“Um, no. There’s no man available to speak with him. I actually think that’s part of why he keeps picking on me. My neighbor strikes me as quite sexist, and he thinks he can pick on me because…”
“There’s no one to stop him. He probably wants to fuck you.”
Her eyes widen at the audacity of my suggestion. “He’s married.”
“And…?”
She frowns, but then it eases. “Well, heisan asshole, so I suppose that doesn’t necessarily rule out his wanting to… Regardless, I don’t care what he wants.Iwant the harassment to stop.”
I’ve heard all I need to hear. As soon as she told me there was no husband or boyfriend in the way, I made up my mind thatI’mgoing to fuck her—and the sooner, the better, so it’s time to close this deal so we can move on.
“All right, Gemma Cane. I would be happy to help you with your neighbor problem.”
She’s so pretty when she smiles. Gazing at me like I’m the answer to all her prayers, she says, “You will?”
I nod, already hating my next words since I know they’ll wipe that smile off her face. “Absolutely. Before we go any further, though, I should tell you I charge $1,400 an hour, and we bill in fifteen-minute chunks. So, as soon as you stormed into my office in your jingly little outfit, you owed me $350.”
As I predicted, her smile falls. “Uh, fourteen… wow. Per hour. That’s, um, that seems like quite a lot of money.”
“It is.”
“You must be really good.”
I smile. “I am.”
“I don’t… So—so you don’t do like a free consultation or anything?”
I lean back in my chair and shake my head. “They say if you’re good at something, never do it for free, and we just covered that, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, I guess we did.” She looks down, tucking a chunk of ginger hair behind her ear. “Unfortunately, it seems my daughter was right. That’s definitely outside our budget.”
I knew it would be, so I don’t feign surprise. I let her be uncomfortable for a few seconds to see what she does.
I’ve made my interest in her pretty clear. Some part of me is curious if she’ll “joke” about paying another way to see if I bite.
Another part hopes she doesn’t.
It’s where we’re heading, but I don’t want it to be her idea.
“I guess there’s no point in discussing this any further, then,” she says, clearly disappointed. “I should probably go figure out billing with your receptionist before the bill gets even bigger. Do you take payments? Or I have a credit card. I suppose I can just…”
“You still have a few minutes left,” I tell her. “You can at least give me your neighbor’s information so I can start looking into him.”
“Why? I can barely pay for the consultation. I certainly can’t afford to hire you.”
“What if you could?”
“I can’t.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” I say, watching her closely. “We can finish up your consultation—however long it takes—and I’ll scrap the bill altogether if you agree to meet me later for a drink.”
Her wide eyes shoot to my face. “A drink?”
I nod. “Cold things, come in a glass, often with ice cubes.”
She rolls her eyes lightly but appears a bit nervous. “I know what a drink is. I just don’t think I should have one with you.”
My brow furrows. “Why not?”