their spouse cleaned out the apartment. Someone goes to sleep and wakes up a million miles away from home.
I take a pregnancy test and Lily moves into my apartment, short-term until we decide something better. What was once an amazing bachelorette pad with booze and frozen quiches turns into a den covered in baby magazines and formula samples.
“You should pull a Paltrow and name the baby after the food you eat the most during the pregnancy.” Lily says from behind a celebrity mama magazine. “Like Blueberry or Kumquat or something.”
“Kumquat?” I stare at her over my copy of Parenting. “I’m not a monster, Lily.”
“If someone names their kid Apple, you can go with Kumquat.”
“Yeah, but Apple doesn’t sound like post-sex jizz.”
“What the hell is post-sex jizz?”
“You know, after you have sex and it just keeps gushing?”
“I think that means there’s a problem.” Lily laughs. “Who the hell does that?”
“David.” I shrug. “He should probably see a doctor then, I don’t know. I don’t have a dick so I thought it was normal.”
“Nothing about him is normal.”
“Preach.” Lily pauses. “Actually. I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
I tense, trying to force up walls before she says anything. None of these conversations that start with “I’ve been meaning to ask” end with something pleasant. Like “do you
