isabella [h.s.]

thirteen

**You've been hit by,
you've been struck by
a smooth criminal**

HARRY

I cup both my hands under the running tap, filling them with water before bringing them up and splashing it onto my face, faintly wincing at the cold. After smoothing my hands along my jaw to ensure there's no leftover stubble, I head back out into the living room, checking my reflection in the mirror to ensure my suit has no creases. I can't remember the last time I made this much effort for work. Of course I always make some effort, because as a detective, you need to look presentable if you want people to take you seriously. Although, truthfully, I've never really seen the point of wearing a nice button up and pressed trousers just to sit at a desk all day. Seems like a bit of a waste to me.

My increase in effort is clearly noticeable to others too, because when Isabella stumbles out of her bedroom still half-asleep and yawning, evidently only awake for the purpose of using the bathroom, she stops to shoot me a perplexed look. "Why are you so dressed up?" she asks curiously, scanning me up and down when I turn around to face her.

"Have an important meeting at work with the head of the department," I tell her, attempting the fix the cuffs of my jacket. "She's going to review some of my cases, see how I'm doing, that type of stuff. She's a bit of a hard ass, so I thought I better look the part." After raking a hand through my hair, I let out a sigh before dropping my hands to my sides. "How do I look?"

Surprisingly, the edges of Isabella's lips curve up into a smile, and then she walks over to me, a somewhat amused expression on her face. "Your collar is a bit of a mess. I don't think the head of your department would be too pleased with that," she laughs, surprising me even more when her hands reach out to adjust my collar for me. "And I'm sure she's not a hard ass. She's probably just a hard-working woman who expects professionalism and doesn't take shit from anyone." As Isabella folds down my collar, she raises her gaze to mine, arching an eyebrow. "Would you describe a man as a hard ass?"

After considering it for a few seconds, I find myself nodding in agreement. "Ok, fair point," I say, causing her to smile again. "Wouldn't you describe your boss as a hard ass though?"

"Trey? No, I'd describe him as a dickhead," she replies simply, making me chuckle softly in response. "Do you know he took 20% of my tips the other night, just because he felt like it? I swear that's not even legal."

I frown a little at this, especially because this is the second time she's mentioned her boss' malpractice now. "Well, I said I could try look into it for you?"

Isabella shoots me a thankful smile. "I know, but that doesn't really fall under your job description, does it?"

"Hmm, I guess not. Unless he has homicidal tendencies, I can't really help you much."

She just smiles again, quickly adjusting my tie and smoothing down the lapel of my jacket before pulling her hands away. "All done," she says, taking a step back as if to appreciate her work, and I can't help my own lips from stretching into a grin. "Now, you better do good in this meeting, because I have an expensive bottle of celebratory wine that I've been wanting to open for weeks."

When I get to the precinct, I down about half a cup of coffee while grabbing all the documents I need from my desk, and then practically racing to the conference room, not wanting to risk being late. Thankfully, the room is still empty when I get there, so I have time to quickly ensure everything is in order before Clarissa Whitman, head of the department, arrives, which is approximately eight minutes later - not that I'm counting or anything. She strolls into the conference room with Chief Russell in tow, dressed in one of her usual pantsuits with matching Louboutins which have become her staple piece over the years. That, and her heavy Southern accent which is enough to convey that when she's talking, everybody in the room better listen.