Thankless in Death (In Death 37)

“No. Well, maybe sort of.”

“You closed the case? The double homicide you caught this morning?”

“No. It’s … there’s stuff, but when I was thinking about the stuff, and how I wanted to bounce it all off you, I got this Peabody date night stuck in my brain.”

“We’re having a date with Peabody? I get two alluring women? Lucky me.”

She spared him one quick glance through narrowed eyes. “You got me, and that’s it, pal.”

“Thank God for it.” He cupped her face, leaned in for a soft, sweet kiss. “We’re having a date?”

“Not exactly. I can’t do the big D date thing where you shove all the stuff outside, but I thought I could pay you back a little for all the stuff. Nicer than pizza in my office.”

He looked at her for such a long, still moment, she feared she’d screwed something up. Then he pulled her in, wrapped around her, held tight. Tight.

“Thank you.”

“It’s not that big a thing.”

“It is to me, and especially tonight.”

“What’s tonight?” Shit, did she forget something? She pulled back, focused fully on his face. No, something else. “Did you have a thing mess up in the Universe of Roarke?”

He smiled at her, tapped the dent in her chin. “You could say.”

“What?”

“Not important, especially since I see we have champagne.”

“No.” She shifted before he could walk past her. “You take my stuff. I’ll take yours.”

He trailed a hand down her arm, over the soft sleeve of her sweater. “Marriage Rules?”

“That’s right. What’s the thing?”

“I had to fire three people this afternoon. I hate firing people.”

“Why did you?”

“Basically for not doing what they’re paid to do. I’ll give some leeway there for a space. They could be having a rough patch, some personal problems, health problems. So some room, some time, a discussion can settle that down. But when the not doing what they’re paid to do comes with carelessness, and worse, arrogance, there’s no leeway.”

“So you fired them for being assholes.”

He laughed, and felt some of those dregs slide away. “You could say just that.”

“I know something about it,” she said as he walked to the table she’d set—hopefully well enough—to uncork the champagne. “The guy responsible for the double homicide’s an asshole who can’t keep a job—arrogance, carelessness, and I think a warped sense of entitlement.”

“It seems our stuff coincides.” After the elegant and muffled pop of cork from bottle, he poured champagne into two tall flutes.

“Part of why you hate firing people is because it makes you feel like you made a mistake hiring them.”

“And you know me well,” he agreed. He handed her a flute, tapped his to hers.

“Did you?”

“Obviously, yes. But at the time they suited the position well, on all the levels. Over time, however, some can become complacent, lazy, and, yes, entitled.”

It never paid, he strongly believed, to take a single thing—the good, the bad, the mediocre—for granted.