Page 32 of Game Changer

“No.” Lola shakes her head, laughing as she does. “She collects these types of pill boxes. They’re works of art, William. Each is unique.”

Her phone lands in my palm, so I look closer at the images on the screen. I scroll down for good measure, noting how each small pill box does indeed look like a masterpiece of craftsmanship.

Many are square and decorated with what looks like miniature floral paintings. Others are circular and crafted from silver. A couple of those are etched with a brushed design on the lid and along the side. Each one is small enough that it would fit in the palm of my hand.

“You know this how?” I ask.

That sends her smile crashing into a frown. “Since when do you question my knowledge of a client?”

Since I just realized that giving Opal a gift to thank her for the gift she gave me is the right thing to do. I tell myself it has nothing to do with the way she looked at me today or how it felt when she was so fucking close to me. The fragrance of her hair and the freckles that dot her nose are not factors in this decision.

“It’s called curiosity.” I know her well enough to sense when a change of subject is in order, so I focus on what she loves talking about the most. “Those socks you’re wearing are new, right?”

“The T-shirt is too.” She pinches some fabric near her right shoulder. “My mom sent me this duo. She hasn’t always been on board with my wardrobe choices.”

I know better than to drag up the past, but Lola and her mom haven’t seen eye to eye on most things in years. They’re finally finding common ground, and I’ve witnessed the change in her. The weight of parental disappointment has been lifted from her shoulders.

“You’ll tell Percy about the pill boxes,” she assumes. “What have you got on tap for the rest of the day?”

Since we’re closing in on four o’clock and I can tell she’s itching to break free of this place, I give her the all clear as I hand her phone back. “I’m taking off soon. You should, too.”

She knows she doesn’t need my permission to call it a day, but Lola will often hang around until at least five in case I need some random tidbit dug up about a client or the woman they’re pining for.

With a glance at her screen’s phone, she nods. “I think I’ll do just that.”

I drop my ass back into my chair to do some research into rare vintage pill boxes. If I’m going to grab one for Opal, I want it to be special enough that she’ll treasure it forever.

Lola turns to leave, but almost immediately, she spins back to face me. “I didn’t answer your question.”

I know exactly what question she’s referring to. I gaze up at her face but stay silent so she’ll keep talking.

“The website for Turquoise Crown still needs a little work. All of the social media buttons go nowhere except for the Instagram one. That links out to Opal’s personal Instagram page at the moment.” She smiles. “It’s a rookie mistake, but it’s a treasure trove of information about Percy’s girl.”

My skin crawls when I hear her describe Opal that way.

“Her love for the pill boxes is on full display there.” She winks. “I knew I’d find some gold if I kept digging.”

“Good work,” I say, but not for the reason she thinks.

I’m not passing any information on to Percy about what Opal likes. At least not until I have a chance to make sure it’s accurate. The only way I can do that is to test each assumption I’ll make based on what she posts. That will require coffee and a few hours spent with my attention glued to the Instagram page of the woman I can’t wait to see again.

19

Opal

I usually wouldn’t drinkcoffee this late in the day, but before I left Turquoise Crown to come to the café, I glanced at myself in the mirror.

Exhaustion is not a good look for me.

Since I took the time this morning to choose the perfect outfit for my board game battle with William tonight, I couldn’t let the heavy bags under my eyes derail the effort I put in.

I plan on brightening everything up with a reapplication of my makeup before eight, but until then, I’ll let the caffeine work its magic on me.

“Another sweet jacket, Opal,” Chelsie greets me with a wide grin. “You have impeccable taste.”

“And luck,” I add to her words with a beaming smile as I look down at the soft pink denim bomber jacket I’m wearing. “The former tenant of my apartment left behind a few treasures when she moved out.”

“I’m jealous.” Chelsie winks. “All mine left behind was a moldy piece of cheese in the fridge.”

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