amount of leeway—enough to ask but not enough to push the topic, and she knew it.
A second later, her eyebrows pulled together and she cocked her head. She pushed off the couch and came to perch on the edge of his desk. “What’s that? It’s pretty, but I don’t think it’s quite your style.”
He looked where she was pointing, but it was totally unnecessary. Only one thing on his desk matched that description. The cause of my bad mood. “A watch.”
“That I can see.” She picked it up to examine it and let out a low whistle. “I know this brand. Is it real? Because if it is, it’s not cheap.”
He knew that, too. He’d had to look up the brand online, only to be more confused by the information. Jamie had seemed so normal, but she’d been wearing a thousand-dollar watch—or a really great knockoff—in the French Quarter on Fat Tuesday.
She smiled as though she was onto something. “It’s also a ladies’ watch. A gift, I presume?”
Damn it. Now Callie was intrigued.
The smile faded as she looked closer. “Uh-oh. Do you know the clasp is broken?”
He tried to be casual, pretending to be looking at his screen. “Yep. That’s how I ended up with it.”
“So you just found it on the street?” He shrugged. Callie leaned across the desk and poked him until he turned his attention to back to her. Then she just stared at him, eyes narrowed, and waited. He knew that look, and damn it, that was the problem with remaining friends with your ex-girlfriend. She knew too much, knew him too well, for him to get away with prevarications or vagueness. When he didn’t say anything, she poked him again. “Spill.”
Lie and drag this out or just tell the truth and get it over with? Decisions. Figuring the quickest way to get Callie off his desk would be to just tell her, he decided to tell. But not all of it. “It belongs to Jamie,” he said casually.
“Jamie.” She nodded. “And Jamie is...?”
“A woman I met last Tuesday in the Quarter. I missed that party because I was with her. I ended up with her watch accidentally when the clasp broke.”
Callie, in love with love as always, grinned. “All day Tuesday? And you’d just met?” At his nod, she made a breathy aw noise before hooking a chair with her foot and pulling it close to the desk. The she leaned forward on her elbows, all excited. “Okay, I want to hear all about her.”
Damn it. That was supposed to satisfy her, not encourage her. “Not much to tell.”
“You spent all day with her, blowing off your friends in the process. There’s tons to tell. I assume she’s pretty.”
“Of course.”
“And...” Callie waited for him to answer, then heaved out a sigh. “Guess we’ll do this the hard way. So... what does she do?” she asked in a singsong voice.
“I don’t know.”
Callie blinked in surprise. Recovering from that, she tried again. “Where’s she from?”
“I’m not sure. One of the Carolinas.”
“So she was just in town for Mardi Gras?”
“Maybe. I think she said she was staying with friends, but I’m not sure. And before you ask me where, I don’t know that either. Or even how long she was in town.”
He could tell Callie was getting frustrated with his answers. “And her last name is...”
“Don’t know.”
“What the hell?” Callie sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you just trying to be difficult?”
“Really not.” His computer chimed, and he turned his attention back to it. “Now, if you’ll—”
“What do you know about her?”
He gave up his last bit of hope she’d just let it go and swiveled to face her. Any other time, this would be funny—baiting Callie was always fun—except he was busy and far more frustrated over this than Callie could possibly imagine.
“Let’s see. She’s about twenty-six, twenty-seven. Brunette, gorgeous, great legs.” Callie rolled her eyes at that. “Smart, funny...a little conservative, maybe? Bourbon Street was a bit
A second later, her eyebrows pulled together and she cocked her head. She pushed off the couch and came to perch on the edge of his desk. “What’s that? It’s pretty, but I don’t think it’s quite your style.”
He looked where she was pointing, but it was totally unnecessary. Only one thing on his desk matched that description. The cause of my bad mood. “A watch.”
“That I can see.” She picked it up to examine it and let out a low whistle. “I know this brand. Is it real? Because if it is, it’s not cheap.”
He knew that, too. He’d had to look up the brand online, only to be more confused by the information. Jamie had seemed so normal, but she’d been wearing a thousand-dollar watch—or a really great knockoff—in the French Quarter on Fat Tuesday.
She smiled as though she was onto something. “It’s also a ladies’ watch. A gift, I presume?”
Damn it. Now Callie was intrigued.
The smile faded as she looked closer. “Uh-oh. Do you know the clasp is broken?”
He tried to be casual, pretending to be looking at his screen. “Yep. That’s how I ended up with it.”
“So you just found it on the street?” He shrugged. Callie leaned across the desk and poked him until he turned his attention to back to her. Then she just stared at him, eyes narrowed, and waited. He knew that look, and damn it, that was the problem with remaining friends with your ex-girlfriend. She knew too much, knew him too well, for him to get away with prevarications or vagueness. When he didn’t say anything, she poked him again. “Spill.”
Lie and drag this out or just tell the truth and get it over with? Decisions. Figuring the quickest way to get Callie off his desk would be to just tell her, he decided to tell. But not all of it. “It belongs to Jamie,” he said casually.
“Jamie.” She nodded. “And Jamie is...?”
“A woman I met last Tuesday in the Quarter. I missed that party because I was with her. I ended up with her watch accidentally when the clasp broke.”
Callie, in love with love as always, grinned. “All day Tuesday? And you’d just met?” At his nod, she made a breathy aw noise before hooking a chair with her foot and pulling it close to the desk. The she leaned forward on her elbows, all excited. “Okay, I want to hear all about her.”
Damn it. That was supposed to satisfy her, not encourage her. “Not much to tell.”
“You spent all day with her, blowing off your friends in the process. There’s tons to tell. I assume she’s pretty.”
“Of course.”
“And...” Callie waited for him to answer, then heaved out a sigh. “Guess we’ll do this the hard way. So... what does she do?” she asked in a singsong voice.
“I don’t know.”
Callie blinked in surprise. Recovering from that, she tried again. “Where’s she from?”
“I’m not sure. One of the Carolinas.”
“So she was just in town for Mardi Gras?”
“Maybe. I think she said she was staying with friends, but I’m not sure. And before you ask me where, I don’t know that either. Or even how long she was in town.”
He could tell Callie was getting frustrated with his answers. “And her last name is...”
“Don’t know.”
“What the hell?” Callie sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you just trying to be difficult?”
“Really not.” His computer chimed, and he turned his attention back to it. “Now, if you’ll—”
“What do you know about her?”
He gave up his last bit of hope she’d just let it go and swiveled to face her. Any other time, this would be funny—baiting Callie was always fun—except he was busy and far more frustrated over this than Callie could possibly imagine.
“Let’s see. She’s about twenty-six, twenty-seven. Brunette, gorgeous, great legs.” Callie rolled her eyes at that. “Smart, funny...a little conservative, maybe? Bourbon Street was a bit
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