The Professional

meeting him

Prologue

From: NataliePorter@huskers.unl.edu

Sent: Saturday 2:51 PM

To: caseworker03@russian-ancestry-DNA.com

Subject: Don't keep me in suspense. . . .

Dear Mr. Zironoff,

Sorry to e-mail you yet again, but I was so excited to learn of the potential DNA match you discovered last month. After six years of searching for my biological parents, I'd love to hear back from you, even if the lead didn't pan out. I've tried calling, but your voice mailbox is full. I don't have enough money to start over with a new investigator, so could you please respond?

Sincerely,

Natalie Porter

* * *

From: NataliePorter@huskers.unl.edu

Sent: Thursday 1:14 AM

To: caseworker03@russian-ancestry-DNA.com

Subject: Response needed!

Dear Mr. Zironoff,

I'm starting to get worried, so please write me back. You gave me such hope that I would soon find my mother and father. I can wire the last of my savings to you. Anything.

But I need you to respond.

Sincerely,

Natalie

* * *

Sent: Thursday 1:15 AM

To: NataliePorter@huskers.unl.edu

Subject: Mail delivery failed

The following address(es) failed: caseworker03@russian-ancestry-DNA.com

Mailbox is FULL

Chapter 1

"Mommy issues. Serial cheater. Humor void. Two-pump chump." With each guy who entered the campus bar, I ticked off my initial impression to my drunken friends.

I had an uncanny knack for sizing up males-I was a regular "manalyst." My secret? I always went negative, and the guys, well, they always accommodated.

The girls at the table-several of my roommate's friends and a couple of mine-looked at me like I was a funsideshow act, their carny pal. Drinks were perpetually free.

After the week I'd had, my dinner of salt, tequila, and lime was hitting the spot.

My best friend Jessica murmured at my ear, "You better be careful, you picky prude, or else you'll take your hymen to your grave. Like a skin tag."

She alone knew that I'd never given it up-and why. "Low blow, Jess," I said without any heat. Like her, it took a lot to get me ruffled, which was one of the reasons we made such great roommates.

Other than that, we were as different as we could be. Whereas she was leggy and tan with twinkling blue eyes and cropped black hair, I was short and top-heavy, with long red hair and pale-as-a-porcelain-sink skin.

I was a workaholic studyaholic, pursuing my history PhD. After years' worth of incompletes, Jess had finally dipped a toe into the core courses of her major-leisure studies-and decided college was "a racket" for "wretched f**ks." Though it was midsemester, she was heading out tomorrow for a tour of the Greek Isles with her wealthy family.

Another round of tequila shooters arrived, sent by a trio of frat boys a few tables away. We raised our glasses, then dutifully licked, pounded, and sucked. The tequila, not the boys.