Controlling Interest Read Online Free Page B

all my cereal. Can I have this for dessert?” The smell of cinnamon and fruit and sugar steamed through the pie’s beautiful lattice-work crust. There definitely was a God.
    â€œBaby, you can do whatever you want to with it.” Tootie pointed the mop. “But first you better shovel out this mess before that pretty girl downstairs gets to your office. Otherwise she might never come back.”
    â€œWhat pretty girl?”
    â€œLittle blonde with one of those funky choppy haircuts? I didn’t know you had a partner. You’ve lived and worked in my building for six months now. You’d think something like that would come up in conversation.”
    Matt froze in the act of scooping pie into a marginally clean saucer. He’d considered just eating it out of the tin, but Tootie’s gimlet eye was on him. “I don’t have a partner. Well, Natalie’s dad is technically my partner, and he’s got some crazy idea about giving her twenty-five percent of his share, but — ” He stopped himself. Tootie had a way of eliciting information he never intended to part with. “She’s not my partner, and she’s never going to see the inside of my apartment.”
    â€œNatalie, huh? Suits her.”
    â€œI’ll tell you what her name ought to be.” Matt stuffed a bite of flaky, gooey crust into his mouth. “T-R-O-U-B-L-E. I can’t believe she had the nerve to show up here. Guess she told you she’s got a degree in criminal justice. Like that’s supposed to make her Magnum P.I.” He glanced at the clock on the microwave. Definitely should have started with his quiet time this morning, instead of email. Not even eight o’clock, and already he was in a tailspin.
    â€œI’m sure she’s a lot smarter than you give her credit for.” Too-tie backed toward the door. “I’ve got to get to mass. Just wanted to tell you to put on a clean tie for your partner — visitor, whatever she is. Don’t forget to put that pie in the fridge, if you want it to last.”
    â€œI’ll have it eaten before it can go bad.” But Matt opened the refrigerator and set his prize on top of a pizza box. Twelve years of church school as a kid had left an ingrained respect for teachers, retired or not.
    Put on a clean tie. As if that would impress a girl like Natalie Tubberville. As if he wanted to impress her.
    Matt picked his way through an explosion of clothes, investigative journals, and weapons and tech catalogs. One day he was going to have to get a backhoe in here and start over. The thought of his mother seeing the way he lived made the hair on his arms stand up.
    The bedroom wasn’t much better than the kitchen or the living room. His bed didn’t even have sheets on it. He’d gotten tired of washing them and putting them back on, so every night he just stripped to his underwear, cranked down the air conditioner, and rolled himself up in the comforter.
    By moving a set of thirty-pound dumbbells and yanking hard, he managed to get his closet door open. He poked through the array of ties on a rack he and his grandfather had made when Matt was in the eighth grade. It was one of his prized possessions. He’d been collecting vintage ties almost as long as he’d been collecting baseball cards.
    Choice made, he retraced his steps to the kitchen and took another bite of the pie. Then he located his keys beside the dead ivy plant on the windowsill. He looked down at his tie with a grin. Natalie Tubberville had better have on sunglasses.

    Natalie looked out Matt Hogan’s office window. Beale Street below was quiet this morning, with a muted, dusty light sifting through the storefronts. A wino slouched against the lamppost on the corner, and a police squad car had a radar trap in an alley — the only signs of life.
    Weird place for a young guy like Hogan to live. Matt. Her business partner. That was a weird thought