Flinch Factor, The by Michael Kahn Page A

were that Brenda when I looked through his work files.”
    â€œHe talked to her about me?” She sounded flattered.
    â€œYes. And had nothing negative to say about you.” Which was true, I supposed.
    â€œSo he cared about me?”
    â€œThat’s what it sounds like. Tell me about your relationship.”
    She sighed. “There isn’t much to tell, I’m afraid. We were lovers for barely two months. When he started working on our master bathroom, it felt like a scene out of one of those trashy romance novels. Phil and I moved into the guest bedroom downstairs because the workers arrived every morning at seven. I started coming up with excuses to visit with him during the day. I knew he was attracted to me. A girl can tell. I started wearing sexier clothes each time I dropped in on him. Well, it finally happened one morning. I hauled him into the bedroom and—Oh My God—it was unbelievable, Rachel. I had more orgasms that morning than Phil’s given me in a year.”
    Poor Phil.
    â€œWhat happened after that?”
    She leaned forward, her voice low. “Imagine your perfect sexual fantasy. That was us. I’d get Phil off to work and the kids off to school each morning, come back upstairs, put on something sexy, and fetch him from the bathroom. If he had other workers there that day, he’d find some excuse to meet me in the exercise room in the basement.”
    â€œEvery day?”
    â€œIn the beginning. But even toward the end we’d do it three or four times a week.” She smiled. “He was an awesome lover. He knew what I liked.”
    â€œSo what happened?”
    â€œIt was too good to be true.” She shook her head. “He finished the job, got his final payment, and, poof, the bastard disappeared.”
    â€œDisappeared?”
    â€œWent on to the next job and that was it. I tried to call him. I went to the new job site. Nothing.”
    â€œWhat did he say?”
    â€œThe usual crap. Time to move on. Fun while it lasted. I was deeply hurt. A man like that—a blue-collar worker—doesn’t just use a woman like me and walk away.”
    â€œWhat did you say to him?”
    â€œPlenty. I was furious. I even threatened to tell my husband.”
    â€œTell him what?”
    â€œThat I’d been taken advantage of. Used and discarded.”
    â€œDid you?”
    She gave me a look—or at least appeared to be trying to give me a look with that blank face. “Of course not. Oh, I hinted around some. I wanted Nick to feel my pain. But I never came out and told Phil what had happened.”
    â€œDo you think he suspected anything?”
    â€œI don’t know. Frankly, he isn’t the best communicator.”
    â€œDid you tell anyone else?”
    â€œMy therapist, of course. I had to talk with someone. I felt so demeaned.”
    â€œWhen did your relationship with Nick end?”
    â€œAbout six months ago. No, seven months. Right before I had my breasts done. That was my gift to myself. After all that pain and suffering, I deserved something special.”
    She glanced at my boobs.
    â€œYou’d be surprised at how good it makes you feel about yourself. Every girl should consider it.”
    Poor Phil.

Chapter Nine
    â€œIt’s unlocked,” I called.
    The door slowly opened, and Barbara Weiss peered into Benny Goldberg’s office. I was seated behind his desk.
    I stood. “Come on in, Barb.”
    She was the fifth and final woman on my list. After my lunch with Brenda Gutterman I’d been able to meet with Robin Emerson and Judy Bussman, the two women Nick’s secretary had flagged for me. She’d selected them because of the number of times each had called the office looking for Nick. As I quickly determined, however, there was no romantic motive behind those calls. Instead, each woman fit into that category of client dreaded by professionals of all stripes: the obnoxious complainer