“I know. He’s over in the winery.”
“Then why are you here? Don’t you have work to do?”
“Yes, unlike some people.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that sooner or later, Nolan’s going to get sick of you sponging off him.”
“Sponging? I do have a job.”
“Not a real one. You just sit in front of that screen all day while your ‘friend’ goes jogging. It’s harvest time—if you wanted to do something constructive, you’d be out there picking grapes.”
As opposed to overseeing technological strategy at a multibillion-dollar corporation, providing cyber support to the Choir, and assisting the FBI with the occasional investigation? Oh, and baiting scammers, which was more of a hobby but worthwhile nonetheless.
“I might break a nail.”
“It’s a shame you don’t bite that tongue of yours.”
“I was sitting in here minding my own business. You’re the one who came in and started talking.”
“You really are a despicable brat.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be curating towels or whatever?”
Juno growled again as Marielle turned on her heel and disappeared up the stairs, presumably to carry on not fixing the bathroom she’d left in a mess.
“Yeah, I agree,” I said to the dog. “You want another cookie? We’ll get rid of her, don’t worry.”
I didn’t need another lecture on legitimate targets from Barbie, but at the same time, it was obvious Marielle was dragging the project out, and at this rate, it would never be finished. Nolan deserved a shower that worked. The problem? So far, I hadn’t managed to dig up any dirt other than her obvious personality flaws. Surprisingly, the woman kept a low profile on the internet, almost as if she’d scrubbed it clean. Which she might well have done after the breakup with her fiancé. In truth, I could understand that part—the need to run and hide after a rejection. But I wasn’t a narcissist. Whenever I had to make an important decision, I thought, What would Mom do? and then made sure I did the opposite. Plus I’d asked one of the guys I occasionally worked with at the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit for his opinion on my personality traits, and he’d laughed and said I just had a few sociopathic tendencies, is all.
And was that really so bad? Demelza—Priest’s boss—saw it as an advantage. I knew she did because I’d snooped through their emails when I was bored.
Anyhow, I needed to lose Marielle. Nolan thought she was good at her job, but she was barely mediocre, much like my mother had been. Mom got away with it because she was good at laying on the superficial charm. A trait Marielle shared, and she also had no real competition out here, so doing things half-assed worked out okay for her.
How had she scored a job at a big New York design company? That was the real mystery.
I scrolled through my contacts and dialled André. His name was actually Andrew, but he said that didn’t fit the vibe, so he’d tweaked it when he began studying in the Architecture and Interior Design program at the University of Coastal California.
“I need a favour.”
“Alexa, darling! How are things going?”
“I’m having a problem with an interior designer.”
“Another one?”
“Yes, but I’m not related to the headache this time, so that’s something, I guess.”
“Do I know them?”
“Probably not. Her name is Marielle Marten, and she used to work at Ivory and Ink in New York. Do you have friends there?”
“I have friends everywhere. Not specifically at Ivory and Ink, but it’s a big agency, and somebody will know somebody. What do you need?”
“Dirt. She’s the type of woman to have skeletons lurking in her closet, but they’re not online. Could you ask around?”
“My dear, if there’s even a speck of dust, we’ll find it. When are you coming for dinner? Soren keeps asking.”
