Rachel watched him from the moment he entered the bar. She occupied a rear booth, and was accompanied by a Jack Daniels on the rocks—per usual. Her attire would have been unremarkable in an office setting except to identify her to all men as a slut. Most women would view her as a stylish knockout, but this different perspective wouldn’t have prevented them hating her.

Rachel didn’t do office work; at least not in the traditional sense. This booth was her office, and the bartender kept it open for her, as well as supplying the Jack whenever she chose to lift a finger.

This guy wasn’t her typical clientèle. He approached her diffidently; almost as if he didn’t know why he was here. He, too, was dressed for an office: tie unfastened and askew, shirt unbuttoned. His expression told her he didn’t want to talk about what he wanted.

Rachel, not in the mood for equivocation, gave the man her business card.

Rachel C. Daws
Pickpocket
Loose Woman

“What is it you think I can do for you?” she asked politely.