Her jaw was still on her lap, but Hailey managed to pick it up to talk. “You’re promoting me?”
“If you do well,” Erica reminded her.
“I will.” Hailey’s nod was fierce. She gripped the chair as giddy joy raced in her veins. It was a fight not to jump up and twerk in her boss’s office. “I’ll plan it down to the last detail.”
“I’ll be dropping in, checking to make sure everything is running smoothly.” Erica smiled a thin line. “We have a reputation to maintain, and I won’t have any compunctions about saying if I don’t think something is appropriate.”
“I assure you, you’ll be delighted with everything.”
“Hmm.” Erica raised her eyebrows. “Let’s hope.” She set down the pen and passed over a beige folder. “The wedding is set for October 30th. And I want to make a good impression with this couple.”
Hailey had accepted the folder before her hand froze on Erica’s words.
Good impression.
Could she . . . ? Was she . . . ?
No. It couldn’t be.
Erica wouldn’t have given her the Michaels-Donahue wedding. Would she?
Hailey flipped open the folder and scanned for the contact details, excitement zipping in her blood. She would prove herself, she vowed. She’d make it the best damn wedding the Genie world had ever seen. She . . .
The names smacked her between the eyes.
Ethan Plaitt and Serena Norwood.
The bottom fell out of her stomach as she stared at the writing.
Huh. Whaddya know? Trapdoor.
2.
She could always hire a hit man.
Polite conversation swirled around Hailey as she stared blankly at the crowd gathered for the night’s charity auction. Ignoring the milling couples, she tapped a finger against the cocktail glass she held as she considered the idea. It had its advantages:
Secrecy—ergo, no humiliation. Effectiveness—ergo, someone would be dead.
But there were some cons. Like a lack of money. A ton of guilt. Jail.
Besides, at this point, she wouldn’t know who the target would be: Ethan or herself.
It was so unbelievable, she’d half-expected Erica to break into laughter. Joke! Instead, they’d stared at each other for a strained moment before Hailey had murmured something along the lines of getting started and hurried out the room, past a sneering June, straight back into the bathroom.
She’d snuck off before her coworkers could corner her about the meeting. She couldn’t face the pitying stares when they’d inevitably find out, the memories they’d dig up of a time when her world was on track and she’d known who she was and who she belonged with.
A time before she got so pathetic, her inner monologue made her think about finding a punch bowl and drowning herself in it.
“Excuse me, dear.”
The woman’s voice intruded on Hailey’s thoughts, and she automatically shifted to let the bejeweled woman pass by. The man on her arm, distinguished, white haired, smiled before patting his companion on her hand as they headed to the banquet table behind which Hailey stood.
Hailey watched them with an ache in her chest. That was what she’d wanted with Ethan: a lifetime of holding each other, supporting, celebrating, enjoying it all side by side.
Instead he would live his happily ever after with another woman. And she’d still be alone.
Freaking jerk.
Enough. Hailey took a breath, dismissed the farce from her mind. Tonight she’d promised to support a friend, not play Debby Downer in the corner. Kate had worked her ass off for this auction and had begged Hailey to come and talk up some of the items, encourage others to bid if she could. She’d had all day to mope, and that was one day too many.
Shoulders back, Hailey May. Her dad’s voice, familiar, stern. Show no weakness. Advice he’d given her every time they’d moved to a new state, new town, new school. It definitely applied now.
Besides, she had a plan.
Hailey moved to the banquet table at the back, covered in a spotless white cloth and glossy photos balanced on silver holders. The mood at the charity auction was upbeat, as sparkling as the golden chandeliers that poured light onto the lots for bid. Each photo was more spectacular than the last: a trip for two to wine country, a spa weekend at the most exclusive resort on the East Coast, a Tiffany diamond bracelet that made just a little saliva pool at the corner of her mouth.
Come to Mama. Because Mama had hit Tiffany that afternoon, returned Ethan’s stinking diamond necklace, pocketed both the money from that and his custom ring, and was ready to fling a financial fuck you in Ethan’s face. She was moving on, damn it, from Ethan, from his empty promises, and most importantly from his assertion that she was never impulsive.
Watch her throw seventeen thousand dollars at that and take home a yacht.
Okay. Maybe not a yacht.
It seemed she wasn’t the only one seduced by what was on offer. The guests gathered at the Ritz-Carlton that rainy evening were as glittering as the jewels they wore. Whether it was doing good or being seen doing good, the fifty or so members of New York’s elite chattered and laughed and clinked glasses, all exclaiming over not knowing which fabulous lot to bid on first.
The grand prize was at the far end, the photo numerous society women giggled over like schoolgirls given their first romance novel. But whatever it was, it’d still probably be worth more than the thousands she had burning in her pocket, so she didn’t attempt to fight the crowds, instead drifting along the table.
A rare first edition of Wordsworth, beautifully bound in leather, caught her eye as she wandered down the line. Her stomach squeezed like someone’s personal stress ball. Fresh pain salted her soul as her fingers tightened on the glass she held.
Ethan. Memories rose, of walks to the bookshop on the corner in the rain, laughing on a blanket in the park as he read his rough drafts to her, listening to him as he moved a crowd of people with his words.
I’ll always love you.
What a freaking liar. But even the acknowledgment of his royal-jerk status hadn’t helped her extinguish the self-doubt he’d branded her with. The inescapable fact that she obviously hadn’t been enough to keep a man happy. Too controlled. Too dedicated to your work. The words hammered at her like verbal anvils.
Horror flashed as tears built. Hailey Lawson, don’t you cry over that jackass.
Blindly, Hailey walked away from the poetry lot. Her fingers tightened on the cocktail glass until they hurt, but better her fingers than her pride. Half of the people in this room were associated with her through business; no way could she cry in front of them. It left one choice: bathroom.
Again.
It could go on her gravestone if she hired that hit man for herself: Here lies Hailey Lawson. Bathrooms will be quiet without her.
Hailey choked on a little bubble of hysteria as she dodged around two men chatting stocks. Ahead, the doors stood out as the gates of heaven, pearly and white, gilded, promising release from the overheated, cramped room. Even if she just got some cold air. The North Pole would do it.
A woman suddenly crossed into her path, forcing Hailey to twist to the left. The abrupt movement made her awkward, her heel snagging on the carpet. A little cry of alarm fled her lips as she staggered. A thousand thoughts—mainly ones about how she’d never live this down—sped through her mind as she lost her balance and pitched forward.
Out of nowhere, two strong arms caught her a foot from the floor. They squeezed around her, holding her weight, before they levered her back to an upright position. Every body part burned in humiliation as the conversation around her and her rescuer ceased, except for a few excitable whispers.
As if her day hadn’t been bad enough without some public embarrassment.
Hailey stared hard at the floor. Maybe if she concentrated, it’d suck her in like quicksand.
“You all right?” Her rescuer’s voice was male, low, and beneath lay a thread of suppressed laughter.
/>
C’mon, floor. Work with me.
With reluctance as deep as the other guests’ pockets, Hailey dragged her eyes up from the patterned carpet and looked into eyes that shone like a galaxy.
Oh, my God. She clutched the arms that held her for support. He’s a . . . He’s a . . .
Dark brown with an overlay of glittering amber lights, the recognizable eyes crinkled at the corners. “Can you speak?”
Struck dumb, Hailey nodded.
Genie.
Those magical eyes crinkled further. “How ’bout trying it out? Let’s start with whether you’re hurt.”
This time a shake of her head.
“Okay. Maybe you should sit for a bit.” He glanced away, removing those mesmerizing lights from her face. “It’s all right.” He addressed the peeping onlookers. He shifted his grip to her upper arms. “She’s all right. She just needs some air.”
With that as her warning, Hailey’s environment vanished. A peculiar sucking feeling nibbled up her body, her ears popped, and she was on a balcony, the cool night smoothing across her flushed skin.
He was still holding her. “Easy. Sit.”
Hailey didn’t bother arguing, instead landing on one of the two cushioned seats. Around them, the lights and sounds of New York trickled like background radio. She stared, bug-eyed, at the man as he took a casual pose, leaning against the wrought-iron railing.
“Breathe,” he advised with a grin she’d have thought arrogant if her thoughts could get past the mpshgdiff stage.
He waited, head cocked in polite expectation.
Hailey swallowed, sucked in air that chilled her throat. “Y-you’re a Genie.” She wished the words back as soon as she said them.
Way to go there, Captain Obvious.
It made that grin widen. “Last I checked.”
A Genie. She’d fallen straight into the arms of a Genie. You had to hand it to her; when she flailed, she flailed hard.
Hailey threaded her hands together and tipped her face to the cool wind. It didn’t even touch the heat in her cheeks. “Thank you,” she managed, dragging on her planner persona. Calm, professional. “I’m not normally so clumsy.”
“It’s no big deal.” The Genie’s hair ruffled in the breeze, as dark as the night surrounding them. The ends were that little bit too long, she noticed. “You fell, I was there. Seemed like the thing to do.”
“Well, my nose is thankful, anyway.”
Humor flashed in his gaze. He really was stunningly good looking, even without the dual-colored eyes that marked him as special. Killer cheekbones, golden skin, full lips, that sweep of dark just-long-enough-to-think-rebel hair. And whoa boy, did he boast muscles beneath that flimsy white tee that he might as well not be wearing. Honestly, he should just take it off.
He tipped his chin. “I’m Ryder.”
“Hailey.”
“Nice to meet you.” Another smile, this one slow and thoughtful as he seemed to take her in with one glance.
Heat kissed her skin. Hailey coughed, lifted one hand to toy with a strand of hair that had unwound from the messy updo she’d fixed it into. Awkwardness settled over her like a stifling blanket—which never happened. If there was one thing her navy brat upbringing had hammered home, it was the ability to talk. She’d once chatted about an orange for twenty minutes to a client, who, luckily, hadn’t seemed to think a conversation about a citrus fruit was anything strange.
But her word bank seemed to be under armed guard, and no pleading released any words to make a rational sentence.
He seemed to be in no rush to make conversation. Everything about him was casual, from his rumpled hair to the dark stubble across his strong jaw to the white tee and blue Wranglers combo he wore instead of a suit.
A white tee that had a suspicious pink stain splotched across the center.
Hailey rewound the last five minutes, recalled her drink flying out of her hand somewhere between tripping and landing in Ryder’s arms.
She almost shook her fist at the sky. Can’t you play Monopoly or something? Instead, she grimaced. “Sorry about your shirt.”
He glanced at it. As she watched, each pink drop dissolved until it was left crisp white again. “No harm done,” he said.
“Nice. Having powers, I mean. No dry-cleaning bills.” Brilliant.
“That’s sure one of the perks.” His eyes laughed at her. “I also don’t have to carry cab fare.”
“Or an umbrella.”
“Never have to stand in line.”
“Or be put on hold.”
He gazed at her, heavy lidded. “And I can rescue pretty women when they almost fall flat on their faces.”
“Jeez, let’s rub that in.”
“Only way to learn from your mistakes.”
“Not to wear three-inch heels?”
“No.” A lazy sweep of his eyes made her bare calves tingle. “No, the shoes work.”
Is he flirting with me?
She was so not ready for another man.
“Hey, a view!” She jerked to her feet as if the bench had goosed her and hightailed it over to the railing farthest from him, as if the pull of mostly blackened skyscrapers and taxicabs was too strong to resist.
Jittery, she avoided the magnetic Genie by staring at New York at night. Even then, she felt his gaze burn over her bare skin.
Too soon. It was too soon.
Without warning, Ryder’s fingers touched her chin. Warm, strong, entirely tingly, his grip slammed her heart into her rib cage as she instinctively turned into him.
He was close now. Taller than her in heels by about half a foot, he was all broad shoulders and long limbs. Ridiculously, the sweet scent of mango teased her nose as she inhaled in surprise.
“You’re sad again,” he said with enviable candor. “Why?”
She hadn’t been a world-class tag player for nothing. Dodge, dodge, dodge. “Why do you think I’m sad?”
“Genie powers.” His grin invited her to do the same. “And your eyes.” His looked into hers until the amber lights danced. “I’ve never seen such sad eyes.”
The verbal thief stole her breath. “That’s not a compliment.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” He released her. They didn’t know each other, and yet he spoke as if he did.
She glanced at him suspiciously. She’d never heard of Genie mind powers, but maybe she’d better start listing states instead of focusing on the sexy grin that did funny things to her insides.
Flustered, Hailey looked away, around the balcony he’d flashed them to. It wasn’t large but hosted two cushioned chairs and a low glass table to the left of the chairs. “Where are we?” she asked.
He didn’t comment on the change of subject. “My private balcony.”
Whoa. Back up. “You have a room here? You brought me to your room?”
“I live here—and no, I didn’t kidnap you to throw you on the bed and have my wicked way.” He considered. “Unless you’d like that.”
Inner Hailey—the one who got to have all the lascivious fantasies—was all aboard that tramp train, with a detailed list from head to toe of what Ryder could do to her.
But.
Aretha’s song might have been R-E-S-P-E-C-T, but Hailey’s had always been R-E-S-P-O-N-S-I-B-I-L-I-T-Y. (Admittedly, not as catchy)
She’d never had a fling with someone she’d just met. Even when the man in question made those Greek god statues look like skinny nerds. And this Genie would need a huge fig leaf. Not that she’d looked.
Attraction crackled in the air as Ryder smiled. He gave her a knowing look. “You needed somewhere private and this is the first place I thought of.”
A sound, innocent reason. His voice, silken, smoky, suggested another.
Mmm, purred Inner Hailey.
It wasn’t something she could investigate, she told herself firmly. With Ethan’s wedding now her personal challenge, she needed to be fully focused on getting her promotion and proving she was a professional who wasn’t
still bothered by an ex’s cruel words.
Besides, she didn’t trust the instant heat she was channeling for the Genie with the panty-melting smile. It was making her look like an idiot, and she’d sworn she’d never play the fool again.
She forced a smile and stepped back in every sense. “We should get back. I want to bid on a few things.”
Her knees almost melted at the way his gaze lingered on her face. The air was thick and hot, his intentions as clear as if he’d hauled her in and tasted her.
Which would not be a good thing.
She held her breath until he offered his hand for her to take.
“I’ll flash you,” was all he said.
Her eyes locked to his as that feeling of being swallowed and spat out by the universe swam around her.
They appeared in the crowded auction room again, thankfully not when it was in full swing. Their appearance cast no ripples on the crowd as he’d thoughtfully flashed to one of the unoccupied corners.
Hailey put down the emotion that made her heart clatter with relief. She tipped back her head. “Thanks again. You’re very . . .” Sexy. “ . . . kind.”
One side of his mouth kicked up in a lazy smile. His eyes on hers, he lifted her hand to his lips. His breath shivered over her skin before his lips grazed it. There was a feeling of being blown over by a gale, even though she stood glued to the floor.
“Don’t be sad,” he murmured. “It gets better.”
Before her neurons started firing to even try thinking of a response, he disappeared.
* * *
Ryder had his weaknesses. Anyone—especially his twin—could rattle them off on command with more relish than a ballpark hot dog. Ryder didn’t mind; everyone had weaknesses. Some hankered for anything deep-fried, some couldn’t pass a store without running up a small national debt. Himself, he enjoyed a cold beer on the Malibu beach where his brother lived and blondes in skirts short enough that he could appreciate their legs.
But he was also burdened with what Leo had nicknamed the Lost Puppy syndrome. From helping charities to retrieving cats from trees, Ryder couldn’t stand to see anyone sad.
His Command Page 2