there was only Ramen. I was really much more in the mood for fajitas—and margaritas. Patron margaritas. The kind that were served in the big glasses the size of a human head with salt on the rim and a sangria floater.
Maybe if I played my cards right, I could get Detective Jensen Nash to buy me dinner. After all, he’d be more likely to spill his guts over drinks, right? Maybe I wouldn’t even tell him I was a lawyer. Maybe I’d just go down there and turn on the charm and lure him out of the office and wham! Before he knew it, I’d know all about Dr. Schaeffer’s murder and I’d have my files back.
This seemed like a pretty good plan, assuming I could get it to work. I have never considered myself beautiful. My bright red hair and pale porcelain skin are a bit out of place among all the tanned blondes down here in south Texas. Because I was hungry and really wanted those fajitas, I prayed Nash was into the red-headed type.
Trying to forget about my financial situation for a moment, I went to the bedroom, flinging off today’s office wear as I went. I changed into a black lace number layered over a solid red cotton tank and very tiny, very fitted jean shorts, then I slipped on some red high heels. I felt pretty naked for what would essentially be a business meeting, but on the up side, I looked absolutely nothing like a lawyer, a breed of people Jensen Nash apparently hated.
I told myself this was totally going to work. Then I shut my eyes really tight while I tried to make myself believe it.
Okay, who was I kidding? I opened my eyes and took a moment to fantasize, not for the first time, about what my life would have been like if I had actually married my ex-fiancé, Dallas trial attorney Dorian Saks—a partner and colleague at my old law firm. He was more tall, more dark, and more handsome than the tallest, darkest, handsomest man you’ve ever seen. He owned a mansion in Highland Park, an area of supremely-concentrated wealth near downtown, and he was a movie star in the courtroom. When he looked at you, everyone else disappeared. I was absolutely certain that every time he stepped before a jury, each juror felt as though there was no one else in the room and that nothing mattered except producing a verdict in Dorian’s favor.
If I had married him, I would have had a cook, a housekeeper, and a personal shopper to replace my broken Louboutins. I would have had a fireplace in the bedroom and a Jacuzzi in the bathroom. I would have had a diamond ring big enough to have its own zip code.
And I would have had an eternally broken heart. That was the fantasy killer.
Dorian was simply incapable of honesty and fidelity. This I discovered after we were engaged. Dorian’s secretary knocked on my office door one day and told me Dorian had taken her out for a steak dinner. He told her he was going to marry me and asked her not to tell me she was sleeping with him.
Dorian’s ego was such that he thought that would fly, but I’m no doormat. He lost both me and his secretary, but I was sure he’d had no trouble finding replacements for both of us.
The toxic torts circle in Dallas is a small one. I couldn’t handle staying there and facing him every day, so I left town. The only job in my practice area that was available anywhere in Texas happened to be here in Kettle.
Living in this crummy rent house buried under stacks of unpaid bills, I wondered for a fleeting moment if maybe I could have lived with the infidelity after all. He had loved me enough to propose. Couldn’t that have been enough?
I thought about it for a moment, but in my heart I knew, even stuck down here in Kettle, Texas with a job that paid jack squat, I wouldn’t trade places with whoever Dorian was with now.
I noticed a chip in my fingernail polish, and that brought me back to the present. I pulled out a bottle of top coat to smooth it over and tried not to let the situation get me down. Sure, I was feeling a little desperate, but I vowed to myself that Jensen Nash would never, ever know. I would be smooth. I would be