Page 46 of A Protector For Phoebe (Love will OUT 2)

Chapter 20

When crazy comes to town, call the police. ~ Phoebe’s rules for becoming a better person

Ipull off my gloves when I arrive at work the next morning. Huh. These are the gloves Asshole Ryker bought me. Why did he bother buying me gloves? The exact gloves I needed? Oh wait, he probably didn’t. He must have expensed the so-called gift with Theodore – Asshole Number 2.

I throw the gloves into the garbage can. I don’t need any reminders of the backstabbing men in my life.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Suzie reaches into the garbage can and pulls the gloves out. “These are perfectly good gloves.”

“They’re yours now.” I march into my office before she can start asking her nosy questions.

“Do you want me to send Lola in to cheer you up?” She cackles in delight.

I flip her off. I know. I know. It’s not polite, but she can’t see me, so it doesn’t count.

“Don’t forget you have a prospective client coming in ten minutes!” she shouts through my closed door.

Fifteen minutes later, the outer door bangs open and the alarm beeps. Guess my ten o’clock has arrived.

Suzie opens my door with a flourish. “This is Ms. Adams.” She winks at me. As if knowing my name isn’t really Adams is some big secret. Not anymore it isn’t. “She’ll be happy to help you.”

I smile at the woman hovering in the doorway and stand to walk around my desk. I hold my hand out to her. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. ...?”

She sneers at my hand before telling me, “You can call me Jenny.”

I drop my hand and motion to the chair. “Please, have a seat.”

“I’ll stand.”

“Of course.” I walk behind my desk and stand in front of my chair. It’s rude to sit when someone remains standing. I may have left my mother and her rules about being a lady behind, but I am nothing if not polite. “How can I help you today?”

Jenny, obviously not her real name, wrings her hands. I look closer and notice her fingernails are broken and a few are bleeding. I examine the rest of her. Her hair is in a messy ponytail. Her jacket is stained, and her jeans are full of holes. The poor woman looks like she’s been put through the wringer.

“I’m being followed.”

“Do you know who’s following you?” I’m thinking a husband or jilted lover. After all, men are not to be trusted.

She shakes her head. “No. It’s always a different person in a different car.”

I admit it. I’m confused. “Then, how do you know they’re following you?”

“Because they’re stealing my ideas!”

Obviously, I’ve missed some information here. Time to back up. “Start at the beginning. What types of ideas? And how are they stealing them?”

Is this an intellectual property matter? Intellectual property is an area I have knowledge of, thanks to Daddy and Mommy dearest and their lovely lectures about the family pharmaceutical company. According to my parents, there’s always someone trying to steal the latest miracle pill idea. Notice I said idea and not formula because none of those miracle pills work. Well, except to fill the company’s coffers with money.

“The dentist planted a listening device in my crown.”

“Um, okay. Why would the dentist do this?”

“Why?” she shouts. “Because he’s in on it. Maybe you’re in on it too.” She narrows her eyes and glares at me.

I raise my hands in surrender. “I promise. I’m not in on it.” I don’t have the first clue what ‘it’ is. “Maybe you could explain what types of ideas they’re stealing and how they’re stealing them.”

“My ideas are worth millions. I can design a vehicle that will not only fly but float on the water. Plus, it’s completely self-guided since most people are idiot drivers.”

“Are you an engineer?”

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