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reception area to the outer door. Mental note: Affirmations are powerful.
    He shot Afia a look that promised a lecture before escorting Blondie, who hadn’t so much as glanced her way, out into the hall.
    Afia chanted an oldie but goodie, “I haven’t done anything wrong,” quickly followed by “I will not be intimidated.” Still, her heart raced as she scooped up the folders and hurried into his office. Work quickly, she told herself. Show him you’re efficient. Maybe he’ll be so impressed that he’ll forget that you were forty minutes late and nix the finger-wagging session.
    She stood in the center of his office breathing in the lingering scent of Opium. Blondie’s scent. She crinkled her nose and frowned. Something about that woman bothered her, and she refused to believe that it had anything to do with the fact that she was California, albeit artificially, gorgeous. The epitome of most men’s fantasies. She wondered if Jake typified “most men.”
    Focus, Afia. Focus
.
    She curled her fingers around the folders, rocked back on her rubber heels, and considered her uninspired surroundings.
    Three locking file cabinets lined the west wall. Nothing fancy. Basic steel. Boring beige. Then again, everything about Leeds Investigations, aside from its owner, was basic and boring. The two-room business lacked style and color. The furnishings and sparse accessories were neither masculine nor feminine. Kind of like Rudy’s new roommate, Jean-Pierre. Although Jean-Pierre had flair. She noted the stark beige walls, scarred hardwood floor, the two brown-vinyl chairs opposite the pressed-wood desk that boasted a laptop computer, multi-lined phone, and non-descript table lamp.
    Jake’s office could definitely use some flair.
    No decorating.
    Sighing, she determined the appropriate cabinet, filed all of the folders, alphabetically by last name, and then moved to his desk. What a mess. She sorted through a mountain of bills and receipts, trying to decide whether to separate by month or category.
    “What are you doing?”
    She jerked and spun. Receipts sailed out of her hand and fluttered to the floor.
Oh, no
.
    Jake clenched his jaw, dragged his fingers though his hair. “Leave them,” he said, when she crouched to gather the papers.
    “But—”
    “We’re going out.”
    “Now?”
    “Now.” He swung open the door to a tiny closet and snagged a short-sleeve, button-down shirt off of a wire hanger.
    Of course, he would have wire hangers. Everything in this office was bargain basement issue. Not that there was anything horrid about a bargain. She was learning to appreciate coupons and sales and, thanks to Rudy, the wonders of E-bay. But plastic hangers were inexpensive and didn’t leave indentations in the shoulders of one’s shirts and sweaters. She imagined his closet at home and shivered.
    “You okay.”
    “Yes, of course.
    He slipped the dark-brown shirt over his taupe tee while crossing to his desk. “You look a little flushed.”
    “I’m fine.”
Liar.
She was fantasizing about re-organizing his bedroom close and, worse, his underwear drawer. Fantasizing about him walking around in a pair of Calvin Klein briefs.
    “You like wieners?”
    “What?”
    “Hot dogs.”
    Her cheeks burned. “I guess.”
    “You don’t know?”
    “I haven’t had one in years.”
    “Figures,” he mumbled while bending over to open his bottom desk drawer.
    Afia frowned. Fantasizing about a jerk. Definitely losing it. She watched in wide-eyed horror as he withdrew a holstered gun and strapped it to the right side of his belt. “Is that legal?”
    He buttoned up the bottom half of the boxy shirt effectively concealing the weapon. “Not any more.” He opened his top drawer, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and tucked it in his left breast pocket.
    “Smoking is bad for your health.”
    He tugged on a taupe baseball cap. “So is poking your nose into other people’s business.”
    She snorted. “This from a licensed