by Mia Carson
He kept coming, his eyes and mouth hard. I had my Glock 43 in my desk, but shooting a client was bad for business.
“You fucking bitch,” he growled. “Don’t tell me what to do!”
“You need to just calm down!” I said firmly as I continued to back away.
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he roared as he rushed me, his arms out like he was going to grab me.
My office wasn’t large, so I didn’t have a lot of room to maneuver, but I ducked under his rush and hooked his leg as he passed. I shoved him to aid his stumble. He fell over one of my guest chairs and landed in a heap on the floor.
“Knock it off!” I yelled as he scrambled to his feet.
There was death in his eyes as he started toward me again. I hated to do it. I spun as he came at me, bent at the waist, my right leg high as I pivoted quickly on my left foot. The back of my heel caught him squarely on the jaw in a spinning hook kick. It was nowhere near a full power kick, but it stopped him cold. His head snapped around and he stumbled back into my office door, his head breaking the glass before he slid to the floor.
“Shit,” I muttered as I hurried to his side. He was bleeding badly from the mouth, but he wasn’t completely out. “Are you okay?”
“You kicked me,” he slurred.
I helped him to his feet as he held his mouth. I grabbed a handful of tissues from the box I always kept on my desk. Normally they were for tears, but they’d work for blood.
“I’m going to have you charged with assault,” he mumbled as he took the tissue and pressed them against his bloodied lip.
I pointed to the camera in the corner of the office. “Go ahead and try. I’ll sue your ass while you’re in jail… and I’m charging you for the broken door. Now, are you going to pay what you owe me, or are we going to dance again?”
I retrieved another wad of tissues from the desk and handed them to him before offering my waste basket to dump the bloody ones.
“I’ll pay.” He glared at me, then all the fight went out of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
I nodded. “Pay your bill, fix my door, and nothing will be said. But you need to get control of that temper.”
He nodded as he moved back to my desk and sat the upended chair back on its feet. “Will five-hundred for the door be enough?”
I glanced at the back of his head. He wasn’t bleeding, so I moved back around behind my desk and sat. I nodded. “Make the check for four-thousand and we’ll call it even.”
He scribbled a moment then ripped the check out and slid it across the desk. I took it, glanced at the amount, and tucked it in my drawer. I pulled the invoice back and scrawled Paid across the bottom before sliding it back to him.
“Been a pleasure doing business with you,” I said in my best customer service voice.
He grunted. “Can I get another copy of the photos?” He could hardly meet my eyes.
“Sure.”
I spun to my computer and typed a moment before my printer whirred to life. It took about a minute for all the photos to land in the paper tray. I handed them across the desk.
“Thank you.” He looked at me a moment, tossed the bloody tissues, then probed his lip with tongue. “That’s a hell of kick you’ve got there.”
I grinned. “You should see me when I’m pissed off.”
He snorted once. “I’d probably have to pick my head up off the floor. Sorry about the door, and everything.”
I rose and extended my hand. “It’s done, don’t worry about it. But a piece of advice. Do something about your temper. One day it’s going to get you into real trouble.”
He nodded and turned toward the door. I waited until the outside door closed, then looked at my busted office door and the glass-covered floor.
“Shit,” I muttered before picking up the torn photos and shredding them. That task complete, I walked to the cabinet tucked in the corner of the waiting room.
The cabinet held pens, printer paper and other office supplies, the coffee maker and all the stuff required for it, and my few cleaning supplies. I did my own office cleaning. It took less than ten minutes to clean my two small rooms, and it wasn’t worth paying someone for that.
I started by picking up the big pieces of glass and dumping them into the waste basket. After some thought, I picked all the remaining glass out of the door and added the shards to the rubbish. I didn’t want someone to get cut. Big pieces taken care of, I began sweeping. My office had hardwood floors, so getting all the little splinters of glass into a pile was easy. I swept the glass into my dust pan and dumped them in with the rest of the trash.
I’d just put my broom away and taken out my dust mop when a Greek god walked in. He paused inside the door, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head as he glanced around. He was at least ten inches taller than me, with light brown hair worn stylishly short. His thin nose, strong chin, and cheekbones gave him the face of a movie star. He was dressed in a tight, dark blue Polo with Neil Gibson Fitness Centers embroidered on the left breast, tan dockers, and comfortable loafers. I could tell he was a major league stud-muffin by the way he filled out his shirt and pants, but more striking than that were his eyes. They were the most amazing green I’d ever seen.
Los Angeles was full of beautiful people, and one of them had just walked through my door. And I was standing with a dust mop in my hand. I swallowed hard as I put the dust mop away and closed the cabinet.
“May I help you?”
Neil
“May I help you?” the woman asked.
I didn’t want to be there, but I was at my wits end. For three weeks Twitter and the internet were rumbling about me, about things I hadn’t done. I thought it was nothing, the typical crap that goes on. Donald Trump was going to deport American Indians to India. Barack Obama was born in Kenya. Elvis Presley was spotted at Wal-Mart. But the rumors weren’t going away, and they were starting to gain traction.
“I’d like to speak with David Jacobs.”
Something passed over her face. “I’m sorry. My father died about a year ago. I’m Tanya Jacobs. May I help you?”
“Oh, uh…”
She smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Would you like to step into my office, Mr…?”
“Sorry. Neil. Neil Gibson.” I stalled. I wasn’t sure what to do. I’d asked around. Clearview Investigations and David Jacobs came highly recommended. He was supposed to be honest, trustworthy, and most importantly, discrete.
“Mr. Gibson?”
“Yes, sorry. Yes, thank you.”
Tanya was tiny. She barely reached my chin, but she was pixie cute with her short, messy is sexy hairstyle. Her hair was a deep, rich brown shading into black and stopped just below her ear and parted on the side. It was very feminine and looked good on her. Her features were delicate, with a small upturned nose and large, deep brown eyes.
She turned, and I followed her into the office. She was petite, but she moved with a power and grace that belied her size. I could tell there was more strength hiding in that small frame than most would realize. Her breasts were probably average in size but appeared slightly larger than normal on her small frame. While her breasts might be average, her ass was fantastic, and I had to force myself not to stare as she swayed into the small office.
“Trouble?” I asked as I nodded at the broken window in the inner door.
“No trouble. Now, how may I help you?” she asked as she sat down behind her desk. When I hesitated again, her face hardened slightly. “Mr. Gibson. I’m fully licensed and insured. I’ve been a private investigator for ten years.”
She was very perceptive. “I have a problem.”
“Most people who walk through that door do.” When I didn’t respond, she smiled slightly. “Want to tell me what it is, or should I try to guess?”
I couldn’t help by smile. “I’m being accused of sexual harassment.”
“Okay. By who?”
“I don’t know. That’s the probl
em.”
“You don’t know?” Her surprise was clear in her voice. “How can you not know?”
“It’s all over Facebook, Twitter, everywhere. At first I ignored it, but it’s starting to appear on blogs and some independent news sites.”
“So? Rumors are just that.”
“You don’t understand. It’s starting to affect my reputation and business.”
“What do you do, Mr. Gibson?”
“Call me Neil. I have a website, NeilGibsonFitness.com, that promotes health and fitness. There are workout videos, health tips, that sort of thing. I also own three fitness centers in the area, Neil Gibson Fitness Center, that I’m trying to franchise. Finally, I have some clients, some very private clients, that I do personal training with.”
She looked at me oddly. “Do I know you from somewhere? I feel like I’ve met you before, or maybe saw you on television, something like that.”
“I’ve had a couple small parts on television shows. You probably remember me from the 2012 London Olympic Games. I was on the American male gymnastic team.”
She snapped her fingers. “That’s it! I thought you looked familiar. You won a bunch of medals, right?”
I tried not to smile, but I couldn’t help it. That was the proudest moment of my life. I’d worked my ass off for years with one goal: to make the U.S. Olympic team. It hadn’t been easy. I was six feet tall, far taller than the 5’8” or 5’9” of most male gymnasts. Not only did I have to be better than anyone else, but I also had to overcome the prejudice of being too tall to be a world class gymnast. But I’d proven them wrong. I’d proven them all wrong.
“Gold on High Bar and Parallel Bars, silver on Pommel Horse.”
She was grinning now and nodding. “Yeah, I remember. You were the golden boy. Women everywhere were throwing themselves at you or fainting at your feet. Didn’t you have an affair with one of the gymnasts from Australia or something?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. It was a hurdler, and just more rumors. Zoe and a group of friends had dinner together to celebrate her birthday. I kissed her on the cheek and suddenly we’re sleeping together.”
She was still smiling. “I had the worst crush on you back then. Me, and every seventeen to twenty-five-year-old woman in America, I guess.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. I’d posed shirtless, arms crossed over my chest, as I smiled at the photographer. One was with the rest of the men’s team, then each of us had posed alone. The photos were used to promote the games, and the posters had sold a combined 18 million copies. My single was the best seller of them all, something my teammates never let me forget. Those were good times.
I couldn’t resist. “What about now?” I asked with a teasing grin of my own.
She snickered. “Older, wiser, and a lot more cynical. So, what do you expect me to do, exactly?”
My grin disappeared. “I honestly don’t know. Well, I do know, but I don’t know if it’s possible. I want you to find out who’s spreading the rumors so I can put a stop to them.”
“And you have no place for me to start?”
“No.”
She stared at me for a long moment. “I’m going to ask you this, and I need you to be perfectly honest with me. Have you ever touched a woman inappropriately before?”
“No!” I cried. “Never!” I paused and decided to come clean. “Okay, I’ll admit I have a bit of playboy image, but I’ve never forced myself on a woman, ever, and I’ve never touched anyone that didn’t want me to.”
“Could one of these past lovers be out to get you for some reason? Money?”
“I don’t know. Why would they? Nothing was ever serious. They were just romps. They got what they wanted, and I got what I wanted.”
“What did they want?”
I looked down, feeling a little embarrassed. I was almost thirty, and I was beginning to settle down, but for a while I was fucking everyone woman I could get to open her legs. And it was easy. I often had a different woman every night of the week. I’d fuck them once, sometimes twice, then move on to the next one. There was always another one waiting.
I looked up and forced myself to meet her eyes. “You’d have to ask them.”
“Uh-huh. And what did you want? Just a quick tumble?”
“You’re not my mother,” I snapped.
“No, I’m not. I’m just making sure I know all the facts so I don’t waste my time or your money. So, these women, they were just one-night stands? They knew that going in and were okay with it?”
“Yes, and I assume so. Like I said, I never forced a woman in my life.”
“Any of them change their mind after they agreed?”
“No,” I said softly. Having someone spelling it out so bluntly made me feel a little bit like a shallow prick.
“Any of the women hit on you?” When I didn’t answer, she pressed. “Come on. Everything you tell me is totally confidential, but if you’re not straight and honest with me, you make my job a lot more difficult.”
“Yes, sometimes.”
“Did you ever turn anyone down?”
I nodded slowly. “Sometimes.”
“Think it could be one of them?”
“Maybe, but why?”
“Pissed off that you rejected them? Didn’t like the fact they didn’t measure up to your standards? Who knows?”
“Maybe, but I don’t think so. If that were the case, I’d think it would have happened before now.”
“Why?”
I grinned, my past escapades making me slightly self-conscious. “I’m twenty-nine years old. Banging a new woman every night doesn’t hold as much appeal to me anymore.”
“So, you’ve settled down recently?”
I nodded. “Yeah, especially in the last couple of years.”
“No lovers since then?”
I snorted. “I didn’t say that, but my relationships have been more stable and longer lasting.”
“Involved with anyone now?”
“Why?”
She looked at me with slight annoyance. “Because perfect strangers don’t accuse other perfect strangers of sexual harassment.”
“No. I broke up with my last girlfriend about three months ago.”
“When did these rumors first appear?”
“Before we broke up.”
“Were you having trouble at the time?”
“No, I didn’t think so.”
“What happened?”
I shrugged. “She left me. Decided she didn’t like sharing me with the public, I guess. She didn’t like me doing one on one workouts with women. The rumors. Those didn’t help either, and I think it bothered her that I wasn’t interested in taking the relationship further than where it was.”
“Which was what?”
“More than friends with benefits, but less than willing to consider a life together.”
“I see. Anyone else? Business partners or rivals? Anyone that might want to see you hurt or is holding a grudge?”
I paused as I thought about it. “Nobody I can name, no. I’m sure other fitness centers would like to see me go out of business, other websites too, but I can say the same about them. I’m not going to jeopardize my businesses by doing something like this, so why would they?”
She nodded. “Okay, I think I have a pretty good picture of what’s going on. I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Gibson, I—”
“Neil,” I interrupted. “Mr. Gibson is my dad.”
She smiled. “Okay, Neil. I don’t think I can help you.”
My stomach sank. “Why?”
“I have nothing to start with. I supposed I could look into your ex-girlfriend, but if the rumors started before she broke up with you, and she was bothered by them, that probably means it’s not her. I don’t want to take your money and not be able to deliver some results.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“What other reason would there be?” she asked, her face twisting in confusion.
“Nothing. Listen, if i
t’s about the money, I’ve got money. Don’t worry about that.”
“That’s not the issue. Charging you when I’m pretty sure I can’t do anything isn’t ethical.”
My stomach sank a little lower. “Look, I really need some help. I’m out of my league with this. I asked someone I trust, and they recommended your dad. He helped this person with a spousal support problem. Can’t you just, I don’t know, do a quick check or something? Money isn’t a problem. I’ll be happy to pay, and if you don’t turn up anything…” I shrugged. “Well, you warned me. Please, Ms. Jacobs. I need your help.”
She stared at me for a long time, then reached into her desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. She slid it across the desk.
“This is my standard rate. I bill one-hundred dollars an hour plus sixty cents a mile. You are also responsible for other miscellaneous expenses that I incur during my investigation. You will receive a copy of the receipts. I require a deposit. Normally that is the amount I believe it will take to complete the investigation, but in your case, I don’t know, so will forty hours be acceptable? After forty hours, you can authorize additional time, or we can consider the contract complete. At the end of the investigation, I will turn over all information I’ve collected. If I’m required to testify in court, I’ll require another one-thousand dollars for the ten billable hours that testifying normally requires, plus mileage. If, after you’ve paid, I’m not called to testify, I will promptly refund your money. Any questions?”
“Where do I sign?”
She hesitated. “Just a moment.”
She typed on her computer a moment and a contract slid into the output tray. She slid it across the desk. I glanced over it, signed at the bottom, and slid it back.
“How should I pay?”
“Cash, debit, check, Visa, Mastercard or Discovery.”
I pulled my credit card and handed it across. She plugged a device into her phone, swiped the card, then handed it back. I signed.
“When can you start?” I asked.
“I have something I’ve already committed to for today. Can I get a list of your private clients? Do you mind if I talk to them?”
