“If he’s not her type, then why did she get all lip-locky with him, hmmmm?”
She turned to face them. “I did no such th…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the tabloid Gladys had pulled out of her knitting basket. It was a picture taken that day at the park. “Michael Anderson’s Mystery Woman,” the title read. The blurry photo was taken from somewhere on or around the lake, looking up at the bridge. Only her back was visible, and Michael’s hand clutched her ponytail.
“Oooo, that’s hot. Lemme see,” Bernice said, snatching the paper. “You cheated on the bet, Gladys. You had this already.”
“I did not. Look at the date,” Gladys replied. “It came out this morning. We made the bet day before yesterday.”
“We know who the mystery woman is,” Blanche said. “Is there a reward for information?”
“No, there is not!” Mia grabbed the paper and retreated to the other side of the room. This was what Michael had feared. She was unidentifiable in the photo with only her back visible, so he was saved that embarrassment, at least. “It’s…It’s not me, anyway.”
“Yeah, it is,” Blanche said. “You wear that blouse all the time.”
“And that’s the name of the guy you’re living with.”
“I’m not really living with him. It’s…”
“And she’s redder than a beet. Guilty, I say! Pay up, girls.” Gladys grinned triumphantly.
Chapter Nine
Michael stared at the grandfather clock against the wall across from his desk. It wasn’t even four o’clock. Four hours and twenty minutes until he was home. In about an hour, Mia would be wrapping it up at Heart’s Home.
He flipped a page in the Kawashima file and stared at it, seeing nothing before glancing back at the clock. Four hours and nineteen minutes now.
She would take the One train home, do her workout, and then shower. She used to shower in the mornings, but changed that because there was only one bathroom and Michael had a strict morning schedule. “You don’t share your toys well,” she told him. Well, he had a toy he’d love to share.
Four hours and eighteen minutes.
“Mikey!” Will said, barging into his office without knocking, as usual. “How’s it going? How’s the pooch?”
On cue, the dog scrambled out from under the desk and launched itself into Will’s lap before he’d even settled into the chair.
The creature liked everyone except him. His brother stroked the dog, careful not to displace the idiotic bow in its hair.
“The pooch is fine,” he grumbled, flipping another page. Maybe if the dog liked him even a little bit, Mia would reconsider her hands-off policy.
Will ran a palm over his own close-cropped hair. “And the girl? Is she fine?”
Wordlessly, Michael glared at him across the high-sheen mahogany desk. His brother must have seen the photo from the park in the tabloids. At least they hadn’t gotten a shot of her face. A woman like Mia wouldn’t hold up well to the resulting fallout. When he allowed a photograph it was with a woman who understood how it would affect her reputation—one with a big ego or a precise enough agenda to weather it.
“Jim told me about the woman you had him research,” his brother explained.
He unclamped his jaw when he realized Jim was right to tell Will since Michael hadn’t specified the file was personal and not business related.
Time to divert the conversation. He pushed the intercom button on his desk and asked Mildred to have Chance join them. Will saw through it, though, and chuckled. “Yep, she must be fine.”
“You’re early. Our meeting was set for four-thirty.”
“Yeah, well, I need to cut out early.”
Michael slid a paperweight across the slick surface of the desk to put it in line with the top of his blotter. “Because?”
“Because I’m asking Claire to marry me tonight, and I need to go pick up the ring.”
It shouldn’t have surprised him. Will and Claire had been inseparable since they met. Still, marriage. The paperweight missed its mark and tumbled to the floor with a thud.
Will burst out laughing right as Chance strode in.
“What’s going on?” He leaned over and scooped up the glass paperweight with their father’s initials etched in it. “Is Michael throwing things at you?” He placed it on the desk and slipped into the other wing chair.
“No, I think he just lost his focus for a minute.” The dog yawned and snuggled against Will.
Chance grinned. “What? Do you have another bag of dog shit in your pocket?”
“No, he doesn’t,” Will answered with a matching dimpled grin—a hallmark of all three Anderson brothers. “But he has a woman living in his apartment.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was going to kill Jim for this.
Chance’s jaw dropped. “Whoa.”