Had she been checking out Susanne’s ass? Nah. She stammered like a scared little girl when she found out I’m a lesbian. No way is she gay. She had probably just watched her to make sure she wouldn’t smudge the glass she’d polished earlier.

“Could you put down your pen porn and explain this to me, please?”

“P-pardon me?” Frau Lamm stuttered.

Susanne bit her lip. Hell, her professionalism really was slipping. Would she have said something like that if this had been any other job? Probably not.

It pissed her off that she’d been sent to Freiburg to rescue another family member who was completely inept as a businessman. Her mother had charged in like the cavalry to save her husband’s struggling businesses more than once when Susanne had been growing up, even taking out a loan for him and nearly ruining her own business in the process.

Susanne had been forced to watch helplessly, and she now realized that she’d let that old, pent-up anger color her interaction with Anja Lamm. From now on, she would try to treat her time in Freiburg like any other job.

“That magazine.” She pointed. “Could you put it down and come over here…please,” she added after a second.

Frau Lamm carefully put down the magazine and walked over with the expression and posture of a prisoner being led to her execution.

“Who sets the prices around here?” Susanne asked.

Frau Lamm folded her arms across her chest, which drew Susanne’s attention to the bit of smooth skin revealed by two open top buttons on her blouse.

Annoyed with herself for even noticing, she tore her gaze away.

“Nobby and I decide together, based on what we pay our suppliers and what the competition asks for similar items,” Frau Lamm answered.

Okay, that was a reasonable strategy, but still… “Two thousand euros for a single pen seems a bit excessive.”

“It’s a Montblanc Meisterstück Solitaire LeGrand 146.” At Susanne’s blank look, Frau Lamm added, “A special edition from one of the best fountain pen makers in the world.”

“Still. Who would spend that much when a pen for a couple of euros would get the job done just as well?” Susanne pointed to the cheap pens in the corner.

Frau Lamm sighed. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. When she finally spoke, she asked, “What kind of car do you drive?”

“Excuse me?”

“What kind of car do you drive?” she repeated more slowly, as if Susanne had problems processing the question.

“A BMW.” Revealing this tiny bit of semi-personal information made her feel as if she’d said too much, probably because she was used to fiercely guarding her private life against her homophobic boss and his good old boys’ club. “What does that have to do with anything?”