Blue Moon Dragon

“Good morning, George Taniwha Investigators and Security.” Emma forced a bright smile and hoped her despondency didn’t crawl down the telephone line. Twenty-five years old today.

Twenty-five!

And she still hadn’t plucked up the courage to approach Jack Sullivan and ask him out on a date—despite this being the age of equal opportunity. The male in question sauntered past her desk and strode into George Taniwha’s office without giving her a second glance.

A man to die for…

Emma sighed and stared at the bronze nameplate on the door in frustration. So, she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in New Zealand. She was built with the word generous in mind. A large ass and a chest made to house her big heart. Or at least that was what her high school boyfriend had informed her. He’d also told her she had a nice smile and that he enjoyed being with her because she never stressed about her size. Yep, she was a normal, healthy woman—kind to animals and small children. Most people liked her, yet the wretched man ignored her existence.

“Are you there, young lady?”

The querulous voice jerked Emma from her grievances re the lack of sex life back to her phone
call. “I’m sorry. I had to sign for a courier parcel,” she fibbed. “How can I help you?”

“My name is Elisa Denning. I need the services of a private investigator. Someone is stealing my prize rose blooms. Right before the flower show too. It’s disgraceful. That’s what it is.”

“Let me take some details, then I’ll arrange for an investigator to come and see you. Address? Telephone number?” Emma jotted down the woman’s particulars, an imp inside her laughing as she imagined George assigning this case. None of the men would appreciate chasing a rose thief. George Taniwha’s operatives preferred the dangerous stuff that challenged them and proved they were men.
Her humor died, replaced by a frown that drew her brows together. That was another thing she wanted to change. She’d passed all her private investigator exams. George had promised she’d be able to take on cases soon. Perhaps this one. Never let anyone say Emma Montrose didn’t have ambition.

“When can I expect someone?” the elderly lady questioned. “I’m sure it’s Mrs. Gibb’s grandson, but the police won’t do anything.”

“An investigator will contact you tomorrow morning, Mrs. Denning.”

“Excellent. Tomorrow is my baking day. I’ll make them a cup of tea once they arrive.”

Emma couldn’t restrain a grin as a vision of one of George’s tough he-man investigators drinking tea from a bone china cup popped into her mind. “I’m sure they’ll enjoy refreshments. Thanks, Mrs. Denning.” She disconnected and transcribed two proposals for prospective clients while she waited for Jack to leave George’s office. She was smitten enough to want to gaze her fill as he departed since he had a truly fine butt.

The hands of the clock moved at the pace of a sick snail, and still Jack remained in George’s inner sanctum. Reluctantly, Emma stood and packed up for the day. She grabbed her bag and couldn’t prevent a glance at the closed door, searching for the tall, dark-haired man of her dreams.

Oh, yeah. No doubt about it. She was a sad, sad woman.