For the First Time. Stephanie Doyle

not for Mark. Because he’d seen the tattoos.

      JoJo got up from the bed and walked to the mirror. She’d removed the ponytail hair extension and her jet-black hair was again short and spiky. She had dyed it black a long time ago, and it brought out her blue eyes better than her natural blond. She kept it short to accent her smallish face and because it was easier to care for and to cover with a wig when she was in disguise.

      Did she look a little too badass? Yes. There were times when that was an asset. Sometimes having an edge helped when she was interrogating a criminal or interviewing a witness.

      But other times badass tattoos cost you a job. Two, if she counted Tim Reid’s reaction to her. He never liked her, despite the quality of her work. While she blamed it on his sexism, it probably also had something to do with how she defied the conventionalities to which he adhered.

      Tim had a lot in common with her father. When it was announced Tim was taking over the agency, she knew she could not work for him. They would drive each other crazy.

      So where to next?

      The phone rang, which startled her. There weren’t a lot of people who knew she was even in Philadelphia. It was probably one of those stupid surveys about the hotel service, and she answered it out of sheer boredom. “Hello?”

      “Oh, good. I caught you. Ms. Hatcher, this is Mark Sharpe.”

      JoJo pumped her fist in the air. Then calmly answered, “Yes, can I help you?”

      “I’m downstairs in the lobby. I’ve had second thoughts and was wondering if I could talk to you again.”

      “Sure. Uh...” JoJo considered her appearance. She could change out of the jeans and sweater and into something more appropriate, but it would take her at least ten minutes to redo the hair extension. Oh, hell, it wasn’t like the disguise worked anyway—he hadn’t bought her conformist costume for one second. If they were going to work together, she would have to show her true self eventually. It might as well be now.

      She even left the nose stud in.

      * * *

      MARK WATCHED THE elevators for Josephine Hatcher. When he spotted a woman with short dark hair walking toward him, he did a double take.

      He would never have thought she was the same woman who had been in his office if it weren’t for the tattoos around her neck. The way her hair stuck up from her head at different angles should have made her look like she’d just woken up. Instead it made her look chic and hip. She wore skinny jeans with knee-high black boots and a bulky sweater that moved with her body. Ms. Hatcher was efficiency in motion, with an edge.

      She stopped in front of him and held her arms up, clearly communicating that this was the woman beneath the conservative turtleneck. The woman he would get if he hired her.

      Everything in Mark recoiled. Not that she wasn’t attractive in a certain sort of way, but she was so not what he needed in his life right now. Yesterday, he’d thought she was trouble. Now he knew she was more than that. She was dangerous. He could imagine what kind of example she might set for Sophie—who was already staring at the woman with awed admiration.

      “Mr. Sharpe, you wanted to talk?”

      Now what was he supposed to do? His gut and his brain were at war. This never happened. What was crazier was that his gut and head seemed to be taking opposite sides from what they ought to. His head should have told him that this woman was not employable and his gut should have said to take a chance on her. Instead his head was remembering her résumé, line by line, and his gut was churning with...something.

      Ben said this woman was the best. Seriously?

      “Uh...sorry to drop by like this unannounced, but I had second thoughts and didn’t want to miss you.”

      “I’m glad you stopped by. Who is your sidekick? She looks a little young to be head of the HR department.”

      “This is my daughter, Sophie. Sophie this is Josephine Hatcher.”

      “JoJo,” she corrected.

      Sophie gave him that look of hers. “Why do you have to introduce me as your daughter? Why can’t you just say I’m Sophie?”

      “Well, most people like context and the crazy thing is, you are, in fact, my daughter.”

      “Whatever, Mark.”

      It was her third whatever of the day. He was starting to loathe the word.

      He looked at JoJo—what a silly name. “As you can tell, my daughter and I have a very loving and close relationship. It’s why we’re here together today. She can’t stand being apart from me.”

      Sophie sat in one of the lobby chairs and said nothing. Mark sat on a couch and gestured to a chair across from it, indicating that JoJo should sit, as well.

      He didn’t have a clue what he was supposed to ask, now that, once again, he was firmly against the idea of this woman working for him. She simply wasn’t going to fit in his world. His old one, yes. No question she would have fit. Hell, in his old life he would have been champing at the bit to get to know the woman behind the tattoos.

      But in his new world, he couldn’t allow himself to cater to personal whims.

      “You don’t quite look like the candidate you presented yourself to be.” Perfect. He could back out under the pretense that she’d misrepresented herself. Covering up her hair length...who did that?

      “Sometimes people don’t look past the surface. So I didn’t dress to be obvious.”

      “Obvious is one word for it.”

      “Mark,” Sophie snapped. “How uncool. Just because she doesn’t look like everyone else that’s somehow wrong?”

      Oh, yeah. The joys of fatherhood just kept on coming. “Do you mind, Sophie? I’m conducting an interview.”

      “You’re being a total square.”

      “Seriously? People still say square?”

      “No.” She smirked. “People say douche bag but I thought that was crossing a line.”

      “It did,” he snarled.

      “Uh, excuse me?” JoJo waved her hand. “My interview, remember?”

      “You do understand,” Mark said, “in this line of work blending in matters. Not standing out.” He waved his hand to indicate her whole being as one big standout. “No offense, but you don’t exactly blend.”

      “Is that the only thing preventing me from getting this job? You’re concerned about how the way I look would affect my work?”

      Not really. But what was he supposed to say? That her unapologetic style bothered him? That he felt uncomfortable merely sitting across from her? That his discomfort wouldn’t be conducive to a solid working relationship? That her eyes were really, really blue?

      She would be the only other investigator working for him, and he imagined them spending a lot of time consulting with one another on their cases. Something akin to a partnership. Then there was the idea of having her look into the note. That meant actually trusting this woman.

      He couldn’t explain all that. Instead he kept it simple. “I guess it is. I’ve spoken with Ben and he says I would be crazy to let you pass by. In fact, he’s waiting in the wings to scoop you up if I do.”

      Another fact that rankled him. If he didn’t hire her and she worked for Ben, he might run into her at Ben’s office. How irritating would it be to find her solving cases for Ben while he was left with someone less talented?

      No doubt Ben would lord it over him.

      “Okay,” JoJo said, “we’ll make it a challenge. I bet I can leave and, within half an hour, be in your line of sight without you realizing it’s me.”

      “That’s