It’s not really a question. Doug Hoffman doesn’t ask questions, ever, which is kind of funny for a man in our line of work. He merely barks and informs like the grouchy bulldog he is. It’d be annoying if I didn’t trust him with my life.
I toss him a thumbs-up, then grab my notebook and coffee. “Catch up with you later,” I tell Westie as I head into Doug’s glass-walled corner office.
“Try not to get fired!” Weston calls after me.
I flip him off over my shoulder without turning around. I hear him laugh and call after me, “That’s not very ladylike, Ms. Pierce!”
I pause for a millisecond to check my reflection. Not that Doug would ever notice or care. After all, he shaves once a blue moon and always forgets that his ear and nose hairs need trimming, too. But a girl likes to feel composed w
