Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(8)
"She doesn't look scared," I told him.
"Bye." He widened his eyes and wiggled his fingers at me.
"Fine." I rolled my eyes, headed toward baggage claim to get my bag, then out to the taxi stand.
I clutched Suit Monkey's phone in my hand the whole time. It was warm and noisy outside, with cars honking to get the attention of their waiting passengers. The line for taxis moved fast. My cab driver was monosyllabic, and as I sat in the backseat, I decided to at least add my number into the phone as a contact. I started typing my name, but then if he texted or called me and my own name popped up it would be weird.
I decided on
First Name: Suit
Last Name: Monkey
Company: who has Emmy's phone held hostage
Address: Douchbag Industries
Save. For some reason that made me feel better.
Then I called ahead while I still had use of a phone that hadn't been disconnected.
4
Emmy
I should have flown into JFK, it would have been better than having to drive through Manhattan to get to my destination. Phone calls made, I unlocked the phone again and looked at the dating apps and couldn't help shaking my head. What world did we live in? I'd taken the leap a couple of years ago to dip my toe in the cesspool, and it was as murky and gross as I’d imagined. This guy didn't seem to mind though, if anything he had memberships to every type of dating site I'd heard of and some I hadn't. I wondered if he was on the site for married people wanting to have affairs too. That would tell me a lot about him.
Who was T Montgomery? I went back to his email.
The senders were repeats—some guy named Trent, about five from someone named "Mac" MacMillen, more from Carson, all interspersed with emails from a person named Dorothy. I opened one from Dorothy this morning that was marked as already read:
* * *
Reception after the funeral address is 17 Laurens Street, Charleston. I've already informed the car service. Home of Alston Family (presume friends of your late grandfather). They've also requested your presence at the reading of the will after the reception. Address of law office attached. Good luck today.
* * *
I didn't know this man, even his name yet, but all of a sudden his gruff demeanor and snappy attitude seemed different in the context of him attending the funeral of a family member.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I opened the text box again.
* * *
You never told me your name
* * *
The response came immediately.
* * *
Suit Monkey: I'm surprised you haven't ferreted it out of my phone.
* * *
I wanted you to tell me. And by the way I'm not a hacker.
* * *
Suit Monkey: I know.
* * *
You know? I'm kind of offended you don't think I'm capable of being a hacker. You have to admit bypassing your code was pretty awesome.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Honey, you have zero security on your phone. Interesting photos btw. I don't think you fit the profile.
* * *
I'm not sure there is a hacker profile. And STOP GOING THROUGH MY PHOTOS. Or I'll go through yours.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Fine. Are you a hacker?
* * *
No. So anyway—your name?
* * *
Suit Monkey: It's not a good time. I'm about to walk into a church.
* * *
That makes it the perfect time!
* * *
Suit Monkey: Um. There is so much wrong with that statement. But I'll bite. How so?
* * *
I'm assuming since you are going to a church in the middle of the week in the middle of the day, that you aren't there for any of life's happy occasions.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Astute.
* * *
Family member? Friend? Or both?
* * *
Suit Monkey: Family member.
* * *
Not both. Interesting.
* * *
So do you hate your name? Is that why you won't tell me? Is it weird?
* * *
Suit Monkey: Weirder than the fact you are texting me when you know I'm heading into a funeral? Thanks for the condolences, by the way.
* * *
Suit Monkey: And no, I don't hate my name.
* * *
:: drums fingers :: Do you want me to go through your emails?
* * *
There was a long pause.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Trystan Montgomery. And like that would stop you.
* * *