Free What You Wish For by Kerry Reichs Page B

That, he’d not yet found.
    They stood. Katherine was a tall woman, taller than average-height Wyatt by an inch in her square heels. She unnecessarily laid a hand on his arm, grasping the bicep and giving him a winsome smile.
    “You’re one of the most commendable clients I have, Wyatt Ozols. Don’t let this sway you from your path. I’ll consider my life less worthy if you don’t have a child of your own one day.”
    “Thank you,” Wyatt said. Her flirting made him uncomfortable, like running into your Sunday school teacher in a miniskirt at a bar. Her kindness didn’t change anything.
    As he walked out of the building he felt obvious, the hole in his heart glaring like a FRANKIE SAYS RELAX T-shirt. Passersby could look right through. He discarded the idea of calling Eva for support. He was angry. And emasculated. And stupid. He stared into the window of Sur La Table, lost and blind, not registering the enticing staged kitchen, seeing only the reflection of a sad stranger.

Maryn Goes to Lunch
    A dina DeGuardi?” Maryn approached a tousled brunette with lips so plumped they looked like stacked figs, and offered her hand. “Maryn Windsor. Nice to meet you.”
    “Pleasure’s mine, darling.” Adina had a nasal Long Island twang unusual for L.A. and unusual for her deep baritone voice. Maryn checked the woman’s throat for an Adam’s apple, but Adina was all woman.
    “I hope you haven’t been waiting.” Maryn was precisely on time. She never kept clients waiting.
    “Not at all. I like this joint. Good people watching.”
    They sat on the sidewalk at Café Med in West Hollywood. Maryn had thought it would appeal. The waiter approached.
    “Do you need a minute?” Maryn asked. She always ordered the Cobb salad.
    “No, darling, I don’t do solids. Just a coffee, black,” Adina instructed the waiter.
    “Cobb salad.” Maryn didn’t react. She wondered if the collagen made it painful to chew. “What brings you to L.A.?”
    “My daughter.” She pronounced it daw-duh. “She’s started at UCLA and can’t live without her pony. It’s a gift from her father. She’s such a daddy’s girl.”
    “That’s wonderful she can keep her horse nearby while she’s in school.”
    “Yes, well, Serge—that’s my husband—knows a guy with a lotta land. It should work out fine.”
    A yellow flag went up in Maryn’s mind. She avoided clientele who “knew a guy.”
    “Oh?” She sipped her water.
    “Yeah. Serge gave him something, I don’t know what. But this guy and my husband, they love the ponies. Both got a herd of ’em. Always talking horses. Not me. I’ll be honest, I’m afraid of ’em, giant hooves and rolling eyes. Unpredictable. But Serge and Tina, that’s my girl, they love ’em.”
    “What does your husband do?”
    “Whatever he wants!” the woman chortled, slapping her aqua miniskirt. Maryn kept a neutral expression, mentally turning down the deal. “No, really.” Adina waved pink talon nails. “He owns a chain called Mario’s Pizza. People line up to pay five bucks for a slice of cardboard with fat melted on it.”
    Maryn was reassured. Mario’s Pizza was a huge chain. At least the guy wasn’t into “import-export” or “garbage removal.”
    “And what he wants,” Adina went on, “is for his little girl to be happy. That means carting this horse out to Los Angeles like she’s Zsa Zsa Gabor flying first class with a masseuse.” The woman belted out another laugh.
    “What’s the horse’s name?” Maryn asked.
    “Farasha. Here are the details.”
    Maryn looked over the file Adina handed her. Farasha was a beautiful three-year-old Arabian.
    “And you’d like to fly her out when Tina starts school?”
    “Tina’s here now, so we wanna fly her out as soon as possible.”
    “I see.”
    “And Rico says you’re the best.”
    “Rico?”
    “Enrique Ruiz. That’s Serge’s guy, who’s gonna board Farasha.”
    Maryn relaxed. Enrique Ruiz was a reputable horse fancier with a