Boston's Man-Eater

II

Like I had expected, the interview went by prosaically.

It was heart-wrenching to see her watch me with such fascination and attentiveness, especially when the topic steered to her life story of how she came to be Olivia Forest.

She had a glow of happiness that could alight the dullest corners of a creek.

Why am I a journalist again?  I thought as she spoke with pride about the beauty of real estate.

"And that's why it's important to have a sustainable cash-flow—financial liberation!"

It was almost obvious that she wasn't the Lady in Red.

Denise, who I confirmed as Edgar, was more of a ticking bomb.

Involuntarily clutching the armrests of my seat, I was afraid of the sudden debate I neither wished for, nor participated in.

She was infuriated about why I deemed her fit for an interview about the serial killer, and even asked how much concrete evidence I had to account the Lady in Red as a woman.

"Have you got any photographs of the serial killer?" Brown eyes burned into me, pink lips curling into a snarl.

"No."

"Have you seen her before?"

"No."

"Has anybody seen her before?"

"Descriptions were there, but vague."

"Then what kind of nonsense is this?"

"I'm just doing my job."

"Your job should not concern you abruptly invading my office, and bringing up such stupid theories!"

The woman was a fighter, and clearly had every fiber in her body that screamed, "I'm a lawyer!"

I swear I even heard her mutter, "Misogynistic fuck," when I walked out her door.

Yeah, I doubt that she'd be the Lady in Red—the police would have swooped in the midst of her announcing why her hands were bloodied by the dead man laying at her feet.

Which left me with Tess Salander.

By the time I was driving up to the Salander House, I was worn out, hoping she too would be as devastatingly bored and send me away.

Only if she didn't indicate an entanglement with the entire ordeal.

Honestly—

Slipping off my spectacles, I stared into the glass that was attached to the sun-visor.

My emerald eyes were tired, black hair originally curly. I have thick, dark eyebrows, and freckles powdering my nose.

Whatever my co-workers saw in me, would forever be a mystery.

There are absolutely zero traces of my possession of a strikingly attractive feature. But still, I received more than a handful of inviting eyes from women, and men wherever I went.

Stepping up out of the car, I craned my neck up to review the glassy building.

The bold letters etched onto the front didn't need to inform me that I was dealing with a lady who was aware of her prowess.

A CEO. I think I'd heard of her a few times when it was said that she wanted to resign from her own corporate ladder, and trade managerial entrepreneurship for the authentic kind.

She likes to be in control of events.

First thing that greeted me when I stepped through the doors, was a gust of wind that forcefully blew from the AC.