Charity Case - The Complete Series - Piper Rayne Page 0,274

into one of the dishes we’re taste testing for the gala.

“I hired a private investigator,” I blurt out and each of their forks clink against their dishes when they drop them.

“Why?” Victoria’s eyes are big as saucers.

“Because I think he’s cheating.”

“Are you guys exclusive?” Chelsea asks an innocent yet important question.

“He said I was the only woman but in the past week he’s taken a number of phone calls away from me.’

“He’s a lawyer,” Victoria interjects.

“He left me after getting a phone call one night this past weekend.”

Vic looks a little less sure of herself now.

“With what reason?” Chelsea asks, before taking a sip of her water.

“Work.”

“There is the attorney-client privilege,” Victoria reminds me.

“He came home at two in the morning.”

She clamps her mouth shut.

“Then when I smelled his shirt the next morning there was a faint smell of perfume. Not mine.”

They both clasp their hands in their laps. Speechless like I expected. It’s all the telltale signs. Read any Cosmo it would tell you the same. All I need now is to prove it.

“Why don’t you just ask him?” Victoria asks.

“Because I want to have my evidence so he can’t sweet talk me. I want to catch him in the act actually. I told the PI that if she sees him in a compromising situation she’s to call me and I’ll meet her wherever she is.”

“What are we, on the set of Cheaters?” Chelsea says. “Can I go with you, because I really want to be like that guy with the microphone asking all the questions.” She positions her fist in front of her mouth. “Tell me, Roarke, why would you ruin a relationship with the lovely and gorgeous Hannah Crowley? Have you been diagnosed with insanity?” She giggles but Victoria shoots her a look like ‘not right now.’ Chelsea’s hand drops along with her head. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

“Don’t be,” I chuckle. “You made me laugh for the first time this week.”

“Any news from her yet?” Victoria asks.

“She said I’ll only hear from her if I can meet her. Otherwise she’ll follow him for a week and report back.” I push the plate of four different types of potatoes away from me.

Victoria’s hand stretches out and covers mine. Chelsea follows suit and we sit in the circular booth like we’re having a prayer circle. “We’ll pick you up if you fall, Han.”

I smile at the two women who I know will do just that. Gwen, too, though I purposely kept her out of the loop when we spoke yesterday. She’s crazy busy with work and I don’t want to burden her.

“I’ve already prepared myself.”

Just as I say that my phone rings from inside my purse. The girls take their hands back to their own laps, their eyes on me.

I nod seeing the PI number and I fight against the bile rising up my throat.

“Hello?”

“Come to 900 Michigan. I’m outside Bloomingdale’s,” the sweet voice from a woman that no one would think is the PI says and then hangs up.

“It’s now or never.”

“Can we come?” Chelsea asks.

“Sure,” I say, figuring a little back-up wouldn’t be a bad thing.

Chelsea and Victoria slide out, Victoria rushing off to the kitchen to tell Jett we have to leave. When she emerges, she surprises me. “I told him whatever. That he’s a great chef and we’re cool with whatever he thinks is best.”

Chelsea laughs and Victoria shrugs. “We don’t have time for another taste test and his shit is awesome. I don’t think we have to worry.”

“True,” I say.

The dark tint of the restaurant is a stark contrast to the sunny day of Chicago. My eyes take a moment to adjust, but Chelsea’s already flagging down a taxi.

A yellow cab stops at the curb and she climbs into the front, Victoria and I in the back.

“You don’t mind, do you? “Chelsea asks the driver. “The thought of sliding across that seat pregnant...”

The taxi driver shrugs and follows her directions to 900 Michigan, the premier shopping area in Chicago.

After what seems like forever between waiting for pedestrians and traffic the taxi stops at the edge of the tall building with a 900 on it.

I stare up and take a deep breath.

“Can I kick him in the nuts?” Chelsea asks as we ride the escalator up to the Bloomingdale’s entrance.

The redhead I hired is sitting in one of the massage chairs. “Hey, Hannah,” she greets us. “My partner is still tailing them and they’re in the women’s section of business attire. There’s a child with them.