dislodge my under-wire from between my ribs, but Solberg was already staring at my chest, so I settled back and let it dig its way into my lungs “Who’s that?” I asked.
He grinned, then shifted his gaze to my face before dropping it back to my boobs. “What’ll you give me if I tell you?”
A reprieve from the kick in the groin you deserve,
I thought. But I needed info and I needed it badly, so I propped my elbows on the table and gave him a sultry glance. Or maybe it was a post-consumption glare. My seduction skills had never been stellar and had pretty much rusted into nonexistence during my post-secondary education, but I thought I remembered something about men and breasts, so I squeezed my arms against them and felt my bosom swell forward. I should have been ashamed, but the ploy was so horrifically successful I couldn’t quite manage it. In fact, I might have experienced a shameful little puff of pride when his eyes started to bug out of their sockets.
“Tell me her name and . . .” I fluttered my lashes like a llama with a retinal problem, but it was wasted effort. His eyeballs were still glued south of my chin. “I’ll accompany you to your house,” I crooned.
“Stephanie Meyers!”
It took me a moment to realize what he was saying, but when the truth struck home, my elbows bumped from the table and my own jaw dropped. “Stephanie Meyers!” She had been a rising starlet of sorts. But she’d OD’d on amphetamines some six months before. Not a huge shock to a community as self-involved as the actors’ guild, but it had still made the news. “The actress?” I asked, but Solberg was already motioning rather wildly for the bill.
“Wait a minute,” I said and, glancing around for a way to stall, snatched up my glass. It was still half full, but the ice had melted. Can’t have that. “I need a fresh one.”
He was already rising to his feet, albeit a bit wobbly. “Got a full bar at home.”
“You won’t regret it,” I crooned.
He shot two half bent fingers into the air and the waiter disappeared, buying me a few more seconds of relative peace.
“You’re sure?” I asked, my mind spinning. “About Meyers?”
He grinned sloppily. “The Geekster’s always sure, babeta.”
“How long were they seeing each other before she died?”
He broadened his grin, but only one corner of his mouth lifted. I was running out of coherency time. “That’d take more . . .” He eyed my chest and leaned closer. “Investigation,” he said. “But I’m game if you are.”
Our drinks arrived. I reached for mine and held it between us like a shield. But Solberg had already turned his attention to his. World class.
“What do you know about her death?” I asked, sipping sparingly.
“Offed herself, I think.”
“Do you know why?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t the one doin’ her. Course maybe that’s reason enough,” he said, then fired his fingers at his head and brayed like an ass.
“Yeah,” I agreed, “probably.”
“Time to go,” he muttered and, finishing off his drink, struggled to his feet. Judging by the way he swayed, I believed he was right. If I didn’t want to have to toss him over my shoulder and cart him out like a bag of turnips, we’d best hit the road. I led the way, but when I glanced back I saw he was having some sort of confrontation with the furniture. It refused to move, and he seemed unable to compensate. Tricky thing, those tables. I returned to his side, grasped his arm, and steered. The stairs were almost his undoing, but after a few close calls we managed to reach the sidewalk. The valet looked a little dubious as he trotted off, but he was back shortly and handing over the keys. I snatched them up first.
“Hey!” There is no one who can sound as offended as a sloppy drunk. “What you doing?”
“Driving,” I said and got behind the wheel.
“This is my car.”
I showed a little leg and leaned forward. From his vantage point, he’d have a bird’s
He grinned, then shifted his gaze to my face before dropping it back to my boobs. “What’ll you give me if I tell you?”
A reprieve from the kick in the groin you deserve,
I thought. But I needed info and I needed it badly, so I propped my elbows on the table and gave him a sultry glance. Or maybe it was a post-consumption glare. My seduction skills had never been stellar and had pretty much rusted into nonexistence during my post-secondary education, but I thought I remembered something about men and breasts, so I squeezed my arms against them and felt my bosom swell forward. I should have been ashamed, but the ploy was so horrifically successful I couldn’t quite manage it. In fact, I might have experienced a shameful little puff of pride when his eyes started to bug out of their sockets.
“Tell me her name and . . .” I fluttered my lashes like a llama with a retinal problem, but it was wasted effort. His eyeballs were still glued south of my chin. “I’ll accompany you to your house,” I crooned.
“Stephanie Meyers!”
It took me a moment to realize what he was saying, but when the truth struck home, my elbows bumped from the table and my own jaw dropped. “Stephanie Meyers!” She had been a rising starlet of sorts. But she’d OD’d on amphetamines some six months before. Not a huge shock to a community as self-involved as the actors’ guild, but it had still made the news. “The actress?” I asked, but Solberg was already motioning rather wildly for the bill.
“Wait a minute,” I said and, glancing around for a way to stall, snatched up my glass. It was still half full, but the ice had melted. Can’t have that. “I need a fresh one.”
He was already rising to his feet, albeit a bit wobbly. “Got a full bar at home.”
“You won’t regret it,” I crooned.
He shot two half bent fingers into the air and the waiter disappeared, buying me a few more seconds of relative peace.
“You’re sure?” I asked, my mind spinning. “About Meyers?”
He grinned sloppily. “The Geekster’s always sure, babeta.”
“How long were they seeing each other before she died?”
He broadened his grin, but only one corner of his mouth lifted. I was running out of coherency time. “That’d take more . . .” He eyed my chest and leaned closer. “Investigation,” he said. “But I’m game if you are.”
Our drinks arrived. I reached for mine and held it between us like a shield. But Solberg had already turned his attention to his. World class.
“What do you know about her death?” I asked, sipping sparingly.
“Offed herself, I think.”
“Do you know why?”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t the one doin’ her. Course maybe that’s reason enough,” he said, then fired his fingers at his head and brayed like an ass.
“Yeah,” I agreed, “probably.”
“Time to go,” he muttered and, finishing off his drink, struggled to his feet. Judging by the way he swayed, I believed he was right. If I didn’t want to have to toss him over my shoulder and cart him out like a bag of turnips, we’d best hit the road. I led the way, but when I glanced back I saw he was having some sort of confrontation with the furniture. It refused to move, and he seemed unable to compensate. Tricky thing, those tables. I returned to his side, grasped his arm, and steered. The stairs were almost his undoing, but after a few close calls we managed to reach the sidewalk. The valet looked a little dubious as he trotted off, but he was back shortly and handing over the keys. I snatched them up first.
“Hey!” There is no one who can sound as offended as a sloppy drunk. “What you doing?”
“Driving,” I said and got behind the wheel.
“This is my car.”
I showed a little leg and leaned forward. From his vantage point, he’d have a bird’s
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