Page 7 of Archer

I straightened. “You’re in the right place. I work for Carolina Security.”

She swung her attention to me, thin brows pinched above her big sunglasses. A few blond hairs escaped her hat near her ears, and she shoved them back immediately. “How long have you been doing this?”

“This?” I shrugged. “A couple of months.”

Her pink lips turned down in a deep frown. “What did you do before this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, did you sell cars, or did you do something like this somewhere else?”

My cheek twitched, fighting a smile. She was funny. Unintentionally, but funny all the same. “Are you asking my qualifications?”

“You don’t have website,” she said, avoiding the question. “There’s no way to check references.”

I leaned forward, feeling badgered for no good reason. “Why do you need a website? You’re already here.”

“I’m here,” she snapped, “because you don’t have a website.”

I imagined pinching the bridge of my nose or pointing to the door behind her. This was the reason I shouldn’t have shifts at the counter. This was a Knox or Colton duty. They were the personalities in this trio.

I worked on my expression again, shooting for something blank and unperturbed. “What kind of service are you looking for?”

Did she really need my resume to have some cameras installed? Or to ask me to stand around looking tough at a party?

“I need to speak with someone about home security. Maybe an alarm system.” She took another step towards the counter, voice low, still keeping her distance. “Possibly personal protection.”

My brows rose. “For a party?”

She shook her head.

“Do you mean bodyguard services?”

Her chin lifted by a fraction. She glanced toward the window, scanning the parking lot as if someone might be watching. “I thought I could schedule a consultation, and we could figure things out from there. I would’ve done this all online.”

“But we don’t have a website. Got it.” I opened the leather binder on the countertop and thumbed to the current month. “When would you like to set up a consultation?”

“Soon.” She rose onto her toes, craning her neck for a look at my schedule. “As soon as possible, actually.”

“All right. I just need some information to get that on the books. Name and address to start.”

She hesitated, and the pause stretched long enough that I looked up to see if she was still there. Her expression told me whatever she said next would be a lie.

“Sarah Miller,” she said finally. “I’m renting a place on Shore Drive.”

Sarah Miller. Generic. Forgettable. Definitely fake.

I nearly asked if she’d meant Jane Doe.

“Address?”

Another hesitation. “I’ll give it to you when you come for the consult.”

My eyes narrowed. “How am I supposed to come for a consult without an address?”

“I’ll text it to you before you leave.” She scanned the counter. “Do you have business cards?”

I looked at her more closely. Most of her face was covered by those damn sunglasses, and the knit cap nearly reached her brows. She had fair skin and freckles. Otherwise, I had no idea what she looked like under that weird getup. It was cold today, but a simple coat would’ve sufficed.