“May I help you?” the woman asked.

I didn’t want to be there, but I was at my wits end. For three weeks Twitter and the internet were rumbling about me, about things I hadn’t done. I thought it was nothing, the typical crap that goes on. Donald Trump was going to deport American Indians to India. Barack Obama was born in Kenya. Elvis Presley was spotted at Wal-Mart. But the rumors weren’t going away, and they were starting to gain traction.

“I’d like to speak with David Jacobs.”

Something passed over her face. “I’m sorry. My father died about a year ago. I’m Tanya Jacobs. May I help you?”

“Oh, uh…”

She smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Would you like to step into my office, Mr…?”

“Sorry. Neil. Neil Gibson.” I stalled. I wasn’t sure what to do. I’d asked around. Clearview Investigations and David Jacobs came highly recommended. He was supposed to be honest, trustworthy, and most importantly, discrete.

“Mr. Gibson?”

“Yes, sorry. Yes, thank you.”

Tanya was tiny. She barely reached my chin, but she was pixie cute with her short, messy is sexy hairstyle. Her hair was a deep, rich brown shading into black and stopped just below her ear and parted on the side. It was very feminine and looked good on her. Her features were delicate, with a small upturned nose and large, deep brown eyes.

She turned, and I followed her into the office. She was petite, but she moved with a power and grace that belied her size. I could tell there was more strength hiding in that small frame than most would realize. Her breasts were probably average in size but appeared slightly larger than normal on her small frame. While her breasts might be average, her ass was fantastic, and I had to force myself not to stare as she swayed into the small office.

“Trouble?” I asked as I nodded at the broken window in the inner door.

“No trouble. Now, how may I help you?” she asked as she sat down behind her desk. When I hesitated again, her face hardened slightly. “Mr. Gibson. I’m fully licensed and insured. I’ve been a private investigator for ten years.”

She was very perceptive. “I have a problem.”

“Most people who walk through that door do.” When I didn’t respond, she smiled slightly. “Want to tell me what it is, or should I try to guess?”

I couldn’t help by smile. “I’m being accused of sexual harassment.”

“Okay. By who?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem.”

“You don’t know?” Her surprise was clear in her voice. “How can you not know?”

“It’s all over Facebook, Twitter, everywhere. At first I ignored it, but it’s starting to appear on blogs and some independent news sites.”

“So? Rumors are just that.”

“You don’t understand. It’s starting to affect my reputation and business.”

“What do you do, Mr. Gibson?”

“Call me Neil. I have a website, NeilGibsonFitness.com, that promotes health and fitness. There are workout videos, health tips, that sort of thing. I also own three fitness centers in the area, Neil Gibson Fitness Center, that I’m trying to franchise. Finally, I have some clients, some very private clients, that I do personal training with.”

She looked at me oddly. “Do I know you from somewhere? I feel like I’ve met you before, or maybe saw you on television, something like that.”

“I’ve had a couple small parts on television shows. You probably remember me from the 2012 London Olympic Games. I was on the American male gymnastic team.”

She snapped her fingers. “That’s it! I thought you looked familiar. You won a bunch of medals, right?”

I tried not to smile, but I couldn’t help it. That was the proudest moment of my life. I’d worked my ass off for years with one goal: to make the U.S. Olympic team. It hadn’t been easy. I was six feet tall, far taller than the 5’8” or 5’9” of most male gymnasts. Not only did I have to be better than anyone else, but I also had to overcome the prejudice of being too tall to be a world class gymnast. But I’d proven them wrong. I’d proven them all wrong.

“Gold on High Bar and Parallel Bars, silver on Pommel Horse.”

She was grinning now and nodding. “Yeah, I remember. You were the golden boy. Women everywhere were throwing themselves at you or fainting at your feet. Didn’t you have an affair with one of the gymnasts from Australia or something?”

I rolled my eyes. “No. It was a hurdler, and just more rumors. Zoe and a group of friends had dinner together to celebrate her birthday. I kissed her on the cheek and suddenly we’re sleeping together.”

She was still smiling. “I had the worst crush on you back then. Me, and every seventeen to twenty-five-year-old woman in America, I guess.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. I’d posed shirtless, arms crossed over my chest, as I smiled at the photographer. One was with the rest of the men’s team, then each of us had posed alone. The photos were used to promote the games, and the posters had sold a combined 18 million copies. My single was the best seller of them all, something my teammates never let me forget. Those were good times.

I couldn’t resist. “What about now?” I asked with a teasing grin of my own.

She snickered. “Older, wiser, and a lot more cynical. So, what do you expect me to do, exactly?”

My grin disappeared. “I honestly don’t know. Well, I do know, but I don’t know if it’s possible. I want you to find out who’s spreading the rumors so I can put a stop to them.”

“And you have no place for me to start?”

“No.”

She stared at me for a long moment. “I’m going to ask you this, and I need you to be perfectly honest with me. Have you ever touched a woman inappropriately before?”

“No!” I cried. “Never!” I paused and decided to come clean. “Okay, I’ll admit I have a bit of playboy image, but I’ve never forced myself on a woman, ever, and I’ve never touched anyone that didn’t want me to.”

“Could one of these past lovers be out to get you for some reason? Money?”

“I don’t know. Why would they? Nothing was ever serious. They were just romps. They got what they wanted, and I got what I wanted.”

“What did they want?”

I looked down, feeling a little embarrassed. I was almost thirty, and I was beginning to settle down, but for a while I was fucking everyone woman I could get to open her legs. And it was easy. I often had a different woman every night of the week. I’d fuck them once, sometimes twice, then move on to the next one. There was always another one waiting.

I looked up and forced myself to meet her eyes. “You’d have to ask them.”

“Uh-huh. And what did you want? Just a quick tumble?”

“You’re not my mother,” I snapped.

“No, I’m not. I’m just making sure I know all the facts so I don’t waste my time or your money. So, these women, they were just one-night stands? They knew that going in and were okay with it?”

“Yes, and I assume so. Like I said, I never forced a woman in my life.”

“Any of them change their mind after they agreed?”

“No,” I said softly. Having someone spelling it out so bluntly made me feel a little bit like a shallow prick.

“Any of the women hit on you?” When I didn’t answer, she pressed. “Come on. Everything you tell me is totally confidential, but if you’re not straight and honest with me, you make my job a lot more difficult.”

“Yes, sometimes.”

“Did you ever turn anyone down?”

I nodded slowly. “Sometimes.”

“Think it could be one of them?”

“Maybe, but why?”

“Pissed off that you rejected them? Didn’t like the fact they didn’t measure up to your standards? Who knows?”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. If that were the case, I’d think it would have happened before now.”

“Why?”

I grinned, my past escapades making me slightly self-conscious. “I’m twenty-nine years old. Banging a new woman every night doesn’t hold as much appeal to me anymore.”

“So, you’ve settled down recently?”

I nodded. “Yeah, especially in the last couple of years.”

“No lovers since then?”

I snorted. “I didn’t say that, but my relationships have been more stable and longer lasting.”

“Involved with anyone now?”

“Why?”

She looked at me with slight annoyance. “Because perfect strangers don’t accuse other perfect strangers of sexual harassment.”

“No. I broke up with my last girlfriend about three months ago.”

“When did these rumors first appear?”

“Before we broke up.”

“Were you having trouble at the time?”

“No, I didn’t think so.”

“What happened?”

I shrugged. “She left me. Decided she didn’t like sharing me with the public, I guess. She didn’t like me doing one on one workouts with women. The rumors. Those didn’t help either, and I think it bothered her that I wasn’t interested in taking the relationship further than where it was.”

“Which was what?”

“More than friends with benefits, but less than willing to consider a life together.”

“I see. Anyone else? Business partners or rivals? Anyone that might want to see you hurt or is holding a grudge?”

I paused as I thought about it. “Nobody I can name, no. I’m sure other fitness centers would like to see me go out of business, other websites too, but I can say the same about them. I’m not going to jeopardize my businesses by doing something like this, so why would they?”

She nodded. “Okay, I think I have a pretty good picture of what’s going on. I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Gibson, I—”

“Neil,” I interrupted. “Mr. Gibson is my dad.”

She smiled. “Okay, Neil. I don’t think I can help you.”

My stomach sank. “Why?”

“I have nothing to start with. I supposed I could look into your ex-girlfriend, but if the rumors started before she broke up with you, and she was bothered by them, that probably means it’s not her. I don’t want to take your money and not be able to deliver some results.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“What other reason would there be?” she asked, her face twisting in confusion.

“Nothing. Listen, if it’s about the money, I’ve got money. Don’t worry about that.”

“That’s not the issue. Charging you when I’m pretty sure I can’t do anything isn’t ethical.”

My stomach sank a little lower. “Look, I really need some help. I’m out of my league with this. I asked someone I trust, and they recommended your dad. He helped this person with a spousal support problem. Can’t you just, I don’t know, do a quick check or something? Money isn’t a problem. I’ll be happy to pay, and if you don’t turn up anything…” I shrugged. “Well, you warned me. Please, Ms. Jacobs. I need your help.”

She stared at me for a long time, then reached into her desk and pulled out a sheet of paper. She slid it across the desk.

“This is my standard rate. I bill one-hundred dollars an hour plus sixty cents a mile. You are also responsible for other miscellaneous expenses that I incur during my investigation. You will receive a copy of the receipts. I require a deposit. Normally that is the amount I believe it will take to complete the investigation, but in your case, I don’t know, so will forty hours be acceptable? After forty hours, you can authorize additional time, or we can consider the contract complete. At the end of the investigation, I will turn over all information I’ve collected. If I’m required to testify in court, I’ll require another one-thousand dollars for the ten billable hours that testifying normally requires, plus mileage. If, after you’ve paid, I’m not called to testify, I will promptly refund your money. Any questions?”

“Where do I sign?”

She hesitated. “Just a moment.”

She typed on her computer a moment and a contract slid into the output tray. She slid it across the desk. I glanced over it, signed at the bottom, and slid it back.

“How should I pay?”

“Cash, debit, check, Visa, Mastercard or Discovery.”

I pulled my credit card and handed it across. She plugged a device into her phone, swiped the card, then handed it back. I signed.

“When can you start?” I asked.

“I have something I’ve already committed to for today. Can I get a list of your private clients? Do you mind if I talk to them?”

I chewed on my bottom lip a moment. “No, I don’t mind you talking to them, but I’d rather not give you their names. What if, instead, you go with me when I meet with them. I’ll introduce you, and you can talk to them then. Is that okay?”

“I’d rather conduct my interviews in private.”

I shrugged. “Okay. I’ll wait outside by the car. I have nothing to hide, but my clients appreciate discretion, and having a PI—can I call you that?”

She smiled as if she’d heard it dozens of times before and waved her hand. “That’s fine.”

“Okay. And having a PI show up on their door unannounced to ask questions wouldn’t be my first choice.” I could tell she didn’t like my answer, but I didn’t budge.

“Okay, we’ll do it your way.”

“Thanks, Ms. Jacobs.”

“Tanya.”

“Tanya,” I repeated. “Shall I pick you up here, say nine in the morning? You can ride with me. You can follow me around for a few days and see what I do.”

“That’s going to burn through your deposit very quickly if I do that.”

I shrugged. “I don’t care. Well, I do care. Money isn’t the most important thing, but it is something. If you see what I do, maybe that’ll give you a better idea of where to start digging.”

She bobbed her head as her lips twisted to the side. “Maybe.”

I rose and stuck my hand out. “Thank you. I’ll be here at nine o’clock sharp.”

She also rose and took my hand in a firm handshake. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as I turned and walked out.

I dropped into my car but didn’t start it. I’d gone into Clearview Investigations expecting to find some fat, grizzled, old fart with a three-day beard, wearing a fedora and a loosely knotted tie, a half-empty fifth of bourbon sitting on the corner of the desk. What I’d found couldn’t have been more different. A small woman, very attractive, neatly attired in a dark grey dress skirt with a matching blazer over a pale-yellow blouse. She was very professional and seemed confident in her abilities.

I hoped that confidence was warranted. I’d told her the rumors had been picked up by news organizations and was starting to hurt my business. It was true, but I hadn’t stressed how true. My name was my brand, and it was being dragged through the mud. I’d already lost one of my private classes. The woman hadn’t said it was because of rumors, but in Hollywood, everyone was very sensitive to public opinion. She probably didn’t want her name associated with mine in case the rumors turned out to be true, and no amount of assurances from me made any difference.

I started my car and pulled the paddle to put it into gear. I didn’t mind Tanya following me around for a few days. Hopefully she would see for herself I wasn’t the guy someone was trying to make me out to be, and maybe she would see something I didn’t. That was supposed to be her schtick, after all. Once I knew who, or why, I had lawyers to take care of the problem. But it all started with Tanya.

She said David Jacobs was her father. Robert Thisliski, one of my private clients, and the man who David had helped, couldn’t say enough nice things about him. As I pulled into traffic and wailed away, I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.