Page 11 of Flirtatious

A flirt? I haven’t seen that part of her yet, obviously. She talks like her daughter is Venus or some mythical creature with the power to enchant all who come into her presence. I can’t imagine how anyone could stand being in the same room with her for more than a few minutes, much less sleep with her. Sure, she’s beautiful, possibly more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever met before, but she’s awful and thoughtless to the people who care the most about her.

And that’s downright ugly.

“I think I better go see how Mia’s doing. I’ll be right back. Please, make yourself at home. When I get back, we’ll get everything straightened out about where you’ll sleep and all of that.”

She walks out of the room, leaving me to wonder if I want to stay here long enough to have to sleep. Right now, I feel like calling Jonah and telling him there’s no amount of money he can pay me and no bonus big enough to make me want to stick around and deal with Mia’s bullshit.

While I try to think of any reason why I should live up to my word, Andrea runs back into the room frantically waving her arms. “She’s not in her room. She’s gone again! My car is here, so I don’t know where she could be.”

Without thinking, I shift into work mode. I stand up and gently take her by the shoulders to calm her down. “Where would she go? Think of where you see her running to.”

Andrea shakes her head and begins to cry. “I don’t know. God, I should have never let her storm out of here like that. I should have followed her immediately.”

“Listen to me. She doesn’t have that much of a lead on us, so think about where she would go to. There has to be a place she’d want to be. A favorite spot somewhere? She can’t be that far.”

That calms her down and she begins to nod like she understands we have to use common sense to get through this. “Michael’s. She’d go find him. He has an apartment in Tampa.”

“Okay. Let’s go there.”

She pulls upto an apartment complex at the address she has for Mia’s former head of security and one glance at the place horrifies her. “Why would he live in a place like this? He made good money working for my daughter. This place looks like somewhere drug addicts hang out when they can’t find their usual terrible spot.”

I look out the window at the rundown tan buildings in front of me and wonder something similar myself. Nobody who has any decent income would live in a place with junk cars strewn about, broken glass in windows, and screen doors hanging off their frames.

As much as I’d like to imagine what this Michael’s deal is, we don’t have time to solve that mystery. “What’s the apartment number?”

“Two seventy-three.”

I open the car door and start to move. “Then let’s go visit apartment two seventy-three and see what Michael has to say.”

By the time we reach the door to the apartment, I’m sure I’ve seen half a dozen health code violations, and that’s not counting the empty syringes tossed along the dead flower beds that line the sidewalks. This place isn’t the Ritz, for sure.

“God, I hope she’s not in there,” Andrea whispers as I rap my knuckles off the wood door.

The number three comes loose from the door and drops down so it looks like we’re standing in front of apartment two seven E. Andrea and I glance over at one another, and I can’t help but think that’s an ominous sign.

Christ, I hope I don’t have to rush the client to the hospital on my first day at this job. I was hoping to ease into the madness, not jump in head first.

The door opens to reveal a shirtless man in a pair of faded ripped jeans he didn’t bother to zip up all the way. His dark hair is sticking up like someone’s been running their hands through it, and by the odor of funk coming off him, he and whoever he’s spending his time with in there have been smoking some stink weed and getting busy.

Trying not to breathe in, I ask, “Where’s Mia?”

Beside me, Andrea says in a voice full of fear, “Michael, did she come here? Is she in there with you?”

A half-naked blond woman wearing only a too-small pink tank top and a green thong inches up behind Michael. Sliding her hands around his waist, she strokes up and down his body, her chipped red fingernails getting lost in his chest hair, and asks in a sleepy voice, “Who is it now, baby?”

He turns to look at her and then back at me. With a shrug, he answers, “She left. When she saw Tracey, she ran out.”

I look away in disgust and start pushing Andrea down the hallway. “Let’s go. We need to move fast.”

“Where could she be?” she asks as I guide her toward the stairs.

“I don’t know, but we’ll be faster in a car than she is on foot, assuming she didn’t get into a cab or an Uber.”

By the time we reach the car, Andrea’s winded, so I jump in behind the wheel. “Is there anywhere she likes to go when she’s upset?” I ask as I pull away from the curb.

As she tries to catch her breath, she shakes her head. “I don’t know. I swear to God this child is going to kill me. I don’t think I’ve ever run that fast in my life.”

I take the turn out of Michael’s apartment complex sharp, sending Andrea sliding across her seat and nearly crashing into me. “Think. Anywhere she’d feel better.”

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