Dangerous Exes (Page 3)

Blaire? She would be just fine.

Blaire? Wasn’t as emotionally invested as Isla now that she had Colin, at least that’s what I told myself.

And that was the point.

Isla breathed this business.

Blaire merely worked for it because she wanted to stick it to any guy who tried to cheat.

But for Isla? It was personal. It was beyond personal.

It was her life’s blood.

Her face was cold as stone.

Damn, she was brutally frigid.

Not one straight black hair out of place.

Bright-red lipstick and just enough makeup to be taken seriously but not so much that you got lost in it.

Every accessory thought out, from the gold bangles on her wrist to the tiny teardrop necklace that plunged down her blouse.

She didn’t move a muscle.

Didn’t even blink.

And finally said, “I didn’t do anything. That was all your ex-wife, so if you want to point fingers, I think she’s somewhere in Hollywood trying to sleep her way into the next Avengers movie.”

“You”—I jabbed a finger toward her—“took her on as a client based on false information.”

She scowled. “Everything checked out, we do our homework. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a two o’clock I can’t miss.”

I pressed my lips together in a smug grin. “Another life to ruin, Isla?”

“Jessie.” Her façade cracked, and I felt my resolve weaken. “I’d like to think we used to be friends—”

I flinched at the word.

Yes. We were friends.

We were friends until I realized she’d stuck a knife in my back in order to further her business, her career, until I realized she was on my ex-wife’s team all along. She betrayed me.

“Friends,” I rasped, “don’t screw each other over. Do you even know what people are saying about me? The gossip is through the roof! Didn’t you know? I’m a liar. A cheater. I’ll do anything to look perfect. I’m a sick fuck, that’s what they’re saying. My reputation is shit because I chose the wrong woman who in turn chose you to fix something that never could be fixed in the first place. Our marriage was already too far broken, so don’t sit there and talk to me about friendship.”

I shoved past her and got into my car, then turned on the engine.

She stood in front of the car, arms crossed, then finally hung her head and stepped out of the way as I spun out.

Chapter Three

ISLA

By the time I made it to my appointment I was fuming! He had no right to blame me for his ex-wife’s behavior. Sure, did we take her on as a client in an effort to find out if he was cheating?

Yes. But that’s what PIs do! It’s our job. Literally.

I grabbed my necklace and gave it a little tug before I cut off the engine to my Lexus GS hybrid.

He was just angry.

And when people were angry they were hardly rational—I should know, I was in the business of angry couples.

After a few weeks he’d cool off, he’d see that we weren’t in the wrong, and everything would be fine.

Totally. Fine.

Feeling immeasurably better, I snatched my white leather purse from the passenger seat and opened my door. The warm LA winds tangled my hair around a bit as I maneuvered my way toward The Ivy.

It was my least favorite restaurant to meet people at, mainly because it was a place most people wanted to be seen.

And I hated the limelight.

After years of being in it by way of my stupid director fiancé, the last thing I wanted was to run into him while he was tongue deep in yet another actress, or worse—actor. Because the lovely thing about him? He was a lover, not a fighter. Didn’t really pick sides, that one. He just loved attention and would take it any way he could get it.

Female.

Male.

Horse.

Plant.

Okay, slight exaggeration, but I still found great humor in imagining him trying to seduce a horse then getting trampled to death.

I plucked off my sunglasses and approached the small brown table. “Yes, I have lunch reservations under Isla Turner.”

She beamed up at me through black spectacles and a toothy smile. “Right this way, Mrs. Turner.”

“Oh, it’s Miss.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “Actually.”

I got Mrs. a lot.

I told myself it was because I looked classy—not old.

Single.

Unattached.

I glared into my water glass. “Could I get some extra lemons, please?”

“Absolutely.” She handed me a menu. “Your waiter will be arriving momentarily.”

“Thank you.” I glanced back to my pristine menu and tapped my fingernails against the table, a bit irritated my new client was late.

A shadowy figure appeared near my right, I glanced up and choked on the sip of water I’d just taken as Jessie Beckett plopped down in the seat opposite me.

“Okay, you’re seriously taking your stalking to the next level.” I gritted my teeth and pasted a fake smile on my face as people started whispering and staring. Great, just great. The last thing I needed was more attention, especially since my client had requested a semi low profile.

Then again, why The Ivy?

I shook my fuddled head just as the waiter approached. “Would you two like some more time?”

“He’s not staying,” I hissed.

Jessie just grinned that cocky grin and looked smugly up at the waiter. “I’d love to see the wine list.”

“Sweet cheese and crackers,” I muttered under my breath. “He doesn’t need the wine list, because he’s not staying.”

The waiter looked between us in confusion.

“Don’t mind her, she’s just hangry.” Jessie nodded. “Wine list, and let’s start with two Caesar salads and some calamari.”

“I’m allergic to calamari,” I lied.

“Extra calamari.” Jessie winked at the waiter.

“Alright . . . then.” The waiter slid a wine list onto the table and walked off.

“Go away!” I leaned in and jerked the wine list from Jessie’s hands. “You’ve already done enough damage, my client should be here any minute!”

“Oh, he’s here.” Jessie blinked innocently. “Sitting across from you, gazing into your venomous eyes, and wondering how your brand of manipulation got my ex to burst into tears with your lies. Don’t people like you recognize each other?”

I took a soothing breath and reminded myself that murder would land me in prison, even if it was justified, the bastard. “You tricked our secretary into booking an appointment with me? Why?”

“I didn’t have to trick her.” He shrugged his muscled shoulders. “I just told her I was a potential client and willing to pay out the ass if I could have an appointment with you.”

I scowled. “You’re paying for lunch.”

“A gentleman always does,” he said, confusing me further.

His light eyes twinkled a bit before he shut down whatever he was thinking. “You’re a menace to society.”

I let out a breath and leaned back against my seat as a headache pulsed between my eyes. “And you’re like a dog with a bone. We don’t do anything illegal and this isn’t going to make you feel better. Shutting down my business may seem like the solution, but think of all the other things you could do with your time!”

“Shutting down your business,” he said calmly, “shows the press that I was caught in a bad situation, it tells the charity that I was wrongfully fired, and hopefully proves I was wronged. At least the media gets to feel sorry for me—I can find a way to get back on top.”