The Temporary Detective

Chapter One

"I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do for you."

Isobel Spice regarded the powerfully built, dark-skinned man behind the desk, who looked like he'd be happier thundering down a football field than dispensing temporary office jobs to aspiring actors. Or, in Isobel's case, withholding them. This was supposed to be the easy part. She had arrived in New York on the first of October perfectly prepared to claw her way into acting auditions, but not into an office survival job, too.

Isobel picked up the brass nameplate on the man's desk. He'd obviously given it the once-over with his sleeve that morning. She could see the streaks.

"James Cooke. Good stage name."

James snatched the nameplate from her and set it down. "You have no office experience."

"Of course I don't. I just graduated from college," Isobel said patiently. Having reenacted this scene at seven other temp agencies, all of which had turned her away, she knew her lines.

"Look, I'm sure you're very bright-"

"I'm smart, I'm reliable, I'm available, and, no, I've never worked in an office before, but I've been in many in my lifetime. Doctor's offices, professor's offices, the principal's office-" She flashed a disarming smile. "That was just once, in sixth grade. But I pick things up quickly, and you can't tell me that all your employees with years of experience are any better than I am. If they were, they'd have real jobs!"

James stared back stonily. "People temp for all kinds of reasons."

Isobel sighed. "I know that. I came to New York to pursue my acting career. I need to eat, I need to live, and I have no upper body strength. The one time I tried to wait tables, I dropped five boiled lobsters on a nun."

James glanced past her shoulder at the open door, then leaned forward, his left cuff pulling back to reveal a gold watch with half the gold scraped off.

"Listen, I've only been here a week," he said in a low voice. "The boss has strict guidelines about who we take on, and I can't jeopardize...I mean...you understand."

Isobel returned his whisper spiritedly. "Of course. But you understand too, then, don't you? I mean, how did you get this job?"

He sat back, bristling. "I've been in the recruiting business for five years."

Isobel threw her arms wide. "Then what are you worried about? You have experience! You won't have a problem getting another job."

James pushed away from his desk, but his chair bounced off a metal filing cabinet and sent him rolling back to her. He stood with a grumble and gestured toward the door.

"I can recommend other agencies that are flexible about taking people with less experience."

Isobel tried to stem a rising tide of panic. She was pretty sure she'd been to all of them, and they weren't flexible enough. Temp Zone was her last hope. If he didn't take her on, she didn't know what she'd do.

"If you give me a chance, I promise you won't regret it!"

A resonant guffaw escaped, unchecked, from James's gut. "Whenever somebody says that, I usually wind up regretting it double. I'm sorry, Miss Spice, but I can't send you out."

"I prefer Ms. Spice. Otherwise it sounds like you've put in too much coriander." She swiveled her chair and crossed her ankles daintily, recalling her favorite choreographer's observation that it was more flattering to the leg than crossing at the knee. But despite her attempt to be offhand, her heart was racing as she tried to figure out how to get James Cooke to change his mind. Unfortunately, his broad jaw was set in a determined refusal to be charmed by her. There was nothing left but the direct appeal.