“You’re a dreamer, Didi.”
While Didi and Dean went off on a tangent, Parker read over the questionnaire again, but the details provided were so vague it was impossible to get a sense of Shotelle’s girlfriend. Ah well. Hopefully after tonight, they’d have all the details required to knock the lady’s socks off with a date for the ages.
As much as it pained him to bring even an ounce of joy to a douchebag’s life, the money was too good for Parker to ignore. Which meant by the end of the job, he was going to know Lynn Elizabeth Davidson inside and out.
Her computer monitor flickered for the fifth time in the last hour, and Lynn swore softly, palms pressed to the desk on either side of her ergonomically correct keyboard as she mentally urged the disruption to vanish like it had every time before. She glanced at the overhead lights, but they were still on full. A quick peek over the pale purple cubicle dividers at her coworkers proved they were still hard at it.
Nothing wrong with their screens or power sources.
Lynn pushed her computer chair aside and leaned under her desk to follow the cables. If she lost the past four hours’ work because her power failed, someone’s head was going to roll.
The back of the desk had a protective metal panel on it, but she figured out if she lifted and pushed it to one side, she could get on her hands and knees and poke around. A quick examination was enough to discover the cord didn’t end at a power strip. Instead, the thick black cable joined a half-dozen others and disappeared under the cubical edge toward the hallway.
Great. More investigating needed. She was in the middle of backing out of her awkward position when a familiar voice interrupted her.
“Is this the new office exercise routine Marti was raving about in the lunchroom today?”
She jerked upward in surprise, smacking her head on the underside of the desk hard enough to see stars. “Jeez, Suz, warn a girl next time.” Lynn crawled into the clear, hand going to rub the rising knot as she scrambled to her feet. “A call, a wave…”
“It’s hard to wave hello when all that’s aimed outward is a butt.” Lynn’s BFF since high school, Susanna Jones, leaned her curvy hip on the desk edge as she settled neon-yellow-clad arms across her chest. “And you have so little butt, damn you, that makes it even tougher. Did you lose an earring?”
Lynn shook her head even as she blinked to stop her eyes from watering. “Where did you get your sweater?”
Suz popped up and pirouetted like a tipsy music-box dancer, with her arms flung to the sides. The position only emphasized the black lines running through the gaudy fabric in horizontal streaks, rising and falling over Suz’s ample breasts as if someone had painted racing stripes on her chest. “You like?”
It had to be a trick question. Nothing was this simple with her friend, not even clothing choices. Lynn stuck to her usual modus operandi and told the truth. “You look like a molting bumblebee.”
Sheer delight streaked across Suz’s face, making her green eyes sparkle with mischief. “Really?”
“On your last wings. Liable to crash and burn into the next flower patch in a pollen-induced stupor. Where did you even get it? No—” Lynn held out a hand, “—more important, why did you get it, and why are you making my eyeballs bleed?”
Suz cracked the gum bubble she’d blown. “It’s not for you, silly.” She checked around before leaning in closer and lowering her voice. “I was informed I have the fashion sense of a turnip. I thought I should prove her wrong. I’m much worse than a turnip.”
“Because you don’t give a hoot about high-fashion clothes, and with your figure, you don’t need to.” Lynn didn’t mind being trim and in shape, but every now and then she’d kill to own Suz’s curves. Ever since high school, their girls’-night-out pictures had showcased them like human salt-and-pepper shakers—Suz the fair-skinned blonde with knockout curves, Lynn with her dark hair and dark complexion showcasing slim but feminine lines. Her best feature was her shockingly light eyes—“moonlit crystals on a Mediterranean beach”, a silver-tongued date had once informed her.
No, Lynn was happy with her body but still pissed on Suz’s behalf. “Who was the smartass who insulted you, or do I need to ask?”
“It was Dana Hastings, of course.” Suz adjusted the raggedy cuffs on the ancient monstrosity as if she were on a Paris fashion runway. “I’m on my way back from her desk. You should have seen her recoil in disgust.”
Lynn couldn’t help but snicker in response even as she double-checked her work was still in place and her computer screen hadn’t done another vanishing trick. “Please don’t wear it to yoga tonight, or we’ll be banned for life for disturbing the delicate balance of the universe.”