I shrugged and kicked my feet up on the desk. When I had first landed the job at Daniel O’Malley’s private investigating firm, I had been excited. Following cheating husbands with big sunglasses and a fancy camera had been thrilling.
But after three years, it was getting old. I could practically recite the result of every case brought to us by some weeping wife.
Her bigwig husband had a mistress, who was probably under twenty-five and had massive tits. He thought he was so clever by using a burner phone and telling his wife he had to work late. We usually only had to trail the husband for a few days before we could get back to the wife with photos, emails, texts, and other pieces of evidence that her divorce attorney would know how to use.
Occasionally, there was something a little more riveting. Sometimes a missing child, a guy who owed money and was trying to disappear, or even a murder that the police couldn’t crack. But for the most part, it was asshole husbands.
Veronica swung her thick dark hair over one shoulder and gave me a wry smile. “Think Dan got another one in today. It’ll go to you though. I’m not done working on this one.”
I raised my eyebrows. Veronica usually sped through her cases. While I preferred to trail the guys and gather evidence off of phones or hard drives, Veronica did it the old-fashioned way. She’d put on an itty-bitty black dress and waltz right up to the scumbag at the bar. A few hours later, she would be in his hotel room, plenty of photos taken for the poor wife, and lecturing the guy on being an idiot.
“You’re kidding,” I said. “This guy said no to you?”
“He’s a careful one,” Veronica said. “Doesn’t drink either, which is always a challenge.”
“You’ll get him,” I said.
“I always do,” Veronica said with a wicked gleam in her eye.
Veronica and I were the only two employees who worked for Dan. She had been at the firm for almost a decade and had pretty much taught me everything I knew.
I had been green when I arrived in La Playa with twenty bucks in my wallet and a thirst for adventure. I had wanted to try being a stunt double in Hollywood or a personal assistant for a millionaire. Anything that would offer adventure really.
I grew up in a small town in Northern California. My parents were nice, but ordinary. By the time I graduated from the local college, I was desperate for something new and exciting. So I headed south and never looked back.
Working as a PI was exciting. It was. I loved the life I had created for myself in La Playa. But lately, I had been chomping at the bit for something else. A bigger case. A new challenge.
“You ok?” Veronica asked.
She was observant, that’s part of what made her a great PI. She had noticed my sense of ennui.
“Sure,” I said with a small shrug. “Just bored.”
“If you’re always looking for the next thrill,” Veronica said. “You’ll miss all the good things you’ve got.”
“Thanks, Yoda.”
Beneath her femme fatale exterior, Veronica was wise and sympathetic. She was the uncontested best at breaking the tough news to the wives of the cheaters. I was always too abrupt. I would just shove the photos in their face, telling them the man they had been married to for years sucked and they needed to move on fast.
Veronica was more understanding. She held a lot of hands, wiped away a lot of tears, and gave amazing pep talks about how this wasn’t the end, it was a new beginning. I knew that if I ever got gutted by a cheating husband, I would run to Veronica first.
Not like that would ever happen though. After the bullshit I had seen in the last few years, long-term relationships looked about as appealing as a dumpster fire to me. Besides, every guy I dated ended up boring me. I always got tired of the same old routines.
The door swung open and Daniel O’Malley strutted into the office. He was over six feet tall, his suits were always wrinkled, and his hair was always messy, but he had managed to build a successful private investigating business over the course of two decades. He said it was because he had always hired smart and capable girls like me and Veronica.
I swung my feet off my desk and straightened my oversized jean jacket.
“Fenelli,” he barked at Veronica. “Still working the Greenberg guy?”
“Yup,” Veronica said.
“Brennan?” he asked, turning to me.
Daniel always used our last names. I think it made him feel like he was in an old-school Hollywood detective movie.
“Finished with the latest today,” I said. “Just need to type up the report.”
“Great,” Daniel said, tossing a file onto my desk. “I’ve got a new one.”
