Free What a Girl Wants by Kate Perry Page A

in the picture made Ariana certain of one thing: She’d make a terrible private investigator.
    Maybe if she started over fresh. She opened another browser window and tried over again, this time with the company that her dad worked for before he left to start his own. She copied all the female names she found associated with it into a document and then searched for photos of them online. The problem was that the names were all common and yielded a million results.
    “This isn’t working,” she declared, drooping in her seat. She made a face at her laptop. Was it too much to ask for the woman to have an uncommon name? Like when she put Sebastian Tate in the search box, the one she wanted showed up first.
    She sat up and typed his name, just to prove it.
    This time, she clicked on his official bio. She scanned it, shocked by everything he’d accomplished, all the awards he’d received, and the ad campaigns that he’d worked on.
    Not just worked on, she realized, reading more. Spearheaded was the word often used. It turned out that Sebastian was every bit a world conqueror as her dad.
    Depressing thought. No wonder he didn’t understand her desire to keep Dew Me intimate.
    Her stomach rumbled as she closed the laptop. She knew there was no food in the refrigerator, so she put on a hoodie and went out to get a juice from across the street.
    As she crossed the street, her eye caught the gold neon PSYCHIC sign across from George’s garage. She stood in the middle of the street, staring. Maybe Esme could help.
    A car honked at her to move. Jumping onto the sidewalk, she continued to stare. Before she could change her mind, she hurried back to her apartment, got the photo, and went to Esme’s.
    Esme was at the door before Ariana rang the bell, as though she knew she was going to have company. The woman smiled warmly, looking like she was genuinely pleased to see her.
    “I was wondering when you’d stop by,” she said, holding the door open wider. “Come in.”
    “Thanks,” she murmured, looking around. Not much of a foyer. Nothing on the walls, no runner on the stairs. It surprised her.
    “I’m upstairs,” Esme said, as though reading her mind. She bound up the stairs, stopping halfway to wave at Ariana. “Come on up.”
    What had she gotten herself into? She walked up the stairs slower, wondering if she could extricate herself.
    But when she reached the top, she stopped, stunned by how homey it appeared. Bohemian, sure, with all the colorful rugs and pillows, but homey nonetheless. There weren’t any crystal balls, tarot cards, or freaky Rasputin paintings in sight.
    “My bedroom and kitchen are down the hall,” Esme said proudly. She gestured to two low chairs and a small side table near the front window. “I use this as my office. Have a seat.”
    “It’s really nice up here,” she said as she sat down, hoping she didn’t sound as shocked as she felt.
    Esme lit up. “It is, isn’t it? I’m lucky. Do you know Dolores, who owns the house? She lives downstairs.”
    “The old woman with the huge old car?”
    “Her yacht, as she calls it.” Esme laughed. “Dolores has the best stories. So tell me why you’re here. Is it because of Sebastian?”
    The sudden getting down to business startled her, but not as much as Esme asking about Sebastian. “Do you know him?”
    “We’ve met, of course.”
    Of course. She shook her head. “I didn’t come here to talk about him.”
    “Oh.”
    Esme’s expression became so disappointed that Ariana felt bad. But she reminded herself of the objective and pulled the picture out of her pocket. “I’m looking for this woman.”
    Leaning forward, Esme barely glanced at the picture before shaking her head and pushing her seat back. “Don’t.”
    “Don’t?” She raised her brow. “Don’t what?”
    “Look for this woman.” Esme pointed at the photo.
    “Why not?”
    “Because it’s a distraction from the things that matter. Because some things are better left