Receptionist Under Cover. C.J. Carmichael

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СКАЧАТЬ looked as if he was going to argue some more. Then he changed his mind and nodded. “Printed invitations and chocolate wedding cake.”

      Lindsay reached for her shoes. “All right, then. I guess we better go talk to this friend of yours.”

      Nadine realized her opportunity was about to be lost—again. “Um, before you go, I wanted to discuss something.”

      “What’s up?” Lindsay asked as she slipped into her heels. She was a practical woman with a weakness for impractical shoes. One of several quirks to her character that kept her interesting.

      Nadine showed Lindsay her latest certificate. “I want to start working on my own cases. I think I’m ready.”

      The two partners exchanged a quick look, and Nadine, recognizing their skepticism, knew she had to speak fast. “I know you did me a favor, hiring me as a receptionist when I’d never held a job before.”

      She’d had only her liberal arts education, and a lot of experience planning dinner parties and charity galas for her wealthy parents. Her father had always planned for her to work for the Waverly Foundation after graduation, but at the last moment Nadine had rebelled.

      She had a dream. Her parents thought it was silly, reckless and potentially dangerous.

      But Nadine still wanted to be a private detective.

      “Despite my lack of experience, I think I’ve done a good job.”

      “More like an excellent job,” Lindsay said. “But there’s a world of difference between working in an office and handling a case from start to finish.”

      “You already do a lot of our research and record keeping,” Nathan added. “Plus you handle the calls from clients and keep track of us when we’re out in the field. We really couldn’t operate without you.”

      Nadine heard what they were saying, but she wouldn’t be mollified. Not this time. “This is because I don’t have police training, isn’t it?”

      Lindsay, Nathan and their third partner, Kate Cooper, had originally all worked at the Twentieth Precinct of the New York Police Department. “I’ve asked around. There are plenty of excellent P.I.’s in this city who didn’t start out with the force.”

      “That’s true.” Lindsay ran her fingers through her delicately colored, blond hair. The blunt style ended at her jawline, emphasizing her determined chin. “I’m just not sure you’re ready.”

      “But we’re drowning in work,” Nadine pointed out. “And Kate will be taking maternity leave soon.” She and her commercial pilot husband, Jay Savage, were expecting their first baby in four weeks.

      “We’ve been gradually increasing your investigative responsibilities,” Nathan said.

      “Yes. And I’m glad for everything you’ve thrown my way.” She knew how to do background checks now, and she was often asked to do research for the others. “But I’m always in the office. Always behind my desk.”

      “But who would deal with the calls and the clients if you weren’t there?” Lindsay asked.

      Nadine swallowed. She wasn’t quite brave enough to suggest that one of them could man the lines if she was out.

      Nathan glanced at his watch. “We’ve got to get going. Let’s talk about this later when we have more time, okay?”

      Same old story. Nadine sighed as they left. She had no illusions about what would happen later. More lip service to the notion of allowing her more responsibility. Then, in a couple of weeks, they would hire someone new, someone to cover for Kate, and Nadine’d be back to the same administrative jobs she always handled.

      Nadine sank into her chair, frustrated. She loved working at Fox & Fisher. Lindsay, Nathan and Kate were friends, not just coworkers.

      She didn’t want to leave.

      But at the same time, she had a dream, and she was ready. She might not be a rabble-rouser like Lindsay, or steely minded like Kate, but she had talents, too.

      Nadine went to the coffee station to rinse out the pot and start a fresh brew. Making coffee, answering phones, checking stuff on the Internet and writing up reports—yeah, she was great at that stuff. She wanted more, though. And she knew she could do it.

      But no one here was going to believe it because they all thought of her as a receptionist. Worse than that, their opinions were colored by her background—her rich family and privileged upbringing.

      She knew they all wondered why she bothered to work at a “real” job. But Nadine had never been comfortable with her family’s wealthy status. Far from giving her added confidence, the money had only made her less secure. She wanted to be valued as an individual, not as an heiress. That was why she used her mother’s maiden surname at work, and why she rarely spoke about her Waverly family connections.

      She was determined to prove—to others and to herself—that she could handle the job. But how could she do that if they never let her try?

      Nadine studied the calendar on her computer, where she kept track of everyone’s schedules. Knowing Nathan and Lindsay, it would take a while to find something they could agree on. Meanwhile, Kate had gone with Jay for her eight-month doctor checkup.

      She would be alone in the office for a couple of hours.

      Supposing, just supposing, a client should walk in the door during that time?

      They didn’t get drop-in business very often, but it did happen. Usually, if the others were out, Nadine would book an appointment and ask the potential client to come back later.

      But what if, this time, she didn’t?

      Nadine put a hand to her chest. Her fingertips tingled with a rush of adrenaline, and her heart raced.

      Dared she do it?

      She had to. There was no other way. The next client who walked in the door was going to be hers.

      PATRICK O’NEIL COULDN’T BE bothered with umbrellas. He just pulled his coat tighter against the cool November rain. Not to protect himself—he didn’t mind the damp and he wasn’t cold. Compared to Alaska, where he’d researched and written his last book, this weather was balmy. No, it wasn’t his body he was trying to protect, but the letters.

      He’d been watching the addresses of the brownstones as he walked along, and now he stopped. The sign was discreet, but it seemed he had arrived.

      Feeling oddly self-conscious, he glanced left, then right. No one even noticed him. Most of the passersby were huddled under umbrellas. And, anyway, New Yorkers always minded their own business.

      He climbed six steps to a door that led to a small vestibule. The Fox & Fisher Detective Agency wasn’t the only business housed in this building. He checked the signs, then climbed more stairs, up to the next story.

      A semitranslucent door had The Fox & Fisher Detective Agency lettered over the glass. He checked the hours, confirmed that it was open. Well, of course it was. What business wouldn’t be at three in the afternoon on a Tuesday?

      He СКАЧАТЬ