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Authors: Kate Perry

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BOOK: Project Date
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“Maybe even tomorrow.” I spoke quickly, aware Barry was beginning to stir. I needed Cindy to agree to my suggestion before he could veto it. “We’re going to Kells and it’d be great if you could stop by.”
“Oh!” She clapped her hands together. “That’d be fab. Is that the new champagne lounge?”
“Uh, no.” Kells? I resisted the urge to guffaw. “It’s an Irish pub.”
“I don’t think you’d like it, sweetie,” Barry said quickly. “They serve beer.”
She shrugged flippantly. “I’ve always wanted to try beer. It’ll be fun.”
She’d never had beer? What alternate universe had she been sequestered in?
Before he could offer any other objections, I said, “Great. Nine o’clock.”
She clapped her hands together again, once. “I have to go shopping for the perfect outfit.”
I raised my brows at Barry. What planet did he find this woman on anyway?
He cleared his throat. “Sweetie, dinner’s getting cold ...”
That was my cue to leave, but the perverse part of me settled back like I didn’t understand I was being subtly encouraged to move along.
His sweet blossom didn’t play along either, though I’m not certain she got it. She grasped my hand and said, “You should stay for dinner.” She smiled at Barry. “We have enough food, don’t we, Pookie?”
“Uh ...” His will visibly shriveled under her sweet imploring gaze. “Well, I guess.”
I shook my head. Pathetic. I was tempted to stay, but I wanted to be more subtle than that. “I need to get home. But thanks for the invite.” I disengaged myself from Cindy’s eager grip and edged toward the foyer. “But you guys should go ahead and eat. I’ll show myself out.”
Barry pulled Cindy to her feet and practically dragged her toward the archway that led to the dining room and kitchen. “You don’t mind?”
I recognized the question for what it was: his proper upbringing requiring him to be polite. “Go ahead and enjoy yourselves, kids. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I smiled and waved as I walked out of the room before Cindy could follow me. In my haste, I bumped into the table in the foyer where Barry dumped the crap in his pockets when he came home.
The table rocked and his cell phone jumped off and onto the floor. Wincing, I reached down to pick it up. Knowing how much he loved his phone, I flipped it open to make sure it wasn’t damaged. I didn’t want to be accused of foul play later.
I shook my head. The idiot left Bluetooth on. It was such a security risk—I don’t know how many times I’d warned him. Anyone who had a Bluetooth device within a certain range could get access to everything stored on his cell.
Shrugging, I flipped it shut. And I froze when it really hit me. The Bluetooth functionality on Barry’s cell phone was on.
On
.
This was opportunity slapping me upside the head. If MacGyver were here, he’d—well, he’d rig the phone as a detonation device and blow up Barry’s house.
But I didn’t need to go that far. If I turned on Bluetooth on my phone, I could download all his calendar information—his dates and appointments, all his contact info ... I’d know where he was and when.
It’d be accidental, of course. Though this wasn’t a felony like trespassing on a server. At least I didn’t think so.
I rubbed the tip of my nose. It wasn’t like I had to use the info, but it’d be a comfort to have. Just in case.
I pulled my phone out, clicked Bluetooth on, and synced the devices.
Come on, come on
. I waved at Barry’s phone, which I’m sure made it transfer everything faster. Once it finished, I flipped the phone shut, put it back on the table, and turned to leave.
Then I stopped.
“Hell.” I turned around, intending to grab Barry’s phone again, but I walked into the table again, only this time hard enough to send a lacquered dish skittering to the floor.
“Mena? You still here?” Barry called from the kitchen.
Oh, shit. “Just tying my shoe.” My fingers fumbled over buttons as I accessed his calendar and deleted a couple of entries marked
Cindy
.
When I heard the clicking of Barry’s dress loafers on the parquet floor of the hall from the kitchen, I flipped the phone shut and put it back.
“See you tomorrow,” I called out as I ran out the door. I hurried to my car before Barry noticed I was wearing slip-on shoes.
Heart pounding, I drove off. I was about a block away when I realized his Bluetooth was still on. I screeched to a stop and rubbed my nose.
MacGyver would go for it.
“I shouldn’t do this,” I told myself. I didn’t even know if it’d work; I only read about it online. It would be like an experiment. To test the boundaries of technology.
“I
really
shouldn’t do this,” I repeated. But I didn’t listen. Instead I turned around, drove back, and parked several blocks away. I hopped out of the car and softly shut the door. Dropping into a crouch, I hobbled through the neighbors’ yards, over the short fence, and into Barry’s—right in a rose bush.
“Shit,” I mouthed, conscious of the lit kitchen windows fifty feet away. Thank God there were curtains, otherwise I’m sure Barry and Cindy would have seen me.
Biting my lip as thorns prodded my skin, I tried to gently untangle myself. I mouthed another curse.
Finally I got myself loose, if worse for wear, and snuck around the side of the house to the front. Fortunately there was a bush on either side of his door that provided adequate coverage for me to hide. I ducked behind the one on the right and flipped open my cell.
A minute later it was done: I’d planted several calls from other women onto Barry’s call log.
“Who knew?” I whispered, shaking my head in wonder. I closed my phone, scurried back to my car, and took off. All the way home I swore that I was never going to do anything like that again. And I wasn’t going to use the info I’d stolen. I’d get rid of it.
Later.
Really, I would.
Chapter Thirteen
Lessons Learned from MacGyver
#48
Sometimes even your worst enemy needs your help.
Friday night. My goal: get Barry back.
It wasn’t going to be easy. Cindy had managed to get her hooks into him solidly for only having known him for so short a time period.
But Rio was going to drive Barry into a jealous frenzy
and
I had home court advantage. Kells was my turf. Hell, she’d never even had a beer. And I’d have Rio to make me look desirable.
“Not to mention I look damn good,” I said to my reflection. I opted for jeans tonight because I thought a skirt would be out of place. Plus my favorite pair of Diesel’s fit like perfection and made my butt look grab-bable. My spaghetti-strap camisole could have doubled for silky lingerie and left my belly bare. I decided to go braless with it, and when I bent over—well, suffice it to say one could get a peek at my charms if one wanted to.
I was going to make sure Rio wanted to catch glimpses, and that he actually did catch them.
I winced. Barry. I meant Barry.
Though the thought of Rio sliding the strap off my shoulder with his callused hands got my juices flowing (if you know what I mean).
“Enough.” I shook my head and took a deep breath to center myself. I couldn’t be distracted with Rio; I had more important matters at hand.
I left my hair down, loose and flowing past my shoulders, lined my eyes to make them stand out, and swiped some gloss on my lips. Sticking my driver’s license, a credit card, and some cash in my pocket, I went to see if Daphne was ready. “Daph!”
“Stop calling me that.”
It came from the office. Because I didn’t need the aggravation of seeing how she’d messed with the room, I sat down in the living room to wait. Tapping my fingers on the armrest, I called upon every ounce of patience in my body. Five seconds later I yelled again. “Daphne! Come on, we have to go.”
“Okay,” she said. At least, that’s what I think she said—her voice was so muffled it could have been anything, I supposed.
She tentatively emerged from the room, a frown wrinkling her delicate forehead. “Am I dressed appropriately?”
I rolled my eyes. She was always worried about being proper, always had been. I was about to give her a flippant answer (what did it matter what you wore to a pub, even a nice one like Kells), but then I noticed what she was wearing: wool pants, flats, and a long-sleeved blouse that she’d buttoned all the way up to her chin. As if the uptight librarian outfit wasn’t bad enough, her hair was twisted so tight her eyes looked almond-shaped and there wasn’t a hint of color on her face.
But I wanted to get to Kells so I could have a drink before anyone arrived (to calm my nerves). And Johnny wasn’t going to mind Daphne’s nun-like appearance; knowing him, he’d be turned on by it. So I said, “You’re fine. Let’s go.”
I was at the top of the stairs going down to the front door before I noticed she wasn’t behind me. I turned around with a frown. “What?”
She looked down at her clothes. “You look more casual than I do.”
“I always look more casual than you do.”
“But you look—” her mouth worked for several seconds before she could mutter her thought “—sexy.”
I grinned. If my sister thought I was sexy, Rio was going to die.
I mentally smacked my forehead.
Barry
. Barry was going to die.
“I don’t look sexy.” She worriedly smoothed the front of her silk shirt.
Sigh. A sister’s job is never done. “You look fine. Sexiness is a state of mind.”
Daphne frowned at me like she couldn’t process that tidbit of information.
I sighed again and waved her over. “Come on. Would I steer you wrong?”
I immediately knew I’d said the wrong thing. I didn’t need to see the suspicion crop up in her eyes.
When in doubt, appeal to her sense of propriety. “Look. You don’t want to keep Johnny waiting, do you?” I asked, fully aware Johnny would probably arrive late.
“All right,” she said hesitantly. She slung her hefty purse over her shoulder and reluctantly shuffled toward me.
I opened my mouth to tell her she needed only some money and her ID, but I decided to avoid that debate. I doubted she’d do anything where she’d be hindered by her bag. Like dancing. Daphne, dance? Ha!
We walked down together and I locked the door under her eagle eye. I noticed Magda was back by the light illuminating the window in her door.
“Your tenant is so quiet,” Daphne whispered.
I shrugged and held out my keys. “Will you put these in your purse?”
She gave me a look I didn’t bother to decipher, but did as I asked. I skipped down the steps and headed left to the corner.
My sister caught up quickly (damn her long legs). “Where are you going? Your car is the other direction.”
“To catch a cab.” I wasn’t planning on drinking much but better to be prepared. Maybe Rio could bring me home.
Shit—I meant Barry.
Barry
could bring me home.
I walked briskly the couple of blocks to NW 23rd. The neighborhood had received a facelift some years ago, and now it was a yuppie paradise of trendy little shops and coffeehouses. Great street for catching cabs.
Daphne strode beside me, bumping me with her luggage of a purse. “Why are we taking a cab? Is something wrong with your car?”
Was she for real? Oh, yeah—she never went out. “In case we drink.” I gave her a severe look. “It’s not good to drink and drive.”
She glanced at me in exasperation before looking down again to watch her step. “Do you drink a lot?”
For a moment, I was tempted to tell her my plans. She was my sister and it seemed like the kind of thing to share. But then I woke out of that delirium. This was Daphne, not some cool older sister who’d help me plot. If I told her, she’d chastise me ceaselessly. “Nope. I usually don’t drink much. I don’t like to take chances though.”
She nodded solemnly and managed to stay quiet for all of two seconds before she asked, “What does your tenant do?”
I stood on the corner and waved at a passing taxi, who didn’t bother to slow down. “She’s a hooker.”
“Excuse me?”
My lips quirked of their own volition. “She’s a hooker. High-priced though. Rent isn’t cheap.”
Daphne looked like a guppy, the way her mouth was opening and closing. It was hard not bursting out in laughter. Somehow I resisted. But I couldn’t help adding, “Don’t worry. She makes house calls. She never brings her johns home.”
“
Mena!
I can’t believe you’d rent out space in your house to a—a—”
I frowned and signaled another cab. “Hooker’s not a dirty word.”
She grabbed my arm and jerked me to face her. “Do Mom and Dad know?”
The taxi that screeched to a stop next to us saved me from having to reply. “Oh, look. Our ride.” I broke her grip by rotating my arm in a counterclockwise circle, opened the door, and hopped in. Daphne climbed in as I told our driver where we were going.
My sister managed to stay silent for five seconds before she leaned toward the driver and said, “Wouldn’t it be more expedient to take Everett?”
The driver and I exchanged looks in the rearview mirror. “Daph, I think he knows where he’s going.”
“My name is Daphne, and if he took Everett instead, he’d avoid downtown traffic, thereby arriving sooner.”
Save me from anal sisters.
“There are so many stops on Burnside. I’m sure it’s simply to delay our ride and charge us more.” She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.
“Daphne, let the man drive.” I yanked her back and gave the driver an apologetic look. He just shrugged as if to say it was his fate to be questioned on his routes.
We got to Kells pretty quickly for a Friday night. I paid our cabbie, including a big tip (he deserved combat pay for dealing with Daphne) and led her to the door.
“Hey, pretty lady.” The bouncer checking IDs smiled at me.
I smiled back. I didn’t know his name but I went often enough that I recognized him. “How’s it hanging?”
“Long and low.” He grinned. “And I’m primed for action.”
I grinned back and handed him my driver’s license. He gave it the requisite stare before returning it, stamped my wrist, and gestured toward the door. “Don’t get into too much trouble tonight.”
I laughed. “What fun would that be?” Then I turned to wait for Daphne, who was watching the interchange with wide eyes. She startled when she realized the bouncer and I were both gazing at her and clumsily dug in her purse for her license.
“She with you?” the door guy asked as he gave Daphne one of those slow head-to-toe-and-back perusals guys were so good at. Only I had the feeling it wasn’t because he thought she was hot.
I felt a stirring of protectiveness in my gut. Unusual and I couldn’t explain it, so I ignored the feeling. Maybe I ate some bad food. But I
did
frown at the bouncer and say, “She’s my sister.”
Which caused him to bestow one of those slow all-over looks on me before he gave Daphne another one. He shook his head and stamped her wrist without really looking at her license. “Enjoy yourselves, ladies.”
I frowned at him and dragged Daphne through the door. “Jerk.”
“I thought you were friends.”
I glanced at her. “What makes you say that?”
“The way you talked to him.” She hiked her purse more securely on her shoulder as she blinked to adjust to the dim lighting.
“Nope. I don’t make it a habit of being friends with assholes like that.”
I think she mumbled, “I thought he was a perfectly decent man,” but it was under her breath so I couldn’t be sure.
I looked around to see if anyone from our party was here. No one. Excellent. Dragging Daphne to the bar, I leaned across so the bartenders (all male) would notice my cleavage. I didn’t have much, but what I had I knew how to use.
Sure enough, one came over right away, ignoring all the people waiting before me. “What can I get you?”
Men were so predictable. “I’d like a Guinness and she wants—” I didn’t know what Daphne wanted. Seemed like I should, but I didn’t think I’d ever seen her drink before. I turned to her and asked, “What would you like?”
She stared wide-eyed at all the liquor bottles glittering like jewels behind the bar. “I don’t know,” she replied in hushed wonder.
I frowned. “What do you like? Beer? Vodka? Gin?”
“I don’t know,” she said again with the beginnings of panic.
She was almost thirty—she had to have had some kind of drink at some point, right? Why couldn’t she just pick one?
But I must have had an out-of-body experience because instead of saying that, I patted her arm and said, “I’ll take care of it.”
The relief on her face was embarrassing. I turned to the bartender so I wouldn’t have to face it. “What kind of mixed drink is your favorite to make?”
“I know just the thing.” His devilish grin should have tipped me off, but I was still unsettled by Daphne’s uncertainty. “A Sexual Trance.”
He set my pint and the frou-frou drink in front of me and rattled off an absurd total. Daphne’s drink must have contained liquid gold, because Guinness wasn’t that expensive. Not that I cared, really, as long as she loosened up.
Daphne accepted her beverage when I handed it to her, holding it up and examining it like an unknown compound in a beaker. “What’s in it?”
“Don’t know. He called it a Sexual Trance.”
She pepped right up. “I like that.”
I watched her as she took a tentative sip. Her face lit up like she’d discovered the cure for cancer. “You like it?”
“It’s delicious,” she replied fervently.
I frowned at the way she started chugging it down. “Careful there. Those drinks are strong.”
“Nonsense. This is all fruit juice. I don’t taste any alcohol.” She tipped her head back and downed the rest. Setting the empty glass on bar, she smiled. “I want another one.”
I was so taken aback by her smile—the first one that didn’t have a trace of the usual tightness in her face—that I didn’t notice she motioned the bartender over.
“Excuse me, could I have another one of these? Uh, a Sexual Trance?” She pushed the glass toward him.
He grinned at her. “You liked it, huh? Killer, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
I rolled my eyes. Did she even know what killer meant?
He set down a fresh drink in front of her. She rummaged in her enormous purse for her wallet. It took her so long, he took care of two other customers before she was ready.
She picked up her drink and tried it. “This one tastes even better.”
BOOK: Project Date
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