Gilt_ By Invitation Only - Geneva Lee Page 0,42

few times. "Poof. It's so easy to make evidence disappear.”

Evidence; the word lands heavy on my chest. I do my best to smile, wishing him well. As soon as he's out the door, I notice he’s left his card. I throw it in the drawer. You never know when you might need a private dick.

Checking my phone, I find half a dozen missed texts from

Josie: Have you seen this?

Josie: I'm freaking out right now.

Josie: You're totally hooking up with the world's sexiest killer.

I groan as I click on the link she sent me. Sure enough Jameson has been dubbed the The World's Most Eligible Murderer. I guess it's time for him to have this fifteen minutes in this, outside the shadow of his father. The story mentions little about Nathaniel or the case the police are bringing against Jameson. Instead, it's a laundry list of complaints from Jameson's former college roommate. Most of it sounds like sour grapes, but I keep reading anyway until I reach the point where the roommate complains about the parade of women constantly showing up in their apartment.

Even though it's little more than musty laundry, I can only imagine how it feels for Jameson to read about himself in a national paper.

Emma: When did this story come out?

Josie: I saw it a few hours ago. It's trending on Facebook.

I scroll to the story's bi-line and check the publication information. The story was uploaded to the website this morning. Jameson had come to visit me after his former roommate, and I suspect former friend, served up a steamy dish of Jameson’s secret sauce.

"You are so stupid," I mutter to myself.

"What's that?” Jerry calls from across the room.

I wave him off, "Nothing."

I choose to continue my chastisement in my head. Jameson had come here earlier to get away from the attention, but also because he seemed desperate to prove to me that he wasn't who they said he was. Maybe part of that desperation stemmed from having all his bad habits and mistakes on the front pages of papers at newsstands all over the country. It also explains the accusations he'd leveled at me, but it doesn't absolve him of what he'd said.

Josie: Need a ride?

I glance at the clock; two more hours. I shoot back a message telling her to pick me up at 6:30 when the night manager will be in. Hitting the back button, my phone takes me to my contacts list. Jameson's name sits two slots above Josie's. I select it and hit the compose button. I can't seem to find the right words to let him know that I'm sorry and not sorry at the same time. Who knew being involved with a murder investigation made flirtation so difficult?

By 6:30, I still haven't come up with the right message. Waving goodbye to Jerry and the night manager, I flee the shop digging my phone out of my purse. I catch the faint purr of an engine idling nearby, but it's not Josie's beat up Honda Civic waiting for me. I don't even have to look up to know that. There's no screeching metal or flapping belts. Nope, this car sounds like it runs on sex.

I straighten up to face him. Jameson's lounging against the side of his car, against the side of this black BMW. He's not smiling, or frowning—or holding a weapon—so it's hard to get a read on his mood. "Waiting for someone?” I call.

"Waiting for you," he admits. His tone is still icy, but I shrug it off reminding myself that he's had a much worst day than me. "Need a ride?”

At the same moment, Josie pulls into Pawnography's parking lot. She slows to a stop when she sees the two of us staring each other down across the pavement. Despite what's happened to him, he doesn't deserve for me to get in his car. He doesn’t need another free pass in life, but I can't look away. His gaze has locked onto my own, and the storm raging in those eyes when he left earlier has calmed. There's still so much I don't know and don't understand. He owes me answers. I turned toward Josie and gesture for her to leave. She doesn't need any more instruction thanks to best friend ESP, or maybe she defaulted to one of the unspoken rules of sisterhood and made herself scarce. She blows me a kiss before she circles around and heads back out. Shouldering my bag, I walk directly at