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thought to tell her to keep the news to herself. I guess because I never figured Robinson would stoop to spying on me. I’m going to be super-pissed if he slyly interrogated her about me while she innocently served him Earl Grey in her pretty pink teacups. That’s practically elder abuse.
    My fingers hammer out a new message. Stop spying on me.
    I’m not spying. Just worried. Can I help?
    I laugh out loud in my car. Robinson? Worried about me? Yeah, right. More like worried I’m going to tell James to stop sending him business. And help me? The guy never steps out of his front door not in a suit or dressed to kill. If a mouse had landed on his head, he’d run screaming into the next county. At least I stopped at my car.
    It puffs my ego up a bit to think about it, actually. I’m tougher than he is. I’m tougher than most people when I put my mind to it. I survived a dead rat and a mouse attack, and that’s not nothing.
    Not sure you could handle it, I say back, smiling at the image I have playing in my head. Maybe I should let him come over here, make him get his hands dirty. That’ll teach him to screw me over. Maybe I could even orchestrate a situation where he’d be standing under that hole in the ceiling when a whole pack of mice fell out. I giggle when I picture a tiny mouse running up his pant leg and biting him where the sun don’t shine.
    Yes, I’m feeling positively evil right now, and I don’t care. Evil feels good. It matches the blackness that’s swallowing my heart.
    Pretty sure I could. He says. Give me the address.
    I shrug. Fine. He wants to get dirty and covered in mouse poop, who am I to stop him? I will gladly watch him destroy his manicure. After typing out the address, I wait for his reply. This is going to be a beautiful disaster I can’t wait to witness.
    See you in an hour.
    I drop my phone into my purse and turn my ignition halfway so I can listen to some tunes. In sixty minutes, I’m going to be serving up a nice big platter of hot, steaming revenge. My day is finally turning around. Oooohhh yeah, baby. It’s all coasting downhill from here.

Chapter Seven

    SOMEONE TAPPING ON MY WINDOW wakes me from a catnap I fell into waiting for Robinson to arrive. All I can see is a red and blue flannel shirt, a puffy goosedown vest, and jeans. Did a subcontractor see me sitting here and stop to offer help? That would be eerily convenient. Maybe the universe has seen fit to give me a helping hand instead of a smackdown for a change.
    I sit up, glancing in my rearview mirror as I move to open my window. There’s a black BMW there, the same car that Robinson drives. There’s no truck in sight.
    When the man bends down and his face shows up in the window, my heart lurches. I can’t quite justify my earlier thoughts with what I’m seeing now.
    Erp . Does. Not. Compute.
    It’s a sub-contractor body with Robinson’s stupid head on it — same perfectly coiffed hair, same annoyingly straight and blindingly white teeth, same nose with a bump on it, and same chiseled good looks that had me drooling after him for way too long.
    I scowl at him as he smiles at me.
    “Sleeping on the job?” he asks, winking.
    I scowl harder. “Ha, ha. Stop winking at me. Hasn’t anyone told you it’s weird to wink at women? Next thing you know, you’ll be adding the word Ladies to the ends of your sentences.”
    He frowns at me, confused. “What?”
    I roll my window up and shove the door open, hoping to catch him in the knees with it. He jumps out of the way, just in time.
    “You know. Adding Ladies to your sentences. ‘How’s it going, ladies ?’, ‘Can I get you a drink, ladies ?’, ‘What’s your sign, ladies ?’” I stand outside my door with my arms folded across my chest for warmth.
    “I was always told that asking a woman her sign is passé these days. What’s your sign by the way?”
    I look away so I don’t start smiling at his goofy face. Of course that’s what he wants. He thinks he can