Nashville traffic during rush hour could be ranked among the rings of hell on a good day, and Monday morning was not a good day. There was a collision at the I-65 and I-40 split bringing the entire city to a screeching halt. Thankfully, I heard about it on the radio as I pulled out of my apartment complex, so I took the backroads, carefully following the directions of my GPS navigator, Christopher Walken.

"In three...quarters of a mile. Turn left. Onto...Blackman Road."

Even digital Christopher Walken was a badass.

I wound my way through the neighborhoods of Crieve Hall, Berry Hill, and Wedgewood until I finally turned onto Fourth Avenue, which would carry me almost the rest of the way to my office. I stopped for a red light, and a chain-link fence covered in a white banner caught my attention, or the logo on it did, anyway.

Adler Construction.

My heart stuttered.

Behind the fence was the bare steel frame of a two-story building. No workers. No black trucks in sight.

A car behind me honked. The light was green.

When I got to the office, Claire was booting up her computer at the receptionist's desk. She frowned when she saw me, always a great sign first thing on a Monday morning. "Audrey's looking for you. Wondering why you're late. Peter was just verbally decapitated."

I glanced at the clock behind her desk. Despite the traffic, Christopher Walken's zigzaggy directions, and my lingering at traffic lights, I was still five minutes early. "It's twenty-five after eight. We don't open till eight thirty."

She shrugged and flashed me a pained don't-shoot-the-messenger smile.

I sighed and started down the hallway. Audrey's door was wide open. "Knock, knock," I said, stepping in the doorway.

My very own Devil in Prada swiveled around in her office chair. She had that look in her eye, the one that told me a lecture was imminent. There were file boxes stacked next to her labeled Lawson Young. Dark circles weighed heavy under her eyes.

Ass out. Tits up. The thought popped into my head so randomly I almost burst out laughing. Thank you, Roller Derby 101. This was certainly the time to brace for a big hit. Or better yet, come up with a solid defense maneuver. Fast.

I held up my wristwatch. "Wow, Audrey. The office isn't even open yet. You must have a lot on you. Burning the candle at both ends, and all."

She opened her mouth to say something harsh, no doubt, but then shot a confused look at her own watch. "Oh my," she stammered. "It is quite early."

I kept my voice low. Soothing. "Is there some way I can help you?"

She took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. Stress was etched in the deep lines on her forehead. "No rush, but when you get settled, can you please bring me a copy of Lawson's advertising expense report for this year to date? With receipts and invoices, if possible."

It was cute when she said things like "no rush" and "please."

"Sure. Is there a problem?" I asked.

"They're saying they never received it," she said.

"That's not true." I knew because I'd personally gone over some of the billing charges with his new webmaster.

She nodded. "I know. His new management is just being difficult. About everything."

I offered a smile. "Don't worry. I'll bring the file down when I bring last week's online-activity report. Or I can email it unless you're sure you want it in print. I've got it all in digital files."

"Print is perfect. I'm going to courier it over their office, sign on delivery."

I grinned. "That's one way to shut them up."

She laughed, well, almost. "Let's hope. Thank you, Lily."

I didn't correct her. Again. "You're welcome."

On my way out of her office, I pulled the door closed behind me. Peter was walking down the hall on his way back from the direction of the bathrooms. His step was brisk, and his bald head still flushed with anger.

"You OK?" I asked, stepping away from Audrey's door.

He blew out a sigh that puffed out his cheeks.

"Follow me," I said, jerking my head toward my office. "I'm offering safe harbor to refugees today."

Peter cracked a smile as he fell in step beside me, then he collapsed into one of my office chairs when we were safely inside. "Some days I don't know why I put up with her," he said with a groan.

I put my stuff down behind my desk and unbuttoned my coat. "I've only been here a couple of months, and I completely feel you."

He leaned on the armrest. "I swear, if it weren't for Ava, I'd have been gone years ago."

"She's always like this?" I asked, sitting down at my computer.

"Lately," he said. "Since the whole Ava-Lawson debacle."

"I almost hate I wasn't here when all that went down. What happened?" I asked quietly.

He wagged a finger at me. "Count your blessings you weren't here, honey. And no one really knows what happened, but whatever it was, was so severe that we now have a clause in our employee handbook stating we're not allowed to be romantically involved with clients."

"That's too bad," I said. "The only reason I took this job was to get close to Jake Barrett."

He laughed. "Didn't we all?"

My phone buzzed on my desk. It was an email from Audrey. I read it out loud. "When shall I expect those files? Please advise. Audrey."

Peter stood as he laughed. "You know what she means when she says, 'please advise,' don't you?"

"Please give her an update?" I asked, confused.

"Oh, Lucy."

"What then?"

He paused in my doorway and lowered his voice. "'Please advise' is bitch-speak for 'What the...'" Then he mouthed the F-word and left.