18 • The Interview

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For whatever reason, when I'd heard the name Mr

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For whatever reason, when I'd heard the name Mr. Dougherty, I expected to find a Newport-bred, middle-aged man who wanted to make a case for skipping the waitlist for membership to the yacht club. I was used to handling that kind of clientele.

But that's not who I found sitting in the lobby.

"Good morning, Mr. Dougherty," I said with all the enthusiasm of a public relations specialist, extending my hand. "I'm Camilla Isley."

"Jack Dougherty," replied an incredibly young and rather good-looking man as he stood from the chair and pocketed his phone.

We shook hands briefly before I led him to the conference room. Jack's sharp brown eyes took in the details of the office. He had smooth, toffee-colored skin and was built like a linebacker, although he looked rather at home in a suit.

"So," I said taking a seat, "how can I help you today, Mr. Dougherty?"

I regarded him with interest as he walked purposefully around the long conference table and took a seat across from me. Reaching inside his wallet, he extracted a business card and offered it to me with a grin.

"You can start by calling me, Jack."

I glanced down at the card, and my breath caught in my chest.

Jack Dougherty, Private Investigator

His office address and contact information were printed below. I stared at the tiny font, trying to collect the shards of my thoughts.

Why would a private investigator want to talk to me?

I set the card down on the table. "Am I in some kind of trouble?"

Jack shook his head. "No. On the contrary, I'm here because I'm hoping you can help me."

"Help you?" I choked out. "I'm just a PR Specialist, not a detective. I'm not sure how much help I can offer."

He studied me with those sharp brown eyes, and I wondered what kind of qualifications someone would need to have to be a private investigator.

"Don't short change yourself, Ms. Isley. I'm sure PR professionals have to do a lot of digging and bending over backward and sucking up." Jack leaned back in his seat. "That's not much different from what I do."

He wasn't wrong. PR was often misunderstood and both companies I'd worked at before the club had expected me to handle everything.

I glanced down at the card. "Can I ask who hired you?"

"You can," Jack replied. His tone playful.

"But you won't say," I guessed.

"See, you know how this goes," Jack said with a grin. "My employer asked me to keep their identity confidential."

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