was already shaking my head. “You’re crazy.” Elisabeth had only worked for me a short while, but she was as classy as escargot. It had been my main reason for hiring her. I thought she’d add panache to the workplace. “I can tell you categorically that she would
not
—”
“She e-mailed a friend. Graphic details. ’Bout sent my chubby into orbit.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Sent from your office on, um . . .” He rolled his eyes up slightly as he slurped his drink. “Fifth and Everest. Unless the letter was from you and you were using her password.”
I may have cursed, but I wasn’t sure because I was feeling a little light-headed.
“Ahh, there you are,” Solberg said, glancing up as waiters approached, bearing our plates like royal scepters. They deposited our meals, questioned our satisfaction, and departed. From the look of my lobster, their pretentious self-importance was well deserved, but my appetite was atypically lacking.
“Bon appétit,”
Solberg said, flicking his fork toward my meal.
“Who else?” I asked.
He was already digging meat out of its shell and dipping it in butter. “What’s that?”
“Who else was he sleeping with?”
He laughed and stabbed a piece of lobster in my direction with a leer. “I didn’t say they were sleeping.”
“Who else?” My tone may have been less than congenial, but my impotent client had been screwing my classiest employee! And I was hearing the news from a vertically challenged techno geek with displaced pubic hair.
“He had a couple of regulars. Sort of on-and-off-again affairs.”
“You know their names?”
“I think there was a Sheri. No. Sheila?” He shook his head. “Might have been a Kayla.”
God help me.
“Who else?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Anyone with tits. There were two high-school chicks. Apparently their parents weren’t amused.”
“They press charges?” I began to eat methodically. It seemed wrong to let it go to waste.
“I didn’t see nothing about that. Got the idea there may have been a little payola going down.”
Which might account for the reason I hadn’t heard anything about it in the news.
“Who was his doctor?” I asked.
He had returned to his martini and glanced up. “Doctor?”
“Who prescribed the Viagra?”
He grinned with sharklike intensity. “You living under a rock, babekins? You want Viagra I coulda had it for you yesterday.”
Of course. He was right. The little blue pill with the gigantic results. The thought of Bomstad’s staring eyes and open pants made me feel queasy, but not queasy enough to quit eating.
“Was he seeing anyone else I should know about?” I asked.
“
Seeing
anyone?” He leaned across the table toward me. “You are one classy broad, babalita. Always was. Even at the Hog.”
Yep, there’s nothing classier than cutoff overalls and gingham shirts showing bushels of cleavage, but I let it go and slurped down the last of my lobster before starting on my potato. I like to give full attention to one detail at a time.
“Who else?” I asked.
“Well, there was some bad blood between him and some of his jock buddies. Think there might have been some Humpty Dumpty going on with the Bomb and their wives.”
“Really?” I managed to glance up from my potato. “Which ones?”
“Do I look like a guy who follows football, babe?”
He didn’t even look like a guy who’d heard of football, but then he didn’t look like a millionaire, either. Life was damned near hilarious.
“But you could find the information again?” I asked, feeling better for the meal and those tantalizing tidbits of knowledge.
He snorted and motioned for another drink. It appeared in seconds, and he started in on it immediately. He hadn’t gotten far on his meal, but he was a martini’s worst nightmare.
“There was one name I remember though,” he said.
I finished off my potato and sat back. My waistband felt tight, as did my shirt. I wriggled a little, hoping to
not
—”
“She e-mailed a friend. Graphic details. ’Bout sent my chubby into orbit.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Sent from your office on, um . . .” He rolled his eyes up slightly as he slurped his drink. “Fifth and Everest. Unless the letter was from you and you were using her password.”
I may have cursed, but I wasn’t sure because I was feeling a little light-headed.
“Ahh, there you are,” Solberg said, glancing up as waiters approached, bearing our plates like royal scepters. They deposited our meals, questioned our satisfaction, and departed. From the look of my lobster, their pretentious self-importance was well deserved, but my appetite was atypically lacking.
“Bon appétit,”
Solberg said, flicking his fork toward my meal.
“Who else?” I asked.
He was already digging meat out of its shell and dipping it in butter. “What’s that?”
“Who else was he sleeping with?”
He laughed and stabbed a piece of lobster in my direction with a leer. “I didn’t say they were sleeping.”
“Who else?” My tone may have been less than congenial, but my impotent client had been screwing my classiest employee! And I was hearing the news from a vertically challenged techno geek with displaced pubic hair.
“He had a couple of regulars. Sort of on-and-off-again affairs.”
“You know their names?”
“I think there was a Sheri. No. Sheila?” He shook his head. “Might have been a Kayla.”
God help me.
“Who else?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Anyone with tits. There were two high-school chicks. Apparently their parents weren’t amused.”
“They press charges?” I began to eat methodically. It seemed wrong to let it go to waste.
“I didn’t see nothing about that. Got the idea there may have been a little payola going down.”
Which might account for the reason I hadn’t heard anything about it in the news.
“Who was his doctor?” I asked.
He had returned to his martini and glanced up. “Doctor?”
“Who prescribed the Viagra?”
He grinned with sharklike intensity. “You living under a rock, babekins? You want Viagra I coulda had it for you yesterday.”
Of course. He was right. The little blue pill with the gigantic results. The thought of Bomstad’s staring eyes and open pants made me feel queasy, but not queasy enough to quit eating.
“Was he seeing anyone else I should know about?” I asked.
“
Seeing
anyone?” He leaned across the table toward me. “You are one classy broad, babalita. Always was. Even at the Hog.”
Yep, there’s nothing classier than cutoff overalls and gingham shirts showing bushels of cleavage, but I let it go and slurped down the last of my lobster before starting on my potato. I like to give full attention to one detail at a time.
“Who else?” I asked.
“Well, there was some bad blood between him and some of his jock buddies. Think there might have been some Humpty Dumpty going on with the Bomb and their wives.”
“Really?” I managed to glance up from my potato. “Which ones?”
“Do I look like a guy who follows football, babe?”
He didn’t even look like a guy who’d heard of football, but then he didn’t look like a millionaire, either. Life was damned near hilarious.
“But you could find the information again?” I asked, feeling better for the meal and those tantalizing tidbits of knowledge.
He snorted and motioned for another drink. It appeared in seconds, and he started in on it immediately. He hadn’t gotten far on his meal, but he was a martini’s worst nightmare.
“There was one name I remember though,” he said.
I finished off my potato and sat back. My waistband felt tight, as did my shirt. I wriggled a little, hoping to