“How?” he asked the chief.
“As if I would tell you. You come into my office and use your magic on me... no. Both of you get out before I get the men to put you both in a box. Zoey, needless to say, you’re fired. Hand me your badge.”
Well, this hadn’t gone the way I’d planned.
No, I hadn’t planned. I’d come in, guns blazing because Fin flashed his pretty smile and said he was sorry in that midnight voice of his. Damn it. I tucked my chin, showing the chief the submission he wanted to see. The last thing I needed was both of us locked up.
“Let’s go,” I told Fin and threw my badge on the chief’s desk.
Fin didn’t say anything. He slipped his hands casually into his pockets, and led the way out of the warehouse.
Back on the street, I expected to feel some sort of loss. This had been the only home I’d known for years. The chief was the only parent I had. Except, the chief had never been a parent. He’d never shown me compassion when I needed it, love when I craved it. He’d locked himself away from others the same way I did now.
We walked three blocks before Fin spoke. “I’m sorry you lost your job.”
I tucked my hands into my jacket. “I guess it’s a good thing I have a new job offering to pay me the cost of a small country when I complete it.”
“Indeed.”
We crossed the street and headed back toward my apartment. His car idled on the curb in front of my door.
“Back to your place?” I asked.
He opened the door to the car for me to climb inside first. “Actually, we have some shopping to do.”
“Shopping?” I buckled my seatbelt and settled in.
When the door closed behind Fin, the car pulled away and Fin buckled himself in as well. “Yes, we need to go find a dress.”
He had to be fucking kidding. “Oh, really? I think you’d look good in red. Something with a sweetheart neckline, maybe. How are your tan lines? Can you pull off a strapless?”
My humor missed the mark.
His lips turned down. “Can’t say I missed these little chats we have. Obviously, we need to find you a dress.”
“Does the place we are heading have a no pants rule? Women can look very nice in pants these days.”
“Do you have something against dresses?”
Didn’t we have a talk about the bimbo act?
“They are hard to fight in. I can’t wear boots. The soft meaty parts of the thighs are very susceptible to chaffing. Need I continue?”
He lay his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes. “I think you’d actually look good in red.”
“Sure, if it’s your blood.”
We didn’t talk for the rest of the ride to the dress store.
Chapter Thirteen
In the end, I wore the damn dress. And the heels. I loved getting my hair done, and my nails. I loved feeling feminine and pretty. Except in probable life-threatening situations where someone might shank me in satin.
In all reality, I would probably get murdered by some magic spell meant to remove my heart without a cut. But the dress cost five thousand dollars, and I feared getting blood on the black shiny material.
The dress draped across one shoulder and hugged my curves as if it were custom made. The cook, Holly, who seemed to be multifaceted, had experience in hairdressing. I appreciated a woman who knew her way around a set of rollers.
I stared at my reflection and adjusted the pin up curls Holly had given me, along with almost an entire can of Aqua Net. The actual test would be if I had to do some hand-to-hand combat and the mass of curls and pins stayed put.