Stephanie Doyle - For the First Time

Now what was he supposed to do? His gut and his brain were at war. This never happened. What was crazier was that his gut and head seemed to be taking opposite sides from what they ought to. His head should have told him that this woman was not employable and his gut should have said to take a chance on her. Instead his head was remembering her résumé, line by line, and his gut was churning with...something.

Ben said this woman was the best. Seriously?

“Uh...sorry to drop by like this unannounced, but I had second thoughts and didn’t want to miss you.”

“I’m glad you stopped by. Who is your sidekick? She looks a little young to be head of the HR department.”

“This is my daughter, Sophie. Sophie this is Josephine Hatcher.”

“JoJo,” she corrected.

Sophie gave him that look of hers. “Why do you have to introduce me as your daughter? Why can’t you just say I’m Sophie?”

“Well, most people like context and the crazy thing is, you are, in fact, my daughter.”

“Whatever, Mark.”

It was her third whatever of the day. He was starting to loathe the word.

He looked at JoJo—what a silly name. “As you can tell, my daughter and I have a very loving and close relationship. It’s why we’re here together today. She can’t stand being apart from me.”

Sophie sat in one of the lobby chairs and said nothing. Mark sat on a couch and gestured to a chair across from it, indicating that JoJo should sit, as well.

He didn’t have a clue what he was supposed to ask, now that, once again, he was firmly against the idea of this woman working for him. She simply wasn’t going to fit in his world. His old one, yes. No question she would have fit. Hell, in his old life he would have been champing at the bit to get to know the woman behind the tattoos.

But in his new world, he couldn’t allow himself to cater to personal whims.

“You don’t quite look like the candidate you presented yourself to be.” Perfect. He could back out under the pretense that she’d misrepresented herself. Covering up her hair length...who did that?

“Sometimes people don’t look past the surface. So I didn’t dress to be obvious.”

“Obvious is one word for it.”

“Mark,” Sophie snapped. “How uncool. Just because she doesn’t look like everyone else that’s somehow wrong?”

Oh, yeah. The joys of fatherhood just kept on coming. “Do you mind, Sophie? I’m conducting an interview.”

“You’re being a total square.”

“Seriously? People still say square?”

“No.” She smirked. “People say douche bag but I thought that was crossing a line.”

“It did,” he snarled.

“Uh, excuse me?” JoJo waved her hand. “My interview, remember?”

“You do understand,” Mark said, “in this line of work blending in matters. Not standing out.” He waved his hand to indicate her whole being as one big standout. “No offense, but you don’t exactly blend.”

“Is that the only thing preventing me from getting this job? You’re concerned about how the way I look would affect my work?”

Not really. But what was he supposed to say? That her unapologetic style bothered him? That he felt uncomfortable merely sitting across from her? That his discomfort wouldn’t be conducive to a solid working relationship? That her eyes were really, really blue?

She would be the only other investigator working for him, and he imagined them spending a lot of time consulting with one another on their cases. Something akin to a partnership. Then there was the idea of having her look into the note. That meant actually trusting this woman.

He couldn’t explain all that. Instead he kept it simple. “I guess it is. I’ve spoken with Ben and he says I would be crazy to let you pass by. In fact, he’s waiting in the wings to scoop you up if I do.”

Another fact that rankled him. If he didn’t hire her and she worked for Ben, he might run into her at Ben’s office. How irritating would it be to find her solving cases for Ben while he was left with someone less talented?

No doubt Ben would lord it over him.

“Okay,” JoJo said, “we’ll make it a challenge. I bet I can leave and, within half an hour, be in your line of sight without you realizing it’s me.”

“That’s totally awesome. Mark, you have to let her do it.”

Mark gave his daughter a wry smile. Maybe he could impress her at last. “JoJo, you do realize I was a CIA black-ops analyst in the field for years.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “And years and years...”

Okay, maybe not.

“Observation is what I do. It’s how I survived. You can’t get past me. Especially not with the tattoos.”

JoJo held out her hand. “It’s a bet then. I do this, I get the job. You win, you get to show off your observation skills to your daughter. The only thing you’re out is a half hour of your time.”

“We were going to go eat—”

“Are you kidding me?” Sophie said. “I’m not leaving. I want to see this.”

JoJo winked at Sophie and his daughter smiled. Great, he thought. She’d known this woman for minutes and they had bonded more than he had with his daughter in months.

He did need another agent. Especially if the threat against Sophie was real. JoJo’s résumé did speak for itself....

Not that he was worried about losing, but he conceded that, if she pulled off the impossible, it wouldn’t be the worst thing from a professional standpoint.

Personal, maybe, but he could get over that. He would get over that.

He looked at his watch and pressed the timer.

“You have thirty minutes. You must be in my line of sight. If I identify you, I win. If I don’t, you’re hired. Go.”

She didn’t run. She didn’t leave through the front door, which was what he would have done. Much better to be someone coming in that way, then coming down the elevator where he could concentrate his attention.

Instead, she sauntered to the elevators in that same efficient, but also aggressive, walk of hers. A walk that said, Get out of my way, I’m coming through. She stepped through the door and Mark leaned back to wait.

Thirty minutes. He wished he had a magazine to help kill the time.

CHAPTER THREE

MARK CHECKED HIS WATCH. Twenty-three minutes had passed. He watched the elevators for activity then swung his attention to the front entrance. A man and woman walked in, but a quick assessment told him the woman was well over fifty. Not that makeup couldn’t do wonders, but JoJo wouldn’t have had enough time to put together a costume like that.

He turned to the elevators and spied a family getting out. A mother, a father and a teenage boy who was dressed from head to toe in black and carried a skateboard over his shoulder.

At least he looked like a boy. Mark kept his attention on the kid, searching for tells. There was a tattoo on his arm, but nothing around his neck. Was that sparkle on his face a nose ring? He heard Sophie gasp—clearly she was wondering the same thing.

Had JoJo, a small woman, turned herself into an average-sized teenage boy?

The front door opened again and a single woman walked in. Tall, blond, pretty, wearing a shockingly red coat over a short skirt and high heels. Mark assessed her quickly, and decided anyone trying to blend in wouldn’t wear such an eye-catching color, nor something so provocative as the short skirt. It would naturally draw the attention of any man in the vicinity. It, in fact, drew his. Her legs were fabulous.

Still, there was something about the way she moved. Mark’s gaze followed her to the desk, where she asked to use a phone. She tucked her hair behind her ear as she held the receiver to her ear. Mark could not see tattoos on her neck.

“Twenty-eight minutes,” Sophie announced.