“So, your client is a child?” Mark asks.
“Wrong again, though she does act like one.” Mr. Young groans. “I thought you were supposed to be good at your jobs.”
Rising to my feet, Mark places an arm in front of me to stop me.
“We are excellent at our jobs, Mr. Young. Unfortunately, you’re not giving us a lot of information, which makes our jobs difficult to do.”
“Fine. I’m a talent manager. One of my clients, a young woman, was on the path to becoming the next big country star. The day before she was supposed to begin recording, she ran off.”
“What makes you so sure she ran off rather than someone taking her?” I ask.
“She was scared. The pressure was too much for her. I recently came across some information that led me to believe she might be somewhere here in Virginia Beach.”
“Might be?” I ask.
“If I knew for sure where she was, do you think I would be talking to you?”
“Do you have a photo? Anything else for us to go by?”
“Besides the fact that she’s unstable? She’s also very sweet, a woman who instantly makes you feel comfortable, and can easily make friends. She uses people. Takes what she needs from them, then disposes of them. She can’t have much money, so I assume she’s freeloading off of some poor unsuspecting soul.”
He pulls a photo out of his pocket and hands it to Mark. Mark’s eyes widen, but the expression on his face quickly changes back to a stoic, professional look.
“This doesn’t quite look like a professional photo.” Mark holds the photo close to his chest. I’m intrigued since it sure as hell looks as if he doesn’t want me to see it.
“If you must know, yes, we’re also in a relationship. That has no bearing on why I am here, though. This is completely for professional purposes. She broke her contract and cost me a lot of money.”
“Of course,” Mark agrees.
Even with his stone face, I can tell he’s lying. What is Mark trying to hide from me?
Mark gets up from the desk and walks over to the door.
“Margie, will you please show Mr. Young out?”
Margie appears in the doorway a moment later. “I’d be happy to.”
Mark informs Mr. Young we’ll be in touch with any findings before closing the door.
“What’s going on?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
“I can see that. What is it?”
He glances down at the photo before handing it to me.
“Is this a fucking joke?” My eyes are glued to the picture—the sparkling blue eyes, sweet smile, and blonde hair.
Ember.
What in the hell is Ember doing in a photo with this douche? It’s the first of many questions that swirl around my head.
“You had no idea?” Mark asks.
“Me? You did the background check on her…” Realization dawns on how the douchebag figured out where she might be. Why he sought us out.Whohe is.
“Fuck.” I run my hands through my hair, trying to wrap my head around what just happened.