CHAPTER 9
Hello, darling! How’s work?”
I sigh into the phone. “Doug, please stop calling me ‘darling.’ It’s uncomfortable.”
My ex-husband huffs and I can tell he’s pouting. “Oh, Lorelei, don’t be like that. I was just calling to see if you’ll be bringing a date to the wedding in a few weeks. You’re coming, right? We never got your response card.”
If you ask Doug, he’ll tell you our divorce was one hundred percent amicable. He assumes we should still be best friends even though he failed to mention he was gay. When he MARRIED ME. I tried to remain mad at him, but it’s difficult. He really does make a wonderful friend.
“And just so you know, it’s perfectly okay if you’re coming alone. Gary has a single cousin who is just dying to meet you,” Doug adds.
Perfect. My gay ex-husband is trying to set me up. Is there anything more humiliating?
“Of course I’ll be at the wedding, but if you put me at a table with anyone’s single cousin, I will wear white and ruin your entire color scheme,” I tell him.
“Well, now you’re just being cruel. I’ll put you down for a plus one just in case. We’ll talk soon. Kisses!”
I end the call and throw my cell phone down on my desk a little too forcefully.
“You know, in this instance, it’s okay to call him an asshole,” Kennedy tells me as she walks over and drops a file on my desk.
“I can’t call Doug that. He means well, I guess.”
Paige walks through the door with a tray of coffees in her hand. “Who means well?”
Kennedy pulls a cup off of her tray. “Doug. He just called to talk about the wedding.”
Paige rolls her eyes and sets the tray down on my desk. “Screw him. He’s an asshole.”
“See? I told you.” Kennedy smiles. “Come on, say it. ‘Doug is an asshole.’”
Grabbing my own cup of coffee, I open the lid and blow on it. “Doug is not an . . . asshole. He’s happy. He’s getting married. I can’t be angry at him for that.”
“The fuck you can’t!” Kennedy argues. “He married you when he knew all along he was gay. Asshole. You caught him screwing a man in your living room. Asshole. He still invited you to his wedding. HUGE asshole.”
I take a sip of my coffee. “Can we talk about something else, please? I don’t want to think about this wedding until absolutely necessary.”
Kennedy perches her hip on the edge of my desk. “Fine. Let’s talk about your vocabulary. Say ‘fuck.’”
I stare at her in irritation.
“Come on, I know straight-laced Lorelei is just dying to break out of her shell and scream some obscenities. How are you going to work side by side with Dallas Osborne and not call him a fuckhead at least once?” Kennedy asks.
I told the girls all about the plan I hatched in court the other day. They thought it was brilliant, but Kennedy has been trying to prepare me the last few days by turning me into a gutter mouth.
“If I think a situation warrants it, I will swear. I don’t need to practice,” I tell her.
Kennedy shrugs. “Hey, I’m just looking out for you. I don’t want you to lose your shit one of these days and yell something embarrassing like, ‘You’re a shitdamn hell fuck!’”
Ignoring her, I look at Paige. “Did you send that e-mail to Dallas?”
She smiles and takes a seat at her desk across from me. “Oh, I sure did. And I blacked out half of the information like you suggested and told him if he wanted the rest of it, he’d need to contact you.”
I asked Paige to scan the e-mails we found in Richard Covington’s home and send them to Dallas. Minus a few pertinent details like who they were from and when they were sent.
“I also blacked out every fourth word just to mess with him,” Paige says with a laugh.
“He’s going to be pissed,” Kennedy says with a smile.
My cell phone starts to ring and, looking at the display, I see that it’s Dallas.
“Well, speak of the devil. That was fast.”
Clearing my throat, I answer the phone in my best professional voice. “Lorelei Warner, how may I help you?”
“Where’s the rest of the information in these e-mails?” Dallas asks without preamble.
“Good morning to you too, Mr. Osborne. What e-mails are you referring to?” I ask pleasantly.
Paige and Kennedy cover their mouths to contain their laughter.
“Cut the crap. I get it. This is my punishment for your getting me out of that ticket. Fine. I’ll leave you alone so you can play detective. I won’t say another word about your lack of skills. Just give me the rest of the information in those e-mails.”
I pick up a pen and tap it against my desk. While the idea of his leaving me alone actually has some merit, that’s not what this is all about. I want him to eat his words. I can do this job.
“You avoided thirty days in jail and didn’t lose your license because of me,” I remind him.
“Yeah, well, I still had to pay a two-thousand-dollar fine,” he complains.
I grind my teeth. “It was supposed to be four thousand dollars. I’m going to need a little more than just your turning the other cheek while I ‘play detective.’”
I hear him growl into the phone. “Fine. What do you want?”
Kennedy starts waving her hands in the air frantically.