For the First Time. Stephanie Doyle

my eye, let me know you knew it was me. Then you tapped the kid on the shoulder. Why?”

      “I guess I decided I wanted to hire you after all. Besides, it was a good costume. It almost had me fooled.”

      “You looked at my legs,” she said. Not judgmentally, but merely as a statement of fact.

      “That was the intention, wasn’t it? For me to look at them and not at you.”

      “Yes. I want to make sure you’re not going to have an issue working with me. Maybe the problem isn’t the tattoos. Maybe the problem is I’m a woman.”

      Mark laughed. “Trust me. That’s not the problem. I’ve worked with plenty of women in my career. Operatives and soldiers. I have nothing but respect for people who do their job and do it well, regardless of their gender.”

      “Okay.” JoJo nodded slowly. As if reaching some conclusion about him.

      “And if you’re worried about me being attracted to you, I can promise you that won’t be an issue.”

      “Okay...” she drawled.

      He realized he’d basically said she was unattractive. At least unattractive to him. What phrase had Sophie used? Douche bag? It seemed appropriate here.

      “Look, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re a very attractive woman. I just... For me...”

      “I get it.”

      “Your legs were really distracting—”

      “Mark, put a sock in it. This is actually a good thing. You’re not into me and I would never find someone like you attractive, either. So we’re cool. Business colleagues and that’s it.”

      “That’s it,” Mark agreed. Although why the idea that she would never find someone like him attractive suddenly bothered him, he couldn’t say.

      * * *

      SOPHIE HAD GONE with Mexican. The restaurant was a small place off Market Street. Not a lot of ambiance but the waiter brought out a big basket of hot chips and spicy salsa. Combined with a margarita and JoJo had all a girl needed to be happy in life.

      For a second she considered passing on the drink. Not exactly a good image, to be drinking in front of the boss shortly after being hired, but she had concluded she was done playing games for this guy. She was hired. She wasn’t working a case. She would have a drink and not put on any more pretenses.

      She’d gone to her room to ditch the wig and the tape, but she kept her outfit on because that was part of her, too. The vibrant red coat hung on a hook at the corner of the booth.

      Neither Mark nor Sophie could refrain from checking out her tattoos every once in a while.

      JoJo couldn’t pretend it bothered her. After all, she’d gotten the tattoos for a very specific purpose—just like she did most things in her life. So to complain when people stared seemed hypocritical.

      She also knew that with her tattoos she was writing off nice guys like Mark Sharpe, who would never be attracted to her. Solid businessman, clean-cut. Probably a conservative who wore boxers. Yes, he was definitely not her type.

      Still, as she looked at him with his neatly trimmed dark hair, his barely there scruff along his chin and his dark sweater that highlighted broad shoulders, she got the impression he wasn’t quite the conformist he portrayed.

      Then there were his eyes. To say they were brown didn’t describe them at all. They reminded her of a bird’s eyes. Sharp and calculating. Assessing her like she was nothing more than a squirrel he would hunt for sport rather than food.

      There was no escaping those eyes now that they were focused on her. They were like her tattoos. Badass. When he’d looked at her in the lobby and she knew she’d been made, she’d felt like prey being given a reprieve. She wouldn’t be so lucky next time.

      JoJo made a mental note that there wouldn’t be a next time. As a rule, she wasn’t intimidated by men. The experience she had with her father after her sister had died made intimidation impossible. She never feared men because she knew she could survive anything.

      Mark was different, somehow. He threatened her in a way she couldn’t define.

      Unfortunately that threat didn’t mean he wasn’t someone she might be attracted to. If anything, it contributed to the possibility. Telling him he wasn’t her type had been a flat-out lie. Done out of pride because he was so completely not into her. Also because she wanted to affirm there was no way she would ever be attracted to someone she worked for.

      Which was a crock. A woman couldn’t control who she was attracted to. She only controlled what she did with that attraction.

      She had been lucky that it was never a concern in her prior job. Even if there had been someone, she never would have crossed the line. It was hard to earn respect from your peers if they thought they could take you to bed. A perfectly logical reason to avoid interoffice dating.

      Of course she’d also never had a relationship with any of the men from her last firm because she was completely and totally messed up emotionally. Every once in a while she forgot that.

      “So,” JoJo said, dipping a chip into the salsa. “What’s your deal?” She looked at both Sophie and Mark. It was a nosy question, but she was a detective. She lived to be nosy.

      Mark didn’t say anything, but Sophie looked at him, clearly waiting for him to say something first. Mark just shifted in the booth and reached for a chip.

      “No deal.”

      “Okay.” JoJo was prepared to let it go, but she could hear Sophie huff.

      “Uh, please. She wants to know why I call you Mark. And why we’re together.”

      “You call me Mark to annoy me.”

      “My mom is dead.”

      JoJo heard the flat note in the girl’s voice. It was as if she practiced saying it over and over again in the mirror so that when she had to say it out loud, to real people, she wouldn’t crack.

      JoJo was sure her own voice had the same tone when she told people her sister was dead.

      “I’m sorry.”

      “Whatever. It was an accident that happened months ago. Actually...it’s over a year now. I forgot.” Sophie frowned but quickly shook away whatever bad stuff was floating through her head. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Mark left me when I was a baby to save the world in Afghanistan and when my mom died he had to come back. I wanted to stay with my grandparents, but they’re too old to keep up with me so I’m stuck with Mark.”

      Mark clenched his jaw and JoJo watched the muscle in his cheek spasm. “That’s about eighty percent accurate.”

      “What part is wrong?” Sophie asked, having clearly told her story as truthfully as possible.

      “You say I left you like I dropped you on the side of the road. Your mother and I reached a decision. Also, I would like to add that I have been in touch with you throughout your life.”

      Sophie turned to JoJo. “Sorry. He sent me cards and gifts for my birthday and Christmas. When he wasn’t hiding under a rock somewhere, we would talk over the internet. Really intense conversations, too, like, ‘What grade are you in now?’ Mostly I saw a grainy picture of a guy with a scarf over his face. Half the time I didn’t even recognize him. So emotional.”

      “It’s sandy and windy in the Stans. Scarves are a necessary accessory for, you know, breathing.”

      “What—”

      “—ever,” Mark finished. “Yes. But you should also know I didn’t come back because your mother died. I was coming back regardless. Your mother’s death only sped up the process.”

      Sophie said nothing, but shook her head to show she didn’t believe it. Then she lifted her hand to her mouth