Page 296

I sigh.

Violet takes a sip of coffee. “So?”

“So what?”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Find him?”

“I know where he lives now.”

Her coffee stops halfway to her mouth. “You know where he lives?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Beck.”

“Who's Beck?”

“Mapquest.”

She stares at me.

I roll my eyes. “His friend.”

“You know,” she finally says, “every time I talk to you about this man, I understand less.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

She gives me a look. “I'm pretty sure I’m not the problem.”

My phone buzzes beside my laptop.

I look down, but my hope is dashed. It’s not Roman.

I haven’t received anything from him since I left his house.

Worry fills me, but I push it away. Or try to.

I look back at my phone. Still nothing.

Not that I'm waiting. I have a job to do. Clients who count on me.

And a dog with more Instagram engagement than several author accounts we manage.

My phone buzzes again.

I grab it. It’s not him.

Violet snorts.

I glare at her.

Gracie: Your son is attempting to seduce customers for bacon.