“Oh, Jesus. My horns!”
“Slow down, Case. The world won’t end if those two don’t have their coffee handed to them the moment they realize they’re still breathing.” Wanda grabbed her arm, demanding she catch her breath.
Casey’s smile was crooked. “No, the world won’t stop, but I’ll hear about it until I want to take my own life just to get away from them. So in the interest of keeping them pacified—I gotta go. I’ll see you later. Oh, and if you still think I need a babysitter, I hope you’re up for a long night. The girls have a party to go to this evening—a club opening downtown. Some rapper or another. So put your dancing shoes on, and bring earplugs. If your ears are as sensitive as Nina’s, they’re in for a bass-thumping smorgasbord.”
Gripping her shoulders, Wanda gazed down at her sister. “You be careful, and don’t leave this building unless you tell me. And don’t forget about what I said about Clay. If this Hildegard shows up—send her to me. I’ll take care of it.”
Flying out the door, Casey had just enough time to say a quick prayer that Hildegard wouldn’t show up—for her or Clay. She didn’t want to see her blond bit of fabulousness.
It infuriated her that this woman simply existed—like, to the depths of a place she didn’t understand. An emotion she couldn’t quite recall ever having over a man who wasn’t available. A man she’d known just a few days.
And that made no sense.
No man was that hot—or worthy of that kind of all-consuming jealous anger.
Yet, Casey now found that the fear she’d experienced at the idea Hildegard might come and throw down with her was gone.
All that was left was an insatiable need to wrap her fingers around the throat of the woman who’d ruined her chances of ever slamming Clay.
She looked around with caution before entering the main apartment, as though someone could hear the naughty thoughts she was thinking.
And then she turned red.
“HOLY ho—would you look at your little sister, Wanda? All grown-up. What happened to your knee socks and plaid skirt, little girl?” Nina crowed from the middle of Casey’s living room.
Casey sauntered out of her bedroom to stand in front of Nina and Wanda, half marveling that she was actually able to remain upright in four-inch red stilettos. But at the same time, not amazed at all that she could strut in them like she was working a catwalk. And yep, that was frickin’ odd—and not. Again with the same mixed, warring emotions churning inside of her, she came to stand in front of Nina. “They’re in the same place you apparently rummage for all of your clothing, Nina. You know, the Dumpsters out back?”
Wanda flung up a hand at Nina to keep her from responding, and then her head cocked to the left, her eyes scanning Casey’s outfit from head to toe. She stopped at the button she’d purposely left open between her breasts. The button she’d paused at in the mirror and flicked back open with two fingers like she’d always done it. “Uh, wow.”
She smiled, slow and with a hint of coy. “You like?”
“Well, I’ll give you this much, that red shirt is definitely in your color wheel. Do you always dress like this when you have to tag along after those spoiled brats?” Wanda asked, bending at the knees to tug down the very short, black miniskirt Casey had poured herself into.
Don’t. Be. Ridiculous. She faltered. “Not always. No. But it is a club opening, and I’ll stick out like a sore thumb if I dress the way I usually do. So I spiced it up a little.” She’d come back late this afternoon with a strange, driven purpose to shed her predictable, “worn out of ease” clothes for something more grown- up. Something that said she was all woman. All while she’d curled her hair so it fell in soft waves around her face, and even while she’d put on a damn near cement mixer full of makeup, Casey’d been determined to spruce up her assets. Looking down at her breasts, ensconced in a torture device called the Miracle Bra, she decided her assets were cooperating.
“Whore-up, spice-up. Same diff, right?” Nina asked.
Casey cast a scathing glance up and down Nina’s body, smirking at her well-worn jeans and a sweatshirt that read “I Fucking Love to Cuddle.” “To the crass like you, Nina. Yes. Yes it is.”
Wanda must have made Nina promise to be on her best behavior. It was evident in the way she scrunched her face up and clenched her fists, but made no move to play Mr. Potato Head with her face and put her nose where her eyes should be.
Wanda clucked her tongue in warning. “Both of you—quit. Casey, be nice to Nina. I know she pushes your buttons, but she’s really good at spotting trouble, and she can help handle any problems that crop up if we need to deal with another one of these demons. Her sense of smell is much better than mine is at this point in my paranormal journey. So consider her an ally, and shut it. Nina? You lay off the insults, and do what you came here to do—be scary.”
Casey gave Nina a catty smile. “Let me grab my purse and we’ll go.”
“While you’re at it, maybe you should grab a needle and thread to sew up the front of your shirt,” Nina mocked.
Pivoting on her thin high heels—yes, pivoting—she still couldn’t get over what a pro she was at this—Casey sucked in her cheeks and, thought, yeaaaah, she was going there. “While you’re at it, maybe you can stop at the local homeless shelter, and see if they’re open to bidding for a night with you? While you’re there, you might find something to wear, too, eh?”
Nina was on her in the second it took to almost get out a full mental pat on the back she was going to give herself for her quick, snark-o-licious response. “Wanda,” she spat between white, clenched teeth, cornering Casey. “I know I promised to try and remember Princess here’s in a bad way, but she really needs a beat down.”
And then in a flash, Wanda was on Nina, a hand on her collar-bone. “Back off this instant, Nina! And Casey, once more, shut it. I can only handle one mouth at a time.” She gave Casey a sharp shove toward the door just as the doorbell rang.
Shaking off the desire to make Nina wish she were still capable of dying, Casey yanked the door open to find an exasperated Lola and Lita. Their faces held sour expressions until they perused her outfit. “Omigod, Casey. What are you wearing?” Lita looked confused.
“Clothes.” Of course they’d have something to say about her crude attempts to look less like a spinster and more like she actually belonged at a party featuring the elite company the twins kept. Why she hadn’t given thought to what the girls would say about her attire escaped her when she’d dressed.
Oh, wait. Now she remembered. When she’d decided to add some flava to her wardrobe, she hadn’t given a single fuck what the girls would think.
Lola chewed at the tip of her fake nail. “Yeah, what happened to those ugly shoes and your navy blue sweater with the butterfly embroiled on it?”
“Embroidered, you twit,” Casey chastised almost as rapidly as she regretted calling Lola a rude name.
Lita puffed her cheeks out, stroking her platinum ponytail. “Whatever, Casey. If you wanted to play dress up, you could have at least asked to borrow something of ours. This”—she plucked the sleeve of Casey’s red fitted shirt with the upturned collar—“is so trailer park.”
Lola nudged Lita with a sharp elbow and a scrunch of her pert, freckled nose. “Don’t be a tard, Lita. She can’t wear our stuff because she’s not a size zero.”
“Well, if I could, at least then I’d match your IQs,” Casey drawled, “added together, that is.” She came so close to cracking Lola’s twiglike leg, her pump had lifted an inch off the ground before she even realized it.
Nina was beside her in what must have been the equivalent of a vampire second. “Oh, look, Wanda. It’s the Double-Knit twins. Wonder twin powers activate, and all, right, kids?” she snarked, but the joke fell on not just deaf ears, but ears that would never in their wildest dreams imagine someone was cracking wise about them.
Lola piped up. “And who are you?”
“Your new bestest friend, blondie. Hope yo
ur limo has enough room so I can sit riiiight between you two.You know, so we can be all girlie on our way to this club.” Nina threw an arm around Lola and grinned, running her knuckles over Lola’s perfectly coifed hair.
Lita’s round blue eyes, decked out with false eyelash extensions, rolled. “You have to be invited, and I’m pretty sure Lil’ Milf wouldn’t have someone like you on the list.”
Nina caught her pert nose between two fingers and yanked. “Oh, you’d be surprised. Me and Lil’ Milf are pretty tight. So c’mon, let’s do this.” Giving a slight shove, she sent Lola out the door. But not before Casey could mouth the words thank you. Because Nina had kept her from throttling them, and if she throttled them, she’d be fired. This not five minutes after she’d wanted to rip Nina’s head off her neck.
God, she was an absolute train wreck.
Wanda threw on her coat with a glance at Casey. “I did tell you Nina was a strong ally, didn’t I? If anyone can handle those two bitches, it’s Nina.”
Yadda, yadda yadda.
Wanda’s face held impatience and a tinge of haughtiness when she gave Casey a final once-over. “Let’s get this over with. Clay said he’d meet us there and be inconspicuous.”
A shiver of anticipation zinged up her spine.
How exhilarating to ponder what Clay would think of this kittenish Casey.
Me-ow.
Even if he had a wife.
“So I’m guessing you don’t approve of my outfit,” Casey said as they stepped onto the elevator. There was still a vestige of the levelheaded Casey in that question, and while she recognized it, that recognition went as quickly as it came.
“I don’t have a right to approve or disapprove, Casey Schwartz. You’re thirty-one years old. You can do as you please. Even if what you please is revealing and incredibly obvious.” Her lips compressed into a thin line, and her perfectly arched eyebrow cocked upward.
“Says the woman in the turtleneck and linen slacks.”
“No. Says the woman who doesn’t dress like she needs the money.”
Ouch. Okay. So this wasn’t the norm for her, but to a degree, it felt right. It felt like a second skin. Or maybe that was just because her skirt was so tight.
“So can you still breathe when your ta-tas are under your chin?”
Casey threw her head back and laughed, briefly relieved. “It’s definitely an all-out event.”
When the doors of the elevator popped open, Wanda grabbed her arm just as they exited the elevator. “You watch yourself tonight, Casey. You don’t much look like a personal assistant dressed like that. I imagine Nina and I will spend more time fighting men off you than protecting you from potential demonic harassment. And mind your temper. If you could see the look on your face when you go full-on freak . . .”
Casey waved her off with two fingers, heading toward the lobby doors, and winking at Roosevelt, whose placid smile exited his face when she winked.
She just didn’t get what all the worry was about. It’d be fine. She’d go—do her babysitting duties—run to and from the bar until the wee hours of the morning like the lackey she was—come home and collapse, only to begin all over again in the morning.
Nobody would notice little old Casey Schwartz. Dressed all slinked out or not.
No one ever did.
CHAPTER 9
It’d be fine. Yep, that was exactly what she’d thought before getting off the elevator and into the limo with the girls.
Probably, this wasn’t so fine, she mused.
But alas. She didn’t much care, either.
She was having way too much fun to care.
In fact, she’d stopped caring where the twins were, and if the paparazzi was taking pictures of them butt-ass naked, holding crack pipes while they snorted white lines of cocaine from one of the snazzy glass tabletops cluttering the outskirts of the dance floor. She didn’t care where Nina and Wanda were, either. Though last she’d seen them, a very large, lanky man with many, many rings on his fingers was teaching Wanda how to do Destiny’s Child “Bootylicious.” And she hadn’t seen the very married Clay anywhere.
That was probably just as well due to the fact that she was feeling very much alive, very empowered, and especially decadent. Decadent and Clay was a combo that was ripe with the threat of her potential death if Hildegard found her.
The throb of the music had taken hold of her, pulsing in the pit of her stomach until all she could hear was the heavy beat and the call of its cadent rhythm.
Sipping on her festive pink drink with the multicolored paper umbrella, she took another turn around the pole, wrapping her leg around it as though she’d greased some steel in her time. Which, for the record, was so inaccurate. Oh, sure, she’d seen them at different parties. They’d been all the rage for quite some time now—poles and cages where guests danced, or hired dancers to entertain partygoers.
But she’d never, ever actually considered trying one on for size.
Who knew it would be such a perfect fit?
Who knew swinging around on one of these could be so freeing?
“Caseeeeey!” Wanda yelped, pushing her way through the crowd of gyrating bodies to clear some room for her to stand in front of the stage the pole was on. “You get down from there right now! You’re behaving like a—a—”
“Hootch, Wanda,” Nina yelled, staring down Casey, who gave her a catlike smile over the rim of her glass. “Go on. Call it like you see it. I got yer back if she gets feisty.” She crossed her arms over her chest and popped her lips.
“If you make me get up on this stage, Casey Schwartz, I promise there’ll be bloodshed!” Wanda pounded her hand on the stage, slapping it with a rapid thump.
But Casey paid no never mind to Wanda, or even Nina. She was too lost in this new discovery. She might have just found a new way to make a living that didn’t entail chasing after grown women who couldn’t wipe their own noses if she wasn’t running behind them with a box of tissues.
And it was exhilarating.
Taking another swing around the pole, her eyes scanned the crowd that had begun to gather, comprised mostly of men.
Rich, available men.
Boy howdy.
Wait. Whoa. Since when had she placed a price tag on a man? She’d never, in all the time she’d worked for the Castalanos, ever abused the kind of wealth and privilege she was exposed to on a daily basis. She met all sorts of mega-bucks in her line of work. Bankers, lawyers, celebrities, and it had never occurred to her to entertain the idea that one of these men could be hers.
Until tonight. Until this very second.
As the mob of men began to cheer, she teetered over to the edge of the stage and set her drink down. Looking over her shoulder, she placed a coy finger between her red, pouty lips and winked, eliciting a roar of thunderous approval.
And if she were to be honest with herself, it had a certain bangin’ adrenaline rush to it.
Each step she took back toward the pole, each swish of her ass, was a sure sign she was a step closer to imminent disaster. The problem was, this place she was in was a place where she didn’t give a Flying Wolenda.
And fleetingly, she then thought, that—yes, that—was a bad, bad thing.
But that was just two seconds prior to her launching herself at the pole.
Suddenly, she was one with the steel, twirling around it like she was fingers on a swizzle stick. Speaking of fingers, they’d latched onto the pole as though they’d come home again. Each digit worked its way along the cool silver, climbing higher with expertise, all while stretching her free leg out to swirl downward. This from a woman who had been booted out of ballet class because she couldn’t get her feet into something as simple as first position without falling over—and that was while she held on to the ballet bar.
Heh.
Eyes closed, head thrown back, Casey relished the swell of cries from the audience she’d gathered at her feet, opting to ignore the ones littered with screeching panic from a wide-eyed Wanda.
Well, until she hit bottom and landed on something hard and pointy, that is.
Stretching her neck upward, her eyes took in Clay.
Oh. He was pissed.
“Rethinking your career path?”
Her eyes scanned the floor beneath her, now littered with a sea of dollar bills. Casey’s hand slid along the floor, scooping up a handful of cash with a demure pout. “Are you here to poop on my party?”
His face was hard in the flash of the strobe light. “Oh, I don’t think I’m the one who’s going to be the poop in this equation. But if I were you, I’d get up now. You know, before any more, how should I say this, uh, unflattering pictures are taken of you. Though, the lighting is very flattering to your coloring.”
Lightbulbs flashed everywhere, raining the glaring reality of what she’d been doing down on her parade.
With the grace of a cat, she swung her legs around behind her and pulled herself up, using the pole for leverage, giving the crowd a broad smile and a quick curtsy before grabbing Clay’s hand and dragging him down the back exit stairs.
He halted her just as they came to a long, dimly lit hallway, whirling her around to press her to the wall with a not-so-gentle shove. Lips a thin line, sultry dark eyes narrowed, Clay bore down on her. “What the hell is wrong with you? Jesus Christ, Casey—do you have any idea how bad that looked?”
Her grin was mischievous. Holding up her hand, she crinkled the wad of cash she’d gathered. “I’d say it must’ve looked pretty good.”
Clay’s hand yanked the money from her fist and threw it on the ground, where it fell with an echoing rustle of paper against concrete floor. “Listen up, little girl. Making a spectacle of yourself at a high-profile rapper’s party isn’t exactly showing a whole lot of self-control, now, is it? Not only will you lose your job, but if I can’t get my hands on everyone with a camera, you’ll be splashed all over the front of some ragmag. You’d better goddamn well hope the three of us can get ahold of those photographers, Casey. They ate your raunch up like it was an ice cream sundae.”
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