ma'am."
"Now I'm sure the three of you have more important things to do than stand around here. Go on and do it."
"Yes, ma'am," he repeated, in a tone that had her hackles rising. Minimize the damage, she reminded herself. "I expect we can both learn something from these sessions."
She couldn't hear what he said when she walked away; the words were low and indistinguishable. But she heard the snickers clearly enough. She let it go. A woman who'd pushed through Quantico, who'd slogged through police training, through negotiation training, sexually outnumbered ten to one, had heard snickers before.
She also knew when eyes were trained on her ass, and while it might infuriate her, Phoebe reminded herself to pick her battles. And that she had a damn fine ass.
When she entered her office, saw the message from the mechanic, she understood she had bigger problems than a smart-mouthed cop and ass ogling.
Her car was going to cost seven hundred and fifty-nine nonnegotiable dollars.
"Ah, hell."
Giving up, Phoebe laid her head down on her desk for a moment of pure self-pity.
She caught the bus home, and the moment she was inside deeply regretted the prospect of going out again. Even the idea of going out again the bus ride, sitting in a bar making small talk, only to ride yet another bus only to get back to square one-seemed overwhelmingly stupid.
She should dig up Duncan's number, cancel. Agreeing to the thirtyminute drink had been a moment of weakness anyway-that damn dimple. Hadn't she thought of a dozen other things she could do with thirty minutes on the ride home?
A bubble bath. Yoga. Give herself a facial. Clean out the junk drawer in her desk.
All were a better use of her time. But a deal was a deal.
Carly sprinted into the foyer to take a flying leap into Phoebe's arms. No outside irritations could stand up against a Carly hug.
"You've been in Gran's perfume." To make Carly giggle she sniffed elaborately at her daughter's neck.
"She let me have a spritz. Dinner's all ready, and I finished my homework." Leaning back, Carly beamed into her mother's face. "You get to be excused from doing the dishes tonight."
"Wow. How come I rate?"
"So you can get ready for your date. Come on!" Wiggling down, Carly took Phoebe's hand to drag her toward the dining room. "Gran thinks you should wear your blue sweater, and Ava thinks the white blouse that ties in the back. But I think you should wear your green dress."
"The green dress isn't really the thing for a quick evening meeting."
"But you look so pretty in it."
"She should save it," Ava commented as Carly dragged Phoebe in. "For when he takes her out to dinner. Sit right down, it's all ready. We wanted to give you plenty of time to primp."
"It's a drink. It's only a drink in an Irish pub."
Ava set her hands on her hips. "Excuse me? Tonight you represent every dateless woman in this city, every woman who's about to sit down to a lonely meal of Weight Watchers pasta primavera she's just nuked in the microwave. Every woman who'll get into bed tonight with a book or reruns of Sex and the City as her only companion. You," she said, pointing her finger at Phoebe, "are our shining hope."
"Oh God."
Essie patted Phoebe's shoulder before she sat down. "But no pressure." She didn't want to be a shining hope. But she got on the bus. She had to refuse Ava's offer of her car three times, and disappoint Carly by choosing a black sweater and jeans over the green dress. But she put on the earrings her daughter picked out, and redid her makeup.
Life, Phoebe knew, was full of compromises.
She got a wolf whistle from Johnnie Porter-all of fifteen and full of sass-as he circled her on his bike.
"You sure look pretty tonight, Miz MacNamara. Got a hot date?"
Now she worried she looked as if she were expecting a hot date. "Why, thank you, Johnnie, but no. I'm off to catch a CAT."
"You going somewhere, you can just hop on here with me." He popped a little show-off wheelie. "I'll give you a ride."
"That's neighborly of you, but I believe I'll stick with the bus. How's your mama?"
"Oh, she's fine. She's got Aunt Susie over." Johnnie rolled his eyes elaborately on his next circle. "Talking about my cousin Juliet's wedding. So I lit out. Sure you don't want to boost on up on my handlebars?"
How a fifteen-year-old boy could turn that