Page 167 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

The receptionist waves her toward the back.

Before disappearing, Poppy gives me the most exaggerated wink I’ve ever seen I’ve ever seen in my life—and a double thumbs-up.

Right. Showtime.

I lean on the counter, elbow close to her.

"So," I say, nodding, "been working here long?"

Christ, I want to punch myself.

She giggles. Fucking giggles.

She crosses her arms, pushing her tits out until they’re nearly falling out of her shirt. I swear I can see my death reflected in her lip gloss.

I reach over, brush a piece of hair off her shoulder. "Beautiful hair."

She purrs, leaning in, eating up the attention.

"Your fiancée is a very lucky woman, Mr..."

Full fuck-me eyes locked on me like I’m the last drinkable man in Manhattan—except shit, we didn’t come up with cover names.

Poppy reappears with an exaggerated cough. We spring apart like guilty teenagers. She glares at me, full scandalized housewife.

It looks good on her.

The receptionist flushes, proud of herself.

"Excuse me," Poppy says sweetly, "you’re out of toilet paper." Her stare says,go fix it, bitch.

I retract my grumbling. This is fun.

The girl huffs, stands with an eyeroll, then looks at me all doe-eyed. "Excuse me a moment."

She struts away. I’m shocked she didn’t throw a hip out on her sashay.

At the doorway, she tosses a not-so-subtle over-the-shoulder look like she wants me to follow her into the stockroom and defile her among the Charmin rolls.

Poppy doesn’t waste a second.

She vaults behind the desk as the footsteps dissolve out of range.

Her fingers fly across the keyboard, mouse clicking like her iced coma-in-a-cup is refilling with every tap.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I whisper-yell, bracing on the counter. "We need a warrant, Poppy."

"You think I don’t know that?" she whisper-yells louder. She might as well shout.

She pauses, blue eyes locked on the screen.

They really are a beautiful shade.

"Ugh, two minutes," she mutters, panic rising. "Oh, cheeseburgers, we need a distraction."

She looks at the hall. Then at me.

I raise my hands. "What do you want me to do?"

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