Shame on Me

Once he’s gone, I get back to my Google search. The file we have on Matt isn’t very detailed, since all we really need to know about Matt for this case is where he’ll be at certain times of the day so we can follow him. He’s not a criminal—that we know of—so Lorelei didn’t need to do an extensive court-record search on him. And he didn’t break the law, so Kennedy doesn’t need to hunt him down and kick his ass.

I know my job is to just sit and look pretty, but I’m tired of that nonsense. I’m smart and resourceful; maybe if I go above and beyond my typical duties, Kennedy will trust me to handle some real cases. Cases where I need to learn to shoot a gun and put my newly learned self-defense moves to work.

Sure, looking deeper into Matt Russo’s background isn’t going to have me running through the streets chasing down bad guys, but at least it will show that I’m taking initiative.

“Well, hello, twenty-five Matt Russo Facebook pages. Let’s see, only one is from South Bend, so let’s go with that,” I say aloud, clicking on his name.

“Wonderful. Profile is set to private. What the hell, Matt? No one sets their profile to private unless they have something to hide. Do you have something to hide, Mr. Russo?”

Backing out of Facebook, I click on the next site that Google found on him: LinkedIn.

Let’s see here. Matt Russo is a graphic designer currently employed by Bolder Design Studio. I already knew this information, so this isn’t helping me at all. He’s an art nerd just like my ex is a computer nerd. No matter how cute he was last night, he’s probably just as much of a tool as Andy. I don’t know why that thought makes me sad. I don’t even know the guy. Just because he didn’t recognize me in the bar last night doesn’t mean he’s a stand-up person without a secret girlfriend.

But man alive, those blue eyes . . . I wonder what they would look like without the glasses. I wonder if they would darken if he was in my bed and I was taking his pants off.

Shit! What the hell is wrong with me? Matt Russo will not be in my bed, ever.

There’s a reason why I’m always attracted to nerdy assholes. I don’t know what that reason is right now, but I’m sure there is one. I am going to focus on finding out if Matt Russo is really a cheater and that’s it. I am not going to think about whether or not he’s got a six-pack hiding under that sweater vest.

Deciding to nip this thing in the bud, I pick up my phone and dial the receptionist at Bolder Design Studio. The sooner I can end this case, the sooner I can find a hot guy who looks and acts nothing like my ex and bang the memory of glasses-wearing, sweater-vest-donning, computer geeks out of my system.

While the phone rings, I clear my throat and put on my best dumb-blonde act.

“Bolder Design, how can I help you?” the receptionist answers.

“Hi, this is Chloe-with-an-e Marin,” I respond with a giggle, using the name of the woman Kennedy found her husband boning when she came home from a tour in Afghanistan. “You’re going to think I am such an idiot, but I was supposed to have a meeting with Mr. Russo this evening so he could help me design my new adult video website and I TOTALLY forgot the time and where we’re supposed to meet.”

I know I’m laying it on thick. Whatever. I hate that Chloe bitch and I firmly believe she does porn on the side.

“Hold on just one second. Let me pull up Mr. Russo’s calendar.”

I giggle again for added effect while I hear her clicking away at her computer through the line.

“Here we go. Hmmm, I don’t see anything on his calendar with you tonight, Miss Marin. He does have a dinner scheduled at Blake’s Seafood at five, but he must have forgotten to add your name.”

I’d like to thank the Academy . . .

“That’s it! Blake’s at five. You are such a doll!”

I quickly thank the clueless woman and disconnect the call. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I see that I have an hour and a half before I need to get to Blake’s. Just enough time to run home and freshen up. I’m assuming that Matt is smart enough not to put the name of his rendezvous location with his suspected mistress on his work calendar, but you never know. Running over to Lorelei’s desk, I grab the Nikon out of the top drawer and shove it into my purse. Maybe I’ll get lucky and catch him canoodling with a waitress in a dark corner. I can snap a picture and be gone, never to think of naked Matt Russo again.





CHAPTER 3