Her pouting red lips formed a slow, deliberate “Hello.”

My secretary had a knack for understatement. She said I had a hot number waiting for me. I glanced at the frosted glass door of my office, the words “Private Detective” barely visible through the haze. It gave me my first glimpse of the dame inside. Blonde, draped in a black dress, perched on my window like a bird of prey.

I pushed the door open, and there she was—a knockout, no doubt about it. Her blue eyes locked onto mine, and her pouting red lips formed a slow, deliberate “Hello.” She sat there, as comfortable as a spider in its web, waiting for the fly to come closer. Her long legs were crossed in a way that would make an artist weep, a masterpiece of design and temptation.