Obviously, both Fitzgerald and my English teacher were making gross generalizations, but I didn’t feel comfortable in East Cobb. Heck, half the time I didn’t feel comfortable in West Cobb. New money? I usually hadnomoney.
All this to say, it made perfect sense that Blake would select a salon east of the Big Chicken.
The upshot was that I would be near the Trader Joe’s, where I planned to stock up on snacks, cheap international wines, and other assorted goodies. Why West Cobb couldn’t have a Trader Joe’s, I’d never know.
While Salon Blaise didn’t look like much on the outside, due to being in a strip mall, the inside was opulent enough. Pencil-thin stylists, both men and women, were dressed in black and looked like Parisianfashion-house refugees. Only two were male, so that narrowed down the odds of which was Fabiano.
While making an appointment for myself that I had every intention of canceling, I considered how best to approach Fabiano.
If Blake was smart, he tipped well, something that would inspire loyalty on the stylist’s part. Unlikely that I could talk my way into inspecting the appointment software—how I missed the days when appointments were in books. Humans were easy to distract, so books left on counters were easy prey.
Equally unlikely that I had enough cash to bribe Fabiano. My best bet might be to observe. If Trista was right, then it was likely Blake would come in for a haircut this week. While it would be a pain to surveil for a week or more, it could be done.
I smiled my thanks and stepped outside to survey the parking lot for the best places to sit unobtrusively—preferably in the shade, although that appeared unlikely.
I’d need to rent a car. Nothing good would come of sitting in the same car in the same parking lot for a week. It wouldn’t be camping, but there would be other logistical considerations and—
Malone?
My heart leaped at the sight of a tall, handsome man in aviators. But then I clocked the name-brand polo and crisp khaki shorts on the man exiting the Land Rover. My Malone would never.
Nope.
Blake.
Well, well, well.
I’d have to look up the patron saint of private investigators and light a candle tonight because fate had seen fit to bring my quarry to me.
I took the papers from my purse, glad I’d chosen to carry the large bag, since I usually went without a purse. Experience had taught me long ago to be prepared. I forced myself to walk at a good pace but not so fast that Ilookedlike I was in a hurry. Blake put the keys in his pocket as he cast a careful look around the parking lot. His eyes traveled rightover me. No apprehension, not even a flicker of recognition from when we’d briefly met in the apartment breezeway.
Seemed I was invisible to him, too.
I stepped forward, blocking his path.
“Hi, excuse me,” I said in my most I’m-just-a-silly-woman-nothing-to-fear-here voice, “could you help me find the Trader Joe’s? I must’ve missed my turn.”
Oh, you know women drivers,my tone said. As if I didn’t already have a plan for navigating that tricky parking lot because a girl’s gotta have her dark chocolate–covered almonds.
Blake’s whole demeanor relaxed. “Turn right out of the parking lot, and it’ll be on your left.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Could you hold this while I take a look on my phone to see how I got turned around?”
Irritation turned the corners of his mouth down, but he took the papers. No wedding band, but his left ring finger still held the white indentation from when he’d once worn one.
I looked up with my brightest smile. “Oh, and by the way, you’ve been served.”
His eyebrows lifted above his glasses. “What?”
My task accomplished, I started walking away briskly, but he called after me: “Wait. You live in Bel Air Apartments. That’s where I’ve seen you before.”
I may have flinched, but I kept walking.
“How the hell did you find me?”
Nope. Not going to answer that one, either, but I should tell my Malone.
I took out my phone to text him just as Blake grabbed my shoulder and wheeled me around. “Hey! I’m not taking these. You’ve got the wrong guy.”
