An emaciated blonde flipped her hair back. Ah, the girl who modeled. According to her press kit, Brie Westerhaven was the daughter of a minor rock star from the eighties and a groupie who didn’t know how to use birth control. The show chronicled her attempts to make it big on fashion runways while her dunce boy attempted to take on the music business in absolutely the most superficial of ways. They were surrounded by hangers on. Hoover’s two brothers, his producer, who looked heavily invested in dental gold if that grill he was wearing was real, two personal assistants, who looked like they really wished they’d finished college and gotten real jobs, and the chick with the crazy eyes.
Ian looked over at Alex, who shook his head.
“You can’t know that,” Alex muttered under his breath. “Don’t, Ian. We should follow procedure.”
“Do you see those eyes?” It was all so clear to him and he’d spent two seconds with these people.
Alex’s mouth firmed stubbornly. “It could mean nothing. Let Jesse handle it. He’ll follow procedure and we’ll actually make money off this.”
Brie shook her head as she paced. “God, I hope we get back to Cali soon. This is so boring. I thought Texas was one of those not real places. You know what I mean.”
She glanced over at a woman who stood by her side, staring up at the model as if she was the second coming of the Virgin Mary. “I do. You’re so smart, Brie. I didn’t think Texas was real either. I mean who would? Sully, we should tape this scene. Brie is so funny.”
“Dude, anyone who’s seen Dallas knows it’s real, hello.” Hoover waved a hand through the air as though it was all too much for him. “Don’t you watch TV and shit? Where do you think J.R. came from? It’s a brilliantly ironic television show about global warming.”
The pixiesque woman by Brie shot the DJ a look Ian had seen before.
Damn, Sully had really lost his touch. He used to be good at understanding the people around him. Alex wasn’t going to like it, but Ian really couldn’t stand the thought of even having these people as an open case halfway across the country. It was time to shut this shit down.
He pointed at the girl because despite the fact that Sully was willing to pay by the hour, if these people didn’t get out of his office he was going to launch a grenade at them. “It’s Crazy Eyes. She’s a closeted lesbian in love with Dimwitted Blonde, and she tried to kill Douchebag.”
Damn, didn’t they know it was always the bitch with the crazy eyes?
His wife turned, about to yell at him—yeah, he knew that look—but Crazy Eyes saved him from the inevitable lecture about giving peace a chance and shit by pulling a forty-five out of her outrageously large handbag.
“You don’t deserve her!” Crazy Eyes shouted as she pointed the gun at Hoover.
All hell broke loose, but then it wasn’t really a day at the office without a little chaos.
Chapter Two
“Crazy Eyes, I swear to god if you fire that fucking gun in my conference room, I will kill you myself, and you won’t like how I do it,” Ian swore. His heart was going to beat out of his fucking chest. Charlie was in here. If the bullets started flying, she could get hit. The babies could get hit. Damn it, they were supposed to be safe here.
Brie had a hand over her chest as though protecting herself. “Marcy, what are you doing?”
Sully put out his hands and eased toward Crazy Eyed Marcy with the calm movements of a lion tamer. “Marcy, honey, there’s no need for this. Hoover wasn’t trying to be mean. You know how he is. Let’s calm down and talk about this.”
Hoover had ducked behind the dude with the grill and was currently peeing his pants, if the smell was any indication.
