"I’m famous for buying toilet paper now," Josie announces as she slings her purse onto a chair in the corner. "Did you see?"
I glance up from my laptop and grimace. She’s holding the bag from Weckman’s that The Dealer snapped her with earlier. "I saw."
The real question is whether or not she’s thought about what that means. Josie crosses to her dresser and pulls out an oversized t-shirt.
"My boobs are killing me." She strips off her top and bra and pulls the comfy shirt on. "I’m just glad all he caught was the Charmin and not my tampons. Paying Eve’s penance is bad enough without photographic evidence."
I close the lid of my computer and search for the right way to bring this up. "So the picture was taken this afternoon?"
"There’s the proof." She points to the t.p. sticking out of the plastic bag.
"Did you see anyone? Taking your picture, I mean?" I force myself to ask the hard question.
"No." She lies next to me on the bed and stares up at her bedroom ceiling. I scoot down and join her. Dozens of plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars are still stuck overhead. "Remember when we put those up?"
"Your mom was convinced the landlord was going to kick you out," I remember with a laugh. "What were we, ten?"
"Eleven," Josie corrects me with a giggle. "I abided by the no posters on the wall for a whole year."
"And then you went on a rampage, starting with those." I grab her hand and we look up. When we were younger, we’d lie on the floor during sleepovers, and I would stare at those stars and make wishes. Right now I wish I still believed in their magic. "Josie, if that photo is from today, someone followed you."
Her grip on my hand tightens as I point this out.
"I know," she whispers. "How didn’t I notice him?"
"It’s a busy city. Whoever it is knows how to stay unseen." I sigh. It was a long shot that she might remember catching someone with a camera, but we need a break. "Why are you so certain it’s a guy?"
"What do you mean?" Josie flips on her side and I do the same. We stare at each other, each clutching a pillow.
"You always say him or he."
"I guess I just assume this perv is a dude," she says.
The whole game does have a creepy, up-skirt camera vibe. But even narrowing it down to a him, doesn’t get us any closer to discovering The Dealer’s identity.
"You know my pic wasn’t the most interesting one he posted. Did you see the other one?"
I frown. The other shot had been nonsensical at best. A cup o’ joe labeled May. "The cup of coffee? May? Maybe The Dealer is behind on posting since it’s June. "
"No!" Josie sits up and tosses the pillow to the top of the bed. "What was under the cup of coffee."
I roll over and grab my phone from her bedside table. Opening Instagram, I scroll to the photo. "I stared at this thing forever."
"And you didn’t notice the business card?" she asks dryly. Leaning over, she taps the screen and I immediately spot the black card poking out from beneath the mug.
"I was looking for lipstick or a logo on the cup." I leave out that I also studied the woodgrain of the table, hoping I might recognize the coffee shop where the photo was taken. I’d been so focused on minute details the whole time, I’d missed the most important element.
"What does it say?" she asks.
I raise an eyebrow. "You noticed but you didn’t even try to read it?"
"Not all of us spent our afternoon working on our amateur sleuth badge," she teases. "I figured we'd tackle it later."
I pinch the screen and zoom in. It’s hard to make out the card’s gold foil lettering, especially since the cup cuts some of the info off. "It looks like a-c-h-è, but I know there’s more."
"There’s part of a phone number, too."
I sit up on the bed and reach for my laptop. "So we know The Dealer is in Vegas."
"He didn’t take any pics of you in California," she says with a nod, "and he was obviously here today."
"That’s about the only thing I miss about Palm Springs," I mutter as I open Google. Typing in what I can see on the business card, which is nothing more than the letters and a few digits of a phone number, I hold my breath and hit search.
"Anything?" Josies asks as the search results load.
Frowning, I scroll down and stop when I hit the third entry. Cachè. Half the phone number listed matches what I could read on the card. "That can’t be a coincidence."
"What?" She worms her way next to me so that she can see the screen. "I don’t get it."
"I forgot you failed French."
She jabs me in the stomach. "I didn’t take French."
"Cachè means hidden." I give her a second to process this. "Like—"
"The Dealer," she finishes for me. "Holy shit."
"Did I earn my badge?" I ask her.
"With honors."
We both fidget as Cachè’s homepage loads. The website is sleek and modern, carefully presented with very little information. "Let’s see. They’re located in Las Vegas. Big surprise. No clue what they’re selling…or hiding."
"Click on that," Josie says, pointing to the company policy page.
The company policy consists of a single line:
Cachè provides singular companionship with uncompromising discretion.
"Wait," Josie fumbles for words as it hits both of us. "Cachè is a brothel."
"I think they use the term escort agency."
"Is there really a difference?"
We both know there is. You don’t grow up in Nevada without knowing a bit more about issues of vice than most people your age. "Hand me my phone."
Josie sucks in a breath before she relinquishes it. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"You’re right. This is why he posted this photo." I check the number on my computer screen as I begin to dial.
"So maybe it’s a trap," she says nervously.
"I don’t think The Dealer wants to hurt us." I hesitate before I hit the call button. Talking to the agency isn’t dangerous. It’s just about information, so why is my heart lodged in my throat?
"How do you know that?"
"Because whoever it is followed you around long enough today to get a photo of the most embarrassing part of your day." I tilt my head toward the Weckman’s bag.
"Everybody poops, Emma." She jumps on the bed and begins to pace nervously. "What are you going to say?"
"I’m going to wing it," I admit before I press the green circle. It only rings twice before a breathy voice answers.
"Cachè."
"Yes, I’m calling to…" I look at Josie and say the first thing that comes to mind, "Find out about a job."
"You’ve officially lost your mind," Josie informs me the next morning as we stand in the entry and go over today’s plan. "Who is going to notice something like this?"
"Jameson West needs to be taught a lesson." I finish throwing my license in her purse, then pass her mine. I’d borrowed a black, lace romper from her that left little to the imagination. Between the fuck me pumps she’d insisted I wear for today’s undercover operation, and handing off my purse, I feel more than a bit out of my element. "Little details are going to be important. Believe me, this Maddox is ex-military."
"What branch?"
"Why do you care, GI Jane?"
She grabs her bag from me and fishes out her plum lipgloss.
"Don’t wear that!" I grab it back. "I’d never wear that color."
"You’re also not black, Emma," she points out dryly.
"I’m tan and wearing a hat," I shoot back.
She plants her hands on her hips and stares at me. "Hat and tan aside. No one has ever mistaken us for each other."
"As long as you stay far enough from him, he’ll never know." I hand her my keys. "Plus, you get to drive the Mercedes."
Offering her the keys to my shiny, new ride was the only part of my insane plan that had interested her.
"You shouldn’t go alone."
"It’s my only choice unless I want to take Maddox along," I remind her.
"Why do you care if Jameson knows you’re playing detective?" she asks, dropping the key chain into my bag.
"I don’t. This is about teaching him a lesson."
"Isn’t love grand?" she quips, but she doesn’t press me further. Neither of us are the type to appreciate a guy overstepping his boundaries. "Just promise me you’ll be careful."
"I’m not doing anything dangerous." Not really. I’ve only told her about half of my plans for the day. If Maddox catches up with her, the less she knows, the better.
"Look, he’s worried about you, and he has a right to be. I don’t see why having a little hired muscle with you is so wrong." She squares her shoulders before she adds, "But I’m your best friend, so lecture over."
I kiss her cheek. "It’s cute when you worry. I’ll go out the garage. Wait a few minutes and then run out to my car."
With any luck, my newly hired shadow would be too distracted by both of us leaving to realize we’d switched cars.
Climbing into the driver’s seat of the Civic, memories flood me. I’d learned to drive in this car courtesy of Josie and Becca. Dad was usually too drunk to give proper instruction. While I’m still not a fan of being behind the wheel, at least I’m comfortable here. I know what every button does. The stereo has a radio and a tape deck. I’ve never once needed to check a 300 page instruction manual to figure out how to open the fuel tank.
I don’t bother to look at Maddox’s car as I pull out, but when I finally give in and peek in the rearview mirror, I see he’s starting to pull away from the curb. Dammit, he must assume we’re together. He’s a few car lengths behind me when he comes to a stop. Josie’s in the Mercedes, heading the opposite direction at breakneck speed.
"I hope I have full insurance on that," I say to myself. But her dramatic exit works. Maddox backs his car into a driveway and peels out to catch up with her. I blow a kiss.
It might be nice to think the hard part of the day is behind me, but I left a few errands off the list I shared with Josie when I convinced her to help me with my shenanigans.
Pulling over a few blocks away, I glance around to make certain that Maddox didn’t wise up. When I know I’m alone, I dig Dominic Chamber’s card from my wallet and input his address in my phone’s GPS app. He’s only fifteen minutes away, which gives me plenty of time to pay him a visit and still make my interview at Cachè.
With a full day of being in the wrong place at the right time ahead of me, I can’t help hoping that I’ll catch the attention of The Dealer. I failed to mention to Josie that today I’ll be playing the role of live bait. If this amateur creep is interested in photos of Josie with toilet paper, I can only imagine how eager he’ll be to catch me walking into an escort agency. This time, though, I’ll be the one waiting to snap a picture of him.
Reaching into Josie’s purse, I rifle through a handful of receipts from Weckman’s until I find a few lipsticks stashed at the bottom. Pulling the caps off each, I search for the perfect color. The last one labeled Troublemaker is exactly what I’m searching for. Swiping the bright red over my lips, I smack them together in the mirror. The Dealer has no idea who he’s messed with.
"Say cheese, asshole."